"Stop!"
The scream tore from Princess Veronica's throat, raw and bleeding with a profound, soul-crushing agony that no royal etiquette could ever hope to contain.
"Enough... just please stop showing me this!" Veronica wailed, her face entirely slick with hot, fast-flowing tears. She was pressed hard against the invisible, unyielding barrier of the void, sliding down to her knees as she stared at the horrifying tableau suspended before her.
She had just witnessed the Greater Demon General, Dratkthar, toss the severed, blood-soaked head of her beloved guardian, Amanda, directly at the feet of her dream-self. The sickening thud of the head bouncing against the stone floor echoed endlessly in her mind, a horrific, rhythmic drumbeat of absolute despair.
"Just... just stop, please..." Veronica begged, her voice degrading into a pathetic, high-pitched whimper. She raised her trembling, bloodied fists and began to weakly pound against the invisible wall separating her from the nightmare.
-Thud.
-Thud.
-Thud.
"Please... just... stop..."
Veronica's oceanic blue eyes, usually so vibrant and full of arrogant, untouchable pride, were now completely hollowed out. They were the eyes of a broken thing. She was desperately begging the System, the universe, or whoever possessed the sickening cruelty to make her watch this, to just turn the vision off. To stop torturing her other self. To stop defiling the memory of her maid.
[PATHETIC!]
The word did not appear on a blue screen. It did not echo from the darkness. It exploded directly inside the very center of her skull, vibrating against her brain tissue with the force of a detonating bomb.
Veronica's eyes widened in sheer, paralyzing shock. Her breath hitched. She didn't know if this was a hallucination brought on by her fracturing sanity, or if the unseen architect of this System was finally speaking to her directly.
[YOU ARE UTTERLY PATHETIC. HAVE YOU ALREADY GIVEN UP SO EASILY? OVER A SINGLE, INSIGNIFICANT 'BAD ENDING' VIEWING?]
The voice was ancient, cold, and entirely devoid of gender or empathy. It sounded like grinding glaciers and cracking bone.
[HAAH. YOU ARE A PROFOUND DISAPPOINTMENT.]
Veronica clamped her hands over her ears, shutting her eyes tightly, trying to block the voice out. But it was useless. It was already inside her.
[THAT'S RIGHT. YOU ARE A COMPLETE DISAPPOINTMENT TO YOUR LINEAGE. TO YOUR MOTHER.]
"No..." Veronica sobbed, shaking her head violently.
[IS IT NOT YOUR FAULT THAT YOUR MOTHER DIED MISERABLY IN EXILE? BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO WEAK TO PROTECT HER?]
"Stop it!"
[IS IT NOT YOUR FAULT THAT AMANDA DIED IN THIS TUNNEL? BECAUSE YOU CHOSE A FOOLISH, NAIVE KINDNESS FOR A COMMONER OVER RATIONAL, CALCULATED SURVIVAL?]
[IS IT NOT—]
"Stop! I know! I damn well know it's all my fault!" Veronica screamed into the suffocating darkness, her voice breaking into a hysterical shriek. She clawed at her own silver-blue hair, tearing strands from her scalp. "That's exactly why I am begging you! Please stop... stop showing me this, whoever you are!!!"
The void fell silent for a fraction of a second. And then, the voice returned, heavier and infinitely more disgusted.
[TSK. HOW UNBELIEVABLY WEAK YOU ARE.]
[I AM PROFOUNDLY DISAPPOINTED. FOR A WOMAN LIKE YOU, WHO SECRETLY HARBORS A HATRED FOR THE WORLD EVEN GREATER THAN MY OWN... YOU ARE DISGUSTINGLY SENSITIVE WHEN FORCED TO CONFRONT THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR OWN ACTIONS.]
[YOU SHOULD BE FAR MORE RESILIENT THAN THIS.]
[YOU SHOULD BE MENTALLY UNBREAKABLE!]
[HOW CAN A FRAGILE, WEEPING CHILD LIKE YOU EVER HOPE TO LEAD AN EMPIRE OR PROTECT YOUR PEOPLE?]
