The soft knock resonated, a gentle pulse in the serene chamber, a stark contrast to the thunderous climax of Mount Hwangsan. "Young master, are you awake? The academy awaits." The voice was clear, feminine, almost melodic, an incongruous melody in the ear of a man who had just drowned in the screams of a thousand dying warriors.
Academy? Young master? The words were foreign, an irritating hum against the raw edges of his recent death. He, Cheon Hajin, the Neck-Slashing Demonic Emperor, reduced to some pampered noble's spawn? His senses, accustomed to the metallic tang of blood and the acrid bite of scorched earth, recoiled from the cloying sweetness of jasmine that permeated the air. This room, with its polished wooden walls and paper screens, was a prison of tranquility, utterly unlike the stark, battle-scarred landscape he had just left. Every nerve ending in his body, every fiber of his being, still hummed with the phantom echoes of his past, a stark reminder of the end of his last, brutal life. His defiance, honed over two lives of betrayal and brutal survival, now felt… different. Not a coil of fury, but a spring of cautious, almost hopeful, determination.
He pushed off the impossibly soft bed, the pristine white robes feeling alien against his skin. They were too clean, too delicate, a mockery of the tattered, blood-soaked black robes that had been his second skin for decades. His hand flew instinctively to his chest, seeking the familiar, comforting weight of Reonhwa's pendant—his anchor, his constant reminder. It was gone. A phantom ache blossomed in his chest, quick and sharp, mirroring the physical void. His qi, the raging black storm that had defined his existence, was utterly, terrifyingly absent. He probed within, searching for the familiar currents, the very essence of his being, but found nothing. No muffled hum, no restrained beast. It was simply… gone. As if it had never existed. This world, this body, offered no trace of it.
He strode towards the mirror, a large, polished surface of gleaming glass set in a dark wooden frame, a luxury far beyond anything he'd known in the Murim. His reflection stared back, and the air froze in his lungs.
It was him, yet it wasn't.
The face was undoubtedly his, younger, unlined by the countless battles and the constant strain of demonic cultivation. But the hair… it was no longer the long, silver-streaked cascade of Cheon Hajin, the mark of his relentless use of the Thousand Demonic Arts. Instead, a shock of golden-blonde hair, slightly tousled, framed his face, catching the flickering lantern light like spun gold. It was vibrant, almost impossibly bright, a stark contrast to the darkness that had once defined him.
And his eyes. They were the most jarring. His left eye, on the viewer's left, was a striking, luminous royal purple, shimmering with an ethereal glow. His right eye, on the viewer's right, was an abyss—a solid, unyielding black, devoid of pupil or iris, reflecting no light, only consuming it. Heterochromia. Not the piercing crimson of his Demonic Emperor days, but something entirely new, utterly alien, yet undeniably his. He stared, mesmerized and horrified, by the stark, beautiful dichotomy. This wasn't a trick of light; it was a fundamental shift.
"This is… different," he rasped, the words thick with a strange mix of fear and a burgeoning, almost manic, optimism. This wasn't the Murim, nor another transmigration into a world he despised for its false righteousness. No, this was far more intricate, more layered. The golden hair, the dual-colored eyes… the pieces clicked into place with a horrifying certainty that was quickly tempered by a surge of desperate hope. He was a human, a spirit forged in blood and betrayal, yet this new body, this vessel, was twisting him into something else. The features weren't his; they were marks of the entity taking root within him, but perhaps… perhaps this time, he could control it.
GoldenFrisk2.
The name, despised and loathed, clawed its way from the depths of Maximilian De Santa's gamer memories, a gacha-addict's nightmare of RNG, waifu banners, and mind-numbing dialogue trees. He'd lived and died obsessed with The Way to Break Fate, a brutal Murim novel. This was the twisted hell of a dating sim he'd always scoffed at.
Rudelion Von Thaumiel. The Hidden Final Boss. The Demon God who only awakens if the player eliminates all the Evil Gods prematurely. A secret route so unfair, most players never even discovered it. He was not a player. He was not a protagonist. He was not even a background extra. He was the end-game calamity, pre-destined to be cut down by some pixelated hero, a walking 'Bad End' trigger. And he was the vessel. His very body was being reshaped, corrupted, to contain this demonic power.
