The hall was empty now. The speech was over, the echoes already gone. Nephis hadn't gone through the bet today. Of course she hadn't—she'd wait for the day of the Spire. Announcing it now would be like throwing cold water on a rising flame.
He drifted back into the great hall, his steps echoing faintly. The familiar chair still waited in the middle of a spiderweb of cracks, bathed in pale moonlight spilling through the gaping hole in the wall. Nephis and the cohort had left to slay the Lord of the dead while Asher refused to come, choosing to stay here instead.
He lowered himself into it, eyes fixed on the ruined floor.
Shards of bone still glittered faintly between the marble fractures. Skull splinters—tiny, white, and jagged—embedded so deep they seemed part of the stone now. Asher closed his eyes. He could still hear the sickening crunch under his foot, that sound replaying over and over.
His hands trembled. He tried to steady his breath, but his nails dug into his palms. "It's fine…" he whispered, breath shuddering. "It's not like you didn't know this."
He had known.
"You're a transmigrant in Shadow Slave, goddamn it," he muttered. "Of course you'd kill someone eventually."
But knowing hadn't made it easier.
He'd killed men in his first nightmare—phantoms, illusions. They would have vanished at the nightmare's end regardless. But the Dream Realm… this was different. This time, the life he took had been real.
Why?
Why here?
He buried his face in his hands. "Why do you even feel like this, Asher? You've beaten people half to death before. This time you just… finished it. The difference isn't that much, right?"
His lips twitched into a warped smile. 'Just smile. Like you always do. Like yesterday. Repress it, bury it. Forget it.'
But Dahila had been right. He wasn't like Kai. He wasn't a saint, not even close. He felt hate—raw, searing hate. He didn't care about understanding others the way Kai did. He had every right to kill that bastard Gunlaug.
So why didn't the pain in his chest fade?
"Just… leave me alone!" His fist slammed into the ground. The cracks spread outward like a spider's web, fractures deepening with each tremor.
His breathing turned ragged. He slowly dragged a hand to his lips, forcing his mouth into a crooked smile. A brittle chuckle escaped, his voice pitching back into its usual childish tone.
"I just have to wait for tomorrow," he whispered. "Then… then i-it will all end…"
**
In the cold light of dawn, a gargantuan crimson tower was rising from the Labyrinth. From this distance, it looked like a bloodied sword that some primordial titan had thrust into the heavens.
The crimson coral streamed from its walls like the blood of gods, spreading out from the base of the Spire to devour all of the Forgotten Shore.
The sleepers all gathered in front of Changing Star. This was perhaps their last moment to rest.
For the past week, the 800 hundred of them had traversed the Labyrinth to reach this place. Some had perished along the way, but not as many as he had expected. For that short journey, luck had been on their side.
In these days, they had slaughtered countless Nightmare Creatures and somehow managed to avoid attracting the wrath of the dwellers of the deep. They had seen the headless statue of the Lord that stood halfway between the Dark City and the Crimson Spire, and many other wondrous and terrible things.
And now, they had almost reached their goal.
People were busy preparing for the battle. The dread they had felt at dawn, after looking at the Crimson Spire, which was now so close, turned into grim determination and resolve. Everyone was making final preparations. Some were checking their armor and weapons for the last time. Some were hurriedly building makeshift fortifications.
Some were praying, begging the dead gods to save their lives.
"This is it!" Nephis declared, standing on a jagged rock that served as her stage. Her posture was rigid, face carefully blank, scanning the sea of expectant faces until they landed on Asher and the cohort. The silence pressed in. She drew a slow breath, closed her eyes, and opened them again—steel in the gaze.
She had mentally prepared herself for this.
"Before we begin," she said, voice level and formal, "there is something I must confess."
A hush of curiosity rippled through the crowd. Nephis let the pause stretch long enough to make people lean forward, then dropped the line with the same neutral cadence she used for orders.
"I'm a man."
The camp broke.
Effie actually fell off the log she was sitting on, wheezing. Sunny covered his mouth but a strangled snort slipped out. Cassie's lips trembled as if she was physically holding laughter back. The rest of the Sleepers gawked, somewhere between scandalized and stunned.
"…What?"
"Wait, what—?"
"Lady Nephis is… Sir?"
Unmoved, Nephis lifted one hand, face still carved from stone. "From now on, I forbid anyone from calling me 'Lady Nephis.' You will address me only as—Sir Nephis."
That was it—the crowd cracked. Chuckles and cackles spilled through the group, no longer containable. Even those trying to stay composed shook with laughter. Nephis allowed herself the smallest sigh, as though enduring the sound of fools.
She flicked her gaze toward Asher, expecting at least a reaction. Nothing. He wasn't laughing, wasn't even smirking—just smiling faintly, like he wasn't the one who wanted to see... this?
The sight prickled under Nephis' skin.
Well. That wouldn't do. After all, she needed some sort of excuse to kill him.
She narrowed her eyes and added, her voice pointed like a dagger aimed straight at him:
"Also… if anyone here needs relationship advice… I—I am your ma–man."
Silence slammed back into the room. The words hung there, people blinking.
Asher, who had been the picture of composure, blinked once, then threw his head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained. The mob answered in a single breath; the laughter swelled until any voice was muffled with just laughs.
Heat rose in Nephis' cheeks. The facade cracked, just for a second, and she felt the blood rush hot and furious to her face.
She met Asher's eyes, and mouthed, calm as winter: "Good, I can kill him."
________________________
[A/N: Also, I did want to change the title of the book from 'Not a very laid back life' to something else. I do remember someone suggesting me to change it to: "The Eighth" And I thought it was pretty cool.
Cool.
Nah.
If you guys have any suggestions you welcome to say it here. (I do not want new readers to have spoilers like Dream Heir or etc.)
Thanks for following this fanfic for 85 chapters!!! And I promise you, it will only get better!]