Veronica sobbed, curling into a tight, miserable ball on the floor of the void. Every word was a surgical strike against her deepest insecurities.
[I GENUINELY THOUGHT THAT SHOWING YOU THIS REALITY WOULD BE THE CATALYST. I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE THE EXACT REASON YOU WOULD FINALLY HARDEN YOUR HEART AND YOUR DECISIONS.]
[I THOUGHT THIS VISCERAL HORROR WOULD BE THE ONLY WAY TO MAKE YOU ABANDON YOUR PATHETIC, PERFORMATIVE KINDNESS IN FAVOR OF COLD, RUTHLESS RATIONALITY.]
[I THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE THE TRAUMATIC PATH THAT WOULD FORGE YOU INTO A WEAPON CAPABLE OF ALTERING YOUR OWN DOOMED DESTINY... AND YET...]
The voice seemed to sigh—a sound of monumental, cosmic weariness.
[YOU ARE STILL AS WEAK AS YOU EVER WERE. A PAMPERED PRINCESS PLAYING AT BEING A SURVIVOR.]
[IF YOU ARE TRULY THIS WEAK...]
[IF YOU CANNOT EVEN PASS A SIMPLE, OBSERVATIONAL TRIAL LIKE THIS WITHOUT SHATTERING...]
[THEN THIS RARE, MIRACULOUS CHANCE THAT I HAVE GIVEN YOU TO CHANGE THE FUTURE IS ALL FOR NOUGHT.]
The pressure in her skull began to recede, the voice fading back into the deep abyss, leaving behind a final, chilling promise.
[THOUGH...]
[THIS MAY BE YOUR VERY FIRST TIME EXPERIENCING THIS KIND OF EVENT, BUT REJOICE.]
[IT WILL NEVER, EVER BE THE LAST.]
[I SINCERELY HOPE YOU SUFFER FAR MORE. JUST LIKE WHAT HAPPENED TO ME...]
[...PRINCESS VERONICA.]
Then, after a gruesome, ringing five minutes of absolute silence, the psychic whisper completely vanished from her mind, leaving behind a profound, terrible emptiness.
Veronica let out a long, shuddering sigh. She uncurled herself slowly, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. Tears were still steadily dropping from her red, puffy eyes, pooling on the invisible floor beneath her.
She slowly lifted her head and looked back through the barrier at the vision.
She saw Amanda's severed head resting in the dirt. She immediately tilted her head away, squeezing her eyes shut. She couldn't bear to look at Amanda's pathetic, gruesome sight anymore.
It was cruel, wasn't it?
Just how unspeakably, cosmically cruel was the entity that was forcing her to watch this? To show her the absolute worst possible outcome of her own life, and then possess the unmitigated audacity to call her pathetic for weeping over it?
And yet... the voice had spoken the truth. It was all her fault from the very first place.
It was all her fault for being foolish. For letting her guard down. For trying to play the heroic royal.
It was all her fault for choosing a momentary, impulsive act of kindness to save Adelina over the pragmatic, guaranteed survival of herself and her loyal guardian.
She was a massive, irredeemable fool to have ever thought, or hoped, that they could both survive a Greater Demon General. That was exactly why the System had explicitly categorized this specific event as a "Bad Ending." It was a culmination of incorrect choices. And yet, even knowing that, she had still desperately, pathetically hoped against all odds that Amanda would miraculously survive.
Veronica slowly opened her eyes and forced herself to look back at the scene playing out before her. She had to watch. She had to sear this failure into her memory so she would never, ever make the same mistake in reality.
Back in the vision, the nightmare continued.
[All resistance is utterly futile!!!!] Dratkthar roared, his booming voice shaking the dust from the cavern ceiling.
[Hahahaha! Oh, why do you still refuse to accept your doomed fate, little royal?] Dratkthar paused his advance. His single, burning amber eye widened in genuine, sadistic amusement as he watched the dream-version of Veronica.