A cold wave of dread washed over him, briefly threatening to drown him. Three lives. Three cycles of misery. From a washed-up gamer, to a mongrel, to a Demonic Emperor, to… this. A puppet in a rigged game, cursed with an appearance that screamed 'villain' in this saccharine world, and a physical transformation that stole away his very human essence. His fists clenched, but this time, the trembling was not just fury, but a desperate yearning for a different path. He had embraced the Demonic Path to defy fate, only to be tossed into a new cage. His physical form, once a canvas of Murim-forged strength, was now a parody of divinity, branded with the very aesthetic of his predestined role, a shell being inhabited.
But just as the shadows threatened to consume him whole, a blinding, ethereal light bloomed directly within his mind, not physical, but purely mental, overwhelming his senses. A pulse of raw energy surged through him, sharp and undeniable, like something deep within him was being rewritten from the inside out.
[System Protocol Initiating...]
The words formed, sharp and clear, in a void that was both within his skull and spread across his vision. He stiffened, his breath hitching as a flood of data cascaded, line after line of glowing text scrolling before his eyes. The very framework of his reality within this body was being altered.
[Previous Existential Framework Detected...][Incompatible System Signature: Identified.][System Re-calibration in Progress: Prioritizing Host Survival...]
A low hum vibrated through his core, his very essence feeling stretched and re-forged. This wasn't just an interface; it was a direct assault, or perhaps, a fundamental upgrade to his existence within this world.
—----------------------------------
[System Overhaul: Host Adaptation Protocol...] ▶ External Narrative Control...Terminated ▶ Host's Existential Chains...Disconnected ▶ Predetermined Role Directives...Bypassed ▶ Independent Volition Matrix...Restored ▶ Host's Adaptive Drive...Optimized
—----------------------------------
He felt a profound shift, a distinct loosening of unseen chains that had bound his consciousness. The chaotic impulses of the nascent Demon God within him seemed to recede, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity that was distinctly his. He was still a vessel, but the System was somehow granting him autonomy within that vessel.
[Cognitive Integration Parameters...] ▶ Processing Speed Calibration... Unable to influence! [Error Detected: Host Cognitive Integrity Exceeds Parameters.][System Overhaul Interrupted.]
A sudden jolt ran through his mind, like static crackling along the edges of his consciousness. The glowing text that had been streaming so smoothly across his vision glitched, lines of data flickering and distorting.
—----------------------------------
[Cognitive Integration Parameters...] ▶ Processing Speed Calibration...Unable to influence! ▶ Strategic Planning Efficiency...Unable to influence! ▶ Instinctive Combat Aptitude...Unable to influence! ▶ Willpower Imposition Resistance...Unable to influence! [Warning: System's current operational capacity is insufficient to modify host's intrinsic cognitive architecture.][Host's mental framework demonstrably superior to current system modification thresholds.]
—----------------------------------
A slow, delighted grin stretched his lips, one that felt genuinely joyful, despite the circumstances. He actually chuckled, a sound devoid of the previous madness, now tinged with genuine amusement and profound relief.
"OHH THANKS TO THE HEAVENS AND GOD ALMIGHTY I FINALLY HAVE A SYSTEM OF MY OWN—HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!"
His laughter, a raw peal of triumph, echoed with a profound sense of vindication and a burgeoning hope. The emptiness he'd felt was abruptly filled, not with peace, but with a new, vibrant purpose. Meta knowledge. Final boss power. And an overpowered System interface that couldn't even control his own mind, proving his inherent strength. This Gacha hell might be rigged, but he wasn't just another RNG roll. He was the one who would break the wheel, not with senseless destruction, but with calculated precision to secure his own future.
If the Gacha was hell… then he'd play it better than anyone. He'd survive. He'd find his redemption, not through some grand heroic act for others, but by saving himself from this cursed narrative. He wouldn't follow the story. He wouldn't accept his role. Not this time. Never again.
Rudelion's mind, a labyrinth of strategies and dark calculations, spun through every detail he remembered about GoldenFrisk2. He had played The Way to Break Fate religiously, dissecting its complex Murim world. But GoldenFrisk2 was different. It was the antithesis of everything he admired in a game: a vapid dating sim with thinly veiled gacha mechanics, where luck trumped skill and character depth was sacrificed for anime tropes. He'd only ever heard about it in passing, scoffing at its popularity among casual gamers. Now, he was trapped in its very core, a visual manifestation of its ultimate 'bad end.'