The Princess, tears streaming down her face, had scrambled to her feet. She stood directly in front of the unconscious Adelina, spreading her arms wide, using her own frail, unarmored body as a physical shield to protect the commoner girl from the towering monster.
Dratkthar saw this and threw his massive head back, laughing uproariously at the sheer, magnificent absurdity of what the Princess was doing.
[Hahahaha! I honestly thought that you were supposed to be a wise, educated woman! An heir to an Empire!] Dratkthar mocked, pointing a massive, blood-stained claw at her.
[Hahahahahaha! To think that after everything—after the sacrifice of your loyal hound, after all the running—the absolute final thing you choose to do is throw away your own royal life for that woman?!]
He took a heavy, thudding step forward.
[That woman you don't even know?!]
[Do you even know her name? Do you even know why my Master ordered me to kill her?!]
Dratkthar shook his head, highly entertained.
[Hahaha, you are literally making this slaughter so much more enjoyable, Princess...] Then, the laughter abruptly stopped. The Demon General's face twisted into a mask of pure, concentrated malice. The games were over.
[It's time for you to join your maid.]
Dratkthar didn't take another step. He simply disappeared, utilizing a burst of high-speed demonic propulsion, and reappeared instantly directly in front of Dream-Veronica.
He raised his massive hand. The razor-sharp, obsidian claws on his fingertips elongated, aimed directly for her oceanic blue eyes. He intended to blind her before crushing her skull.
[DIE!!!!!]
Dream-Veronica didn't try to run. She didn't cast a spell. She simply closed her eyes, accepting her execution, bracing for the horrific pain.
Behind the invisible wall, the spectator Veronica flinched violently, raising her hands to cover her own face.
But the fatal blow never landed.
-CLANG!
-SWISH!
A sound like a thunderclap detonating indoors echoed through the cavern, immediately followed by the sickening, wet sound of massive amounts of flesh and bone being instantly parted.
Dratkthar's entire right hand—the hand aimed at Veronica's face—was cleanly, effortlessly cut off at the forearm.
The Demon General's amber eye widened in absolute, unadulterated shock. He didn't even feel the blade hit him. He only felt the sudden, massive, suffocating surge of a killing intent so pure, so dense, that it made Amanda's earlier aura feel like a gentle summer breeze.
He stumbled backward, clutching the spurting stump of his arm. He frantically looked back over his massive shoulder.
Standing there, bathed in the dim, flickering light of the cavern, was a massive man. He had unkempt black hair tied back in a messy wolf-tail, and he was wielding a colossal, two-handed greatsword that glowed with a terrifying, golden-brown runic energy.
It was none other than Professor Avalon Pendletree.
Avalon didn't look like the boisterous, jovial instructor of the Academy. His usually vibrant brown eyes were completely dead, devoid of any warmth or humanity. They were the eyes of an executioner.
Avalon's gaze slowly drifted past the towering demon. He looked at the floor behind Dratkthar.
He saw the unconscious, battered body of Adelina lying on the cold stone. His little sister.
Avalon's eyes widened a fraction of an inch. A terrifying, silent fury surged outward from his body, cracking the stone floor beneath his boots. The sheer atmospheric pressure of his rage made the air in the cavern physically heavy to breathe.
He didn't scream. He didn't issue a grand battle cry or monologue about justice.
He simply teleported.
Moving with a speed that defied physical laws, Avalon materialized directly in front of Dratkthar. Before the Greater Demon General could even attempt to swing his remaining arm or summon his hellfire, Avalon swung his massive greatsword in a tight, blindingly fast upward arc.
-SWISH!
-SQUELCH!
Dratkthar's left arm was severed entirely off at the shoulder.
Blood—gallons of boiling, black demonic blood—dropped heavily onto the stone floor from both of Dratkthar's ruined, spurting stumps.
[ARRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!] Dratkthar screamed. It was not a roar of anger; it was a shriek of genuine, mind-rending terror.
For the very first time in his long, immortal existence, the Architect of Agony truly felt pain that wasn't derived from his own power. He felt the pure, unadulterated consequence of angering a human anomaly.
He desperately tried to activate his demonic aura, trying to force his flesh to regenerate the severed limbs. He pushed his mana core to the absolute limit.
But nothing happened. The black fire refused to ignite. The flesh refused to knit.
Because the specific, unique way this man attacked—the runic energy imbued within his greatsword—was fundamentally designed to completely disable, neutralize, and rot demonic regeneration on a conceptual level. It was an absolute counter to abyssal healing.
'Me?!' Dratkthar thought, his mind reeling in panic as he staggered backward from the silent human. 'The legendary Architect of Agony, going to lose my life to this random, nameless mortal?!'
[NOT A GODDAMN CHANCE!!!] Dratkthar roared, gathering all the raw, unrefined dark mana in his body.
He attempted to reappear directly in front of Avalon, intending to use his massive, armored body as a physical battering ram to crush the human against the wall.
But Avalon was already waiting for him.
Avalon didn't speak. He remained entirely, terrifyingly silent. His mind, his heavily muscled body, and every single tactical decision he made were focused on a singular, absolute objective: To kill this demon. To completely obliterate the monster who had dared to lay a hand on his little sister.
As Dratkthar materialized in front of him, Avalon simply raised his massive greatsword high above his head, his muscles bulging with inhuman power.
And—
-SLASH!
The golden-brown arc of energy tore through the air.
Dratkthar didn't even have time to register the pain. His vision suddenly, bewilderingly began to slowly rotate upside down. He saw the ceiling of the cavern. Then the walls. Then the floor.
As his severed head plummeted toward the ground, the Great Demon General realized a cold, hard truth entirely too late. He could never, in a thousand lifetimes, beat this specific human. Even though he was a Demon General of the Abyss... he was vastly outmatched by a brother's wrath.
Avalon stood over the falling head. His expression remained utterly devoid of mercy.
He raised his heavy, steel-plated combat boot.
-SLAM!
-SQUELCH!
Avalon brutally, effortlessly crushed the Demon General's head beneath his boot, splattering black blood and brain matter across the stone, ensuring the monster would never regenerate, never return, and never threaten his family again.
The cavern fell deathly silent, save for the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the swordsman.
A moment later, the sound of heavy, organized footsteps echoed from the upper tunnels. The Royal Academy Vanguard, accompanied by a dozen high-ranking combat professors, finally breached the antechamber.
And running near the front of the Vanguard, looking incredibly pale and frantic, was Rudeus Blackfyre.
Rudeus didn't stop to admire the dead demon. He immediately rushed across the blood-soaked floor, bypassing Avalon entirely, and slid to his knees beside the collapsed form of Princess Veronica.
He didn't touch her immediately. His crimson eyes darted to the side, locking onto the gruesome, tragic sight resting a few feet away.
He looked at Amanda's severed head.
A look of profound, heavy sorrow crossed Rudeus's usually stoic face. He didn't flinch away from the gore. With incredible, surprising gentleness, he unbuttoned his expensive, midnight-blue academy blazer. He carefully lifted Amanda's blood-matted head and respectfully wrapped it entirely within his coat, shielding her ruined face from the harsh light of the rescue torches and preserving what little dignity she had left.
He placed the bundled coat gently on the floor. Only then did he turn his full attention to the Princess.
[Veronica... are you alright? He-hey, are you okay?] Dream-Rudeus asked, his voice trembling slightly. The question might have been incredibly dumb given the absolute bloodbath surrounding them, but he desperately needed to check her cognitive condition.
He reached out and gently grasped her shoulders.
Dream-Veronica slowly looked at him. Her oceanic blue eyes were completely dilated, staring right through him. She was in a state of absolute, catatonic shock. The psychological dam had completely burst.
She didn't say a word. Her eyes simply rolled back into her head, and she dropped heavily, fainting dead away into Rudeus's arms.
[Call the royal medic!!!] Rudeus screamed over his shoulder to the arriving faculty, his voice cracking with panic as he cradled the unconscious Princess against his chest.
[Hurry!!!]