The SYSTEM interface, still glowing faintly in his peripheral vision, promised "Forbidden Authority" and "Survival Mode." These were terms alien to GoldenFrisk2's original lore, which focused on "Affection Points," "Date Events," and "Character Routes" for its dating sim elements, while its combat revolved around acquiring different character "costumes" or "units." This bespoke system, designed for him, was a blatant anomaly. It confirmed his suspicion: he wasn't merely in the game, he was something beyond it, an unexpected variable. A glitch. Or perhaps, a hidden feature meant to be activated by a player's profound hatred for dating sims.
His "qi," the life force he'd cultivated through countless battles and the brutal Thousand Demonic Arts, was utterly gone. There was no remnant, no echo of that power within him. He was not suppressed; he was reset. He now understood: this world simply did not operate on qi. Instead, a new, subtle energy hummed within him. He probed within, and felt the faint, unfamiliar flow of Mana, the lifeblood of magic in this world. And deeper still, a resonant thrum of what he instinctively recognized as Blood Imprint, a genetic or inherent power tied to his bloodline, a concept utterly foreign to the Murim. The Demon God's power, the very force making him a vessel, was clearly manifesting as a potent, concentrated form of this world's Mana, infused with the unique properties of the Thaumiel family's Blood Imprint. His internal power was no longer his own Demonic Qi, but a new, terrifyingly potent blend of this world's energies. He was no longer a martial artist, but a nascent sorcerer, a vessel of immense, raw Arcane power.
This System, then, was his guide to surviving in a world where his entire previous existence's power system was null and void. His Murim qi might be gone, but this system promised authority. Authority meant control. And control was something he craved above all else. He was no longer the Demonic Emperor in a world of martial arts, but he was Rudelion Von Thaumiel, the human vessel for the hidden final boss, in a world that apparently ran on gacha mechanics. If he was a boss, then he had abilities. If there was a system, there were rules to exploit.
The knock came again, a little louder. "Young master, the headmaster expects you," the voice outside the door said, firmer this time. "You mustn't be late for the orientation ceremony."
An academy. Rudelion recalled the sparse lore he'd gleaned about GoldenFrisk2's world-building. It was set in the prestigious 'Aethelred Royal Academy,' a place where nobles, mages, and heroes-in-training gathered. A breeding ground for protagonists and heroines. A target-rich environment. His lips curled. He'd always preferred to operate from the shadows, dismantling his enemies from within. This 'academy' could be his new training ground—a place to gather information, to subtly influence, to prepare for the inevitable clash with whatever 'hero' was meant to defeat him. The distinct character 'costumes' or 'units' he knew from game lore implied that a character's role and abilities could change drastically depending on their 'form'—a concept that resonated deeply with his own forced transformation.
He looked at his reflection again, running a hand through his unfamiliar golden hair. His eyes, the royal purple and abyssal black, were a stark, undeniable declaration of his otherness, a brand. This wasn't a disguise; this was a fundamental change imposed upon him. The human shell of Kang Woojin/Cheon Hajin, the hardened warrior, had been shed for the true form of Rudelion Von Thaumiel's vessel, the nascent Demon God. It felt… wrong. His previous forms had always been adaptations, masks he chose to wear. This, perhaps, was his true face in this strange, new reality, but it was not his face. It was a face of the demonic, yet he was still undeniably human underneath, trapped within this growing monstrosity. It was a face that belonged to the shadows, yet was bathed in the harsh light of a superficial world.
He mentally scrolled through the general GoldenFrisk2 plot points he vaguely remembered. The game revolved around a generic male protagonist (or female, depending on player choice) enrolling in the academy, befriending various heroines, and eventually uncovering a hidden conspiracy of "Evil Gods" that threatened the world. The goal was to defeat these gods and save the world, all while building up "Affection Points" with the heroines to unlock their "Good Endings." If the player failed to defeat the Evil Gods, or chose a specific "Evil Path" ending, Rudelion would awaken as the true final boss, far more powerful than any of the "Evil Gods" combined. He was the "bad end" to end all bad ends.
And now, he was Rudelion's vessel. The game hadn't even started its main plot, judging by the mention of "orientation." This meant he was early. Very early. This was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because he had time to prepare, to understand this world's new Mana and Blood Imprint power systems, and to twist the plot to his advantage, using his knowledge of the game's various story packs and branching narratives to anticipate future events. A curse because… well, he was stuck in a dating sim. And dating sims, from Maximilian's perspective, were an affront to his sensibilities. Flirting, forced emotional bonds, pointless dialogue trees leading to "Good Endings" that were never truly earned. He preferred the brutal honesty of the Murim, where strength and cunning determined survival, not whether you picked the right flower for a girl.