While the medics rushed to secure the royals, Avalon slowly, heavily walked toward the corner where Adelina lay. He dropped his massive greatsword to the floor with a loud clatter.
He fell to his knees beside her, his large, calloused hands gently, frantically checking her pulse and her mana flow.
[Thank god... she's still alive. I'm so sorry, sis...] Avalon carefully scooped Adelina's limp body into his arms, pulling her tightly against his broad chest, burying his face in her dark hair.
[I'm so sorry your older brother was too late. I'm so sorry.] Avalon wept, his massive shoulders shaking as the adrenaline crashed, leaving behind only the terrifying realization of how close he had come to losing his only family.
Then, a tall, imposing figure stepped out from the ranks of the arriving Vanguard and approached the grieving swordsman.
[Hey... is she okay, Avalon?]
The voice was deep, cultured, and laced with genuine concern.
It was none other than the Eldest Son of the Grand Duke Blackfyre. The true heir to the North.
Ryekard Blackfyre.
Ryekard possessed the signature ashen-white hair and icy grey eyes of his lineage, but his face carried a profound weariness, a sadness that hinted at the demons he constantly battled at the bottom of a bottle.
Avalon looked up, his eyes red, and offered a slow, tight nod of confirmation.
Ryekard let out a long, highly relieved sigh, dragging a hand through his white hair.
[Thanks to the Goddess...] Ryekard murmured.
Then, Ryekard turned his head, surveying the devastation of the antechamber. He looked at his younger brother, Rudeus, who was currently shouting orders at the medics while guarding Veronica. And then, his eyes fell upon the blood-soaked bundle of the academy blazer resting on the floor.
Ryekard's face fell into a deep, respectful grimace.
[But... it is profoundly unfortunate what happened to Lady Amanda...] Ryekard said softly, his voice echoing the heavy tragedy of the victory. He knew exactly what she had meant to the Princess, and what she had done for the shadows of the Empire.
Ryekard reached out, placing a firm, supportive hand on Avalon's shoulder.
[After the medics secure your sister, Avalon... let us hurry and respectfully recover her body from this filth. And then—]
Ryekard looked back at the bundle.
[We will mourn her death as she deserves.]
Avalon nodded silently, adjusting his grip on his comatose sister, preparing to carry her back to the surface.
Meanwhile, trapped inside the invisible walls of the void.
The spectator Veronica's eyes were completely hollowed out. She had stopped crying. She had stopped screaming. She simply knelt on the floor, staring blankly ahead, entirely emotionally bankrupted by the sheer, unadulterated trauma of what she had just witnessed.
The scene within the antechamber began to blur and shift rapidly, accelerating through time, but before the visual feed could completely transition, the System window violently popped up again, dominating her vision.
[In the immediate aftermath of the tragedy, the Imperial reinforcements finally manage to systematically root out and arrest Dratkthar's lower-tier accomplices.]
[This includes locating and executing the human student who was actively aiding the Demon General's infiltration—a boy named Gavin.]
[The Vanguard also successfully recovers the entirety of Lady Amanda's mangled corpse from the lower depths.]
[Exactly one week after the catastrophic incident, a state funeral is held.]
The text dissolved, and the void vanished, plunging Veronica into a new environment.
The sky above was a heavy, suffocating grey, pouring a relentless, freezing rain over the sprawling Royal Cemetery of the Imperial Capital. Thousands of nobles, clad entirely in mourning black, stood beneath a sea of dark umbrellas, forming a massive circle around an open grave.
The spectator Veronica saw her dream-self standing at the very edge of the deep, muddy pit. She was dressed in a simple, unadorned black mourning gown, completely soaked by the rain, having refused an umbrella.
Rudeus stood silently beside her. He was also dressed in a formal black suit, holding an umbrella over her head, though the rain still caught the edges of her dress.
Dream-Veronica stared down at the polished, silver-trimmed mahogany coffin resting in the mud at the bottom of the grave. She held a single, pristine white Glacial Lily in her trembling, pale hands.
She slowly opened her fingers, letting the white flower fall. It drifted down through the rain, landing softly against the dark wood of the coffin.
Rudeus watched the flower fall. He slowly reached out his free hand, tentatively attempting to place a comforting hand on her trembling shoulder.
But, before his fingers could even brush the wet fabric of her dress, he hesitated. He slowly retracted his hand, letting it fall back to his side. He knew his touch would offer no solace; it would only be a reminder of the world she despised.
[I-I'm so incredibly sorry for what happened to Amy... Veronica...] Dream-Rudeus whispered over the sound of the pouring rain, his voice thick with genuine empathy and helplessness.
He took a slow step backward, moving the umbrella with him, subjecting himself to the downpour.
[I'll... I will leave you alone for a while. You need peace.] Rudeus turned and slowly walked away, stepping back into the sea of black umbrellas, giving Veronica the absolute silence and isolation she silently demanded.
As the royal gravediggers began to shovel the wet, heavy earth into the pit, burying the coffin inch by agonizing inch, Dream-Veronica's oceanic eyes remained entirely focused on the descending dirt.
She didn't even pay a single shred of mind to the hushed, pitying murmurs of the surrounding high nobles. She completely ignored the fact that her father, the Emperor himself, was standing a few yards away, calling her name softly, asking her to come in out of the rain.
After several grueling minutes, the burial was complete. A smooth, featureless marble headstone was placed over the mound.
And yet, Dream-Veronica did not move. Her dead eyes remained absolutely locked on the grave of her maid, her mentor, her mother figure... her entire world.
Amanda.
Slowly, deliberately, Dream-Veronica clenched her hands into tight, white-knuckled fists at her sides. The rain washed over her face, masking the final tears she would ever shed.
The scene shifted violently again, the rain and the cemetery dissolving into static.
The blue System window popped up, its text carrying the final, fatalistic conclusion of the timeline.
[Shortly after the funeral concludes, you make a unilateral, irrevocable decision. You formally abandon the Imperial Capital. You publicly renounce your titles, your inheritance, and your position as a Princess of the Rosania Empire.]
[Rudeus attempts to follow you, to pursue you and offer you protection, but you cruelly, decisively reject him one final time, severing all ties to your past life.]
[You retreat into absolute exile. You lock yourself away in a decaying, forgotten mansion located in a remote, freezing village on the very edge of the Empire's borders.]
[You live there in total isolation for three agonizing years, consumed entirely by guilt and the ghosts of your past.]
[And then, one winter evening... you sit down at a desk.]
[You write a single letter...]
The text paused for a devastating second.
[It is a suicide note.]
The scene completely shifted one absolute, final time.
The spectator Veronica found herself standing inside a small, incredibly dusty, freezing bedroom. The only light came from a single, flickering candle resting on a simple wooden desk. The opulence of the Imperial Palace was entirely gone, replaced by rotting wood and peeling wallpaper.
Sitting at the desk was an older, shockingly gaunt version of herself.
Dream-Veronica's silver-blue hair was tangled and lackluster. Her beautiful face was hollowed out by years of starvation and depression. She was wearing a simple, faded grey dress.
She was methodically, mechanically preparing a heavy, ornate flintlock pistol, loading the powder and the lead ball with terrifyingly steady hands. A single piece of parchment, covered in messy, tear-stained handwriting, rested on the desk beside the candle.
Behind the invisible wall, the spectator Veronica's eyes blew wide in absolute, visceral horror.
"No..." Veronica whispered, scrambling to her feet, pressing her hands against the barrier. "No, don't do it... don't you dare do it... noooooo!!!"
Dream-Veronica didn't hear her. She finished loading the pistol.
She slowly raised the heavy iron barrel. She didn't hesitate. She didn't cry.
She placed the cold, metallic barrel directly into her mouth, her teeth clicking against the iron sight.
She closed her dead, oceanic blue eyes.
[I can finally join you...] Dream-Veronica thought, her final, internal monologue echoing loudly in the small, dusty room. [After three agonizing years of suffering in this hell without you...]