A low growl of anticipation rumbled in his throat. This was a challenge. A more intricate, more ridiculous challenge than any Grand Elder or coalition army he'd faced. But a challenge nonetheless. He was Cheon Hajin, the Neck-Slashing Demonic Emperor, the human who had defied the heavens and carved his own path. He wouldn't be reduced to a side-character, a mere obstacle for some bland protagonist to overcome. He would shatter this game. He would become the true "Protagonist of Redemption" for himself, securing his own survival.
He extended his hand, focusing, trying to manifest the nascent Mana and Blood Imprint within him. No black aura, no burning sensation, no raw Demonic Tempest. Instead, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of purple and black light appeared around his fingers, like faint starlight, echoing the colors of his eyes. This was the nascent Arcana of this world, the Demon God's power filtering through his human vessel, manifested as raw Mana and refined Blood Imprint. It was weak, nascent, but it was something. A new form of energy, tied to his new identity, to the SYSTEM. This wasn't qi, not as he knew it. This was… Arcana. The dominant power system of this world, a blend of magic and inherent spiritual energy. He remembered vaguely that Rudelion, as the Demon God, commanded powerful Arcana, specifically 'Void' and 'Abyssal' elements, which aligned perfectly with the black and purple of his new eyes. His previous life's essence was the raw material, now being refined into this world's power, a crucible of his Murim might being transmuted into something else entirely. It felt like his very essence was being re-coded, repackaged for this new, absurd existence, and he felt a strange mix of apprehension and eagerness.
"Progress," he muttered, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, which now seemed to glow faintly, the purple more vibrant, the black deeper than any shadow. He wasn't helpless. He wasn't powerless. The System was activated, his new form was manifesting, and he had a vast library of meta-knowledge in his head. He had to assume the System was designed to help him survive, perhaps even thrive as Rudelion's vessel. This wasn't a punishment, but a new game, with new rules, and he was the one holding all the cheat codes.
He pulled up the System interface again. A series of tabs appeared:
[PROFILE]
[SKILLS]
[QUESTS]
[GACHA]
[SETTINGS]
Gacha. The word still struck him, but now with a strategic glint in his eye rather than pure disgust. He despised gacha mechanics, the random chance, the manipulative psychology behind it, a system designed to extract wealth and obsession. GoldenFrisk2's gacha, he knew from meta-knowledge, centered around acquiring and enhancing character "costumes" or "units" for other protagonists. But his System specifically stated it only affected him. This was different. His gacha, if it truly only worked on his stats and abilities, was a direct path to personal power.
He tapped the "GACHA" tab. A confirmation window appeared.
[GACHA: PERSONAL ENHANCEMENT PROTOCOL]This Gacha system is exclusively linked to Host: Rudelion Von Thaumiel.It draws from the foundational Arcana of this world to modify Host's inherent stats, unlock new abilities, and refine existing skills.It does NOT provide external units, companions, or material goods.
A slow smile, genuinely pleased, spread across Rudelion's face. This was perfect. This was exactly what he needed. No reliance on fickle allies, no wasting resources on digital companions. This was raw, direct power acquisition for himself. This truly was "Survival Mode."
He briefly considered the "PROFILE" tab. His status, his stats. He didn't need to see them yet. He knew he was powerful as a vessel, but also contained. And he knew his weaknesses from the game's lore: a reliance on his awakened form, a susceptibility to certain 'holy' or 'heroic' Arcana if he wasn't careful, especially elemental types like Light or Fire that would likely counter his Dark/Void affinities, typical of this game's combat system. He would address those in time, strengthening himself, not through painful qi deviations, but through whatever arcane methods this world offered, leveraging this unique gacha. His blonde hair was an odd banner, his eyes a warning. He would embody Rudelion Von Thaumiel, and then he would shatter him, or at least, wrestle control from the entity he now housed, using its power for his own survival.
The most pressing concern was the "QUESTS" tab. What kind of quests would a dating sim final boss have? Date the heroines? Build affection? He shuddered at the thought. No, his System was "Survival Mode." It had to be different. It had to be about his goals, not the game's.
He tapped the "QUESTS" tab. A single, ominous entry appeared:
[MAIN QUEST: DEFY FATE]Status: ActiveObjective: Prevent your predetermined defeat by the 'Protagonist' of this world. Secure personal 'True Freedom' from the narrative.Reward: Unknown (Likely Existential Autonomy)Failure Condition: Death / Narrative Lock-In as Antagonist
A smile, cold and satisfied, spread across Rudelion's face. This was it. This was his path. Not affection points, but defiance. Not good endings, but true freedom from the narrative confines of GoldenFrisk2's convoluted story. This System understood him. It understood the core of his being, the burning desire to reject all chains, all predetermined destinies. This was a battleground for his very existence, a continuation of his war against fate itself. The Defy Fate quest was literally the story of his last two lives, condensed into a digital objective. He felt a surge of grim purpose, now infused with a strange happiness at the clarity of his redemption.
He scrolled down. Underneath the main quest, a new notification had appeared, smaller, but equally significant:
[Sub-Quest: Immediate Integration]Status: ActiveObjective: Successfully attend the Aethelred Royal Academy Orientation Ceremony without raising undue suspicion.Reward: Initial Academy Information, 1x Gacha Ticket (Common)Failure Condition: Overtly Disruptive Behavior / Exposure of 'Forbidden Authority' / Immediate Death Flag Trigger
A faint chuckle escaped him, the sound dry and devoid of humor. Of course. The System, for all its grand promises, still insisted on starting him off with a mundane 'academy attendance' quest. A test of his adaptability. Or perhaps, a way to force him into the narrative's starting point so he could better dismantle it. The "Common Gacha Ticket" was a welcome sight, a tangible resource to begin enhancing himself immediately.
Undue suspicion. That was the key. His new appearance, his new voice, his altered Arcana. He needed to act the part. Rudelion Von Thaumiel. A noble, a potential rival to the protagonist, but not an immediate threat. He had to blend in, observe, and gather intelligence. His years of infiltration and political maneuvering in the Murim world, his mastery of reverse psychology and dark personality types, would serve him well here. He was a master of deception, a strategist who could turn any situation to his advantage, even with blonde hair, purple and black eyes. He would have to learn to manipulate this appearance, to use it as another layer of his disguise, a calculated distraction.
He closed the System interface, its faint glow dissipating. The knock on the door came again, more insistent. "Young master Rudelion, are you truly well? I can call for the healers if you are feeling unwell."
The concern in the voice was genuine, laced with a hint of anxiety. Rudelion mentally reviewed any known lore about Rudelion's early life. He was described as a reclusive, sickly noble in the early game, suffering from a mysterious ailment that kept him confined. This explained the 'Young master' address, the concern, and his current confinement. This 'ailment' was likely the initial stages of his Demon God awakening, a slow corruption of his human vessel, a process that the game's narrative would dismiss as a rare illness. His startling new appearance – the vivid heterochromia – was probably a symptom of this 'sickness.'
He needed to project an image. A sickly noble who was now, perhaps, feeling slightly better, but still frail enough to avoid immediate scrutiny or demands on his 'powers.' He couldn't go bursting out of the room, radiating overwhelming Mana, cursing the heavens, and demanding to know where his Bloodreaver was. That would trigger all the 'death flags' the System warned against. He ran a hand over his blonde hair, trying to smooth it down, a gesture that felt foreign, like trying to tame a wild beast with a feather.
"I am well, Eleanor," he replied, his voice still a little hoarse from his recent transmigration, but attempting to inject a touch of aristocratic languor. He recognized the name 'Eleanor' from some minor lore entries; she was a devoted maidservant to the Thaumiel household, known for her unwavering loyalty and gentle demeanor. She was harmless. For now.
He walked to the door and opened it slowly, allowing her to see him. Eleanor, a woman with kind eyes and sensible brown hair pulled into a neat bun, stood outside, holding a tray with a small, delicate breakfast. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him. Her gaze lingered for a fraction of a second on his unique eyes, before quickly flitting away, as if she had not seen anything out of the ordinary, or perhaps had simply dismissed it as a trick of the light, a symptom of his chronic illness.
"Young master! You are… awake. And out of bed!" Her relief was palpable, mixed with a hint of surprise. Perhaps he was rarely out of bed so early. Her quick glance confirmed that his new features, while striking, were perhaps subtle enough, or sufficiently explained by his supposed 'illness,' that they wouldn't immediately cause a panic.