A single, final tear leaked from the corner of her closed eye, tracing a path through the dust on her hollow cheek.
[Amy...]-CLICK!
The hammer dropped.
-BAM!
A deafening roar filled the room, accompanied by a blinding flash of muzzle fire.
Behind the invisible wall, the spectator Veronica screamed—a sound of pure, unadulterated psychological destruction.
She threw herself against the barrier, pounding the invisible wall with her fists.
She repeatedly, violently pounded it.
-THUD!
-THUD!
-THUD!
She didn't stop. For hours upon hours in the timeless void, she repeatedly pounded the invincible wall, her screams degrading into hoarse, animalistic wails. She battered the barrier until the skin of her knuckles was completely flayed open, leaving bloody, smeared handprints across the metaphysical glass.
Finally, entirely devoid of physical and emotional energy, her body completely gave out.
She collapsed onto the floor of the void, her bloody hands resting limply at her sides. She looked up at the endless, suffocating darkness.
"Are you happy now?" Veronica croaked, her voice completely destroyed, barely a whisper.
"Are you happy that you made me suffer like this? That you broke me entirely?"
She forced herself up onto her hands and knees, glaring into the abyss with eyes that had seen the absolute end of all things.
"ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!"
Her state was catastrophic. She looked exactly like a patient who had just escaped from a high-security psychiatric ward—her hair wild, her eyes manic, her hands covered in her own blood. But she was trapped in an endless, apathetic void where absolutely no one could hear her screams.
She finally dropped her head, her forehead resting against the cold floor.
"Just... please, wake me up..." Veronica begged, the fight completely gone from her soul.
"Wake me up from this nightmare... I can't take it anymore..."
She slowly closed her eyes, surrendering entirely to the darkness.
And then—
"HAAAH!"
Veronica violently gasped, her eyes snapping open as she violently bolted upright.
She wasn't in the dusty mansion. She wasn't in the void.
She was back. She had returned to the soft, plush reality of her opulent royal bedchamber in the East Wing.
She frantically brought her hands up to her face, touching her cheeks, her nose, her neck. She looked down at her hands. They were perfectly manicured; there was no blood, no flayed skin. She ran her hands over her body, feeling the intact silk of her nightgown.
She was alive. It hadn't happened yet.
A wave of overwhelming, desperate relief crashed over her.
She threw the covers off and screamed at the top of her lungs.
"Amy!"
She scrambled to the edge of the bed, her voice tearing with panic.
"AMY!"
Less than a minute later, the heavy mahogany doors of her bedchamber burst open.
Amanda rushed into the room, her twin trench knives drawn, her slate-grey eyes sweeping the corners of the room for immediate threats. She was wearing a simple nightgown, having clearly rushed from her adjacent quarters at the sound of the Princess's scream.
The moment Veronica saw her guardian—whole, alive, and possessing both of her hands—the Princess completely broke down.
Veronica practically threw herself out of the bed, scrambling across the floor and launching herself directly into Amanda's arms, hugging the older woman with a terrifying, desperate tightness.
"Amy~!" Veronica wailed, burying her face deeply into Amanda's shoulder.
"Hic... hic... hic... waaaaaahhhhhh~~~!!!!"
She started to cry. It wasn't the angry, arrogant tantrum she had thrown in the garden. It was the deep, soul-cleansing, hysterical weeping of a child who had just been saved from the edge of an abyss.
Amanda immediately dropped her knives, wrapping her arms securely around the trembling Princess.
"What happened, Princess?! Are you hurt? Did someone invade your room? Because if an assassin managed to bypass my wards—" Amanda demanded, her voice tight with protective fury as she scanned the room.
Her eyes landed on the shattered pieces of the Ming Dynasty vase scattered across the floor near the doorway. But other than the broken porcelain, the room was perfectly secure. The windows were locked, the magical wards were completely intact, and there was absolutely no sign of forced entry.
Amanda relaxed slightly, her assassin's instincts dialing down as her maternal instincts took over.