"Indeed. A rather… invigorating rest," he lied smoothly, forcing a small, polite smile, a gesture that felt alien on his lips, accustomed to sneers and battle-hardened scowls. He felt the muscles of his face protest the unfamiliar expression. "I feel unusually lucid today. The academy, you say? I must prepare."
Eleanor's smile brightened, a genuine warmth radiating from her. "Oh, that's wonderful news, young master! Your father, Duke Thaumiel, will be so pleased. I've laid out your academy uniform. It's on your chaise."
Uniform. More indignities. He looked down at the pristine white robes he wore. These were too simple, too plain for a 'young master' of a prominent house. He scanned the room, finding the uniform Eleanor mentioned. It was a dark, elegant ensemble, adorned with gold braiding and the crest of the Thaumiel household: a stylized lion. It seemed his new identity was literally etched into his very being and his surroundings, a constant, subtle reminder of the demonic entity he housed, now symbolized by the powerful lion.
"Thank you, Eleanor. You may leave the breakfast. I will dress myself." His tone was polite but firm, dismissing her. He didn't need a servant fussing over him while he mentally cataloged every potential threat, every weakness in this new disguise, and every subtle shift in his own physiology, every tremor of the alien power within him.
As Eleanor curtsied and left, closing the door behind her, Rudelion's carefully constructed façade dissolved. His smile vanished, replaced by a grim line. He picked up a piece of fruit from the tray—a sweet, exotic fruit he didn't recognize—and bit into it, chewing slowly as his mind raced.
This "Duke Thaumiel" was his father in this life. A prominent noble, part of the Empire's ruling council, but a distant, cold figure in the game's lore. He rarely appeared, mostly just sending letters or messages to Rudelion. Good. Less interaction, less chance of being exposed. It was a convenient, if unloving, family dynamic for his purposes.
The academy itself was a hub of activity. The future heroes, the heroines, the various factions—all would be present. This was his opportunity to observe, to identify potential threats, and more importantly, understand the game's mechanics. Since his gacha was for personal power only, he wouldn't be "pulling" for allies. He needed to understand the environment, the characters, and how to manipulate them through cunning and intellect, not through game mechanics to acquire them. He was a master of deception, a strategist who could turn any situation to his advantage, even with blonde hair and purple and black eyes. He would have to learn to manipulate this appearance, to use it as another layer of his disguise, a calculated distraction.
He walked over to the uniform, picking up the jacket. The fabric was fine, luxurious, a stark contrast to the rough silks and leathers of the Murim. He put it on, feeling the weight of the crest over his heart, the embroidered lion a silent testament to the demonic nature seeping into his human form, now a symbol of noble power. Rudelion Von Thaumiel. A new name. A new beginning. A new game. A new set of rules to break, and a new identity he had to both embrace and defy.
He paused, a flicker of memory. Maximilian, hunched over his computer, muttering about RNG and hidden variables. "Every system has a loophole," he'd whispered to himself in his past life, amidst the dim glow of his screen. "Every game can be broken."
This was no different. This was just another game, albeit one with higher stakes. His life. His freedom. He wouldn't just survive; he would dominate. He would turn this dating sim into a war strategy game for his own personal redemption and survival, where the 'affection points' were merely a currency for manipulation, and the 'good endings' were paths to his ultimate triumph. He would find the true source of this transmigration, the entity that had dared to toy with his fate, and he would make them pay, regardless of the demonic essence that was now intertwined with his being. The royal purple and abyssal black of his eyes seemed to glow with this renewed resolve, a silent promise of calculated triumph to come.
He straightened his uniform, adjusted the collar. He glanced at his reflection one last time. The sickly noble facade was already starting to crumble, replaced by the latent power of the Demon God, which he, the human vessel, would learn to wield, now understanding its roots in Mana and Blood Imprint. He needed to keep that in check. For now.
He walked towards the door, his steps no longer tentative, but purposeful, the soft silk of his robes rustling with each determined stride. He didn't know what awaited him, but he knew one thing: he wouldn't be defeated. He wouldn't be a casualty. He was Cheon Hajin, the Neck-Slashing Demonic Emperor, the human vessel now playing the role of the final boss. And this academy, this world, this game... it was about to learn what happened when the final boss decided to play by his own rules, and rewrite the script with his own calculated moves towards survival and redemption. The scent of jasmine suddenly seemed like a challenge, not a comfort.