'It seems she just had a truly terrible, incredibly vivid bad dream,' Amanda deduced inwardly, letting out a soft sigh of relief.
She gently stroked Veronica's silver-blue hair, resting her chin on top of the Princess's head.
"Hush now, little bird. I am here. You are perfectly safe," Amanda whispered comfortingly, gently rocking the sobbing girl back and forth on the floor of the bedchamber while Veronica continued to cry out the trauma of a lifetime she had yet to live.
***
The Next Morning.07:00 AM.Princess Veronica's Bedchamber.
The morning sun streamed brightly through the tall windows of the royal suite, casting a warm, comforting glow over the opulent furnishings.
Veronica sat alone on the edge of her bed, fully dressed in her tailored practical combat uniform. Her eyes were slightly puffy from the hours of crying, but her posture was entirely different. The arrogant, haughty slump was gone, replaced by a rigid, terrified determination.
She was staring intently at the empty air at the foot of her bed.
Because floating there, perfectly visible in the morning light, was the glowing blue System screen.
The text on the interface had completely changed. It was no longer a harbinger of doom; it was a mechanical checklist of salvation.
[Congratulations. You have successfully survived and passed the Psychological Trial.]
[Reward Granted: Permanent Obtainment and Integration of the Status Window.]
[Achievement Unlocked: First Time Knowing The Absolute Truth.]
[Achievement Unlocked: Obtaining Your Very Own System Interface.]
[You may now mentally command the interface to check your personal Status Window, view your numerical stats, analyze your magical abilities, and track your active objectives.]
[Primary Destiny Quest Unlocked!]
[Quest 1: Alter Your Ultimate Demise]
[Objective: You must actively alter the trajectory of your preordained Bad Ending by successfully fulfilling the following mandatory conditions:]
[ 1. You must formally and sincerely apologize to Rudeus. ]
[ 2. You must actively assist in uncovering the truth of Professor Vane's true demonic identity before the simulation ends. ]
[ 3. You must officially choose Rudeus Blackfyre to be your designated vanguard partner for the mandatory First-Year Simulation Exams today. ]
[ 4. You must successfully navigate the lower levels and actively save Adelina Van Hestianna alongside Rudeus. ]
[Reward for successfully completing the Quest: Complete Obtainment of the Supreme Illumination Art: 'Night's Devourer', and raising Rudeus Blackfyre's relationship parameter to 10.]
[Penalty for Failure: Guaranteed execution of Bad End #2.]
[Current Relationship Parameter with Target (Rudeus Blackfyre): -10 Love Points (Hostile/Disgusted)]
Veronica raised a delicate, aristocratic eyebrow as her eyes locked onto the final line of text.
"Love points? Negative ten?" Veronica muttered aloud, a brief, incredulous scoff escaping her lips.
However, unlike her usual self, she didn't dwell on the insult. She didn't throw a tantrum about a mere 'defect' harboring hostile feelings toward her. She simply ignored the metric entirely, shifting her absolute focus back to the terrifying, uncompromising list of quest objectives.
Veronica closed her eyes.
She took a deep, steadying breath. She clenched her hands into tight fists resting on her lap. But she wasn't clenching them in aristocratic anger, or in petulant frustration.
She was clenching them in absolute, unyielding determination. She remembered the feeling of Amanda's severed head in her hands. She remembered the cold barrel of the pistol in her mouth.
She was never, ever going to let that reality come to pass.
She snapped her oceanic blue eyes open. They were no longer the eyes of a spoiled, sheltered Princess. They burned with the fierce, desperate resolve of a survivor.
"Fine," Veronica declared to the glowing blue screen, her voice cold and sharp as cracked ice. "I will do whatever the hell you want me to do, if it is required to completely alter my 'bad ending' and save her."
She stood up from the bed, smoothing the wrinkles from her combat uniform.
"Then—"
She walked toward the heavy mahogany doors of her suite, preparing to march out into the academy and face the consequences of her past behavior.
"I will choose Rudeus to be my partner for the simulation exam today. And I will make him accept."