"It's over."
The black-haired man with a cross-shaped scar on his forehead pointed his sword at Dalton.
That man was Adrian Hart—once believed by everyone to be a savior sent directly from heaven.
He was said to have been chosen to guide mankind in eradicating the hollows and ending the Eternal Night.
And why not? Adrian bore the Dragonaut Sword as his birthmark. He had been chosen as the avatar of the God of Light.
Adrian was diligent, never wasting what he had.
And above all else, he maintained good relations with everyone.
Though born as a commoner, his popularity was so great that it united both the noble and military factions—groups that had been at odds for decades.
No one could have expected him to turn against them.
No one—except Dalton Becker. Dalton knew that behind Adrian's selfless smile lay a mountain of filthy secrets.
The first time Dalton realized it was when Adrian secretly possessed another birthmark.
A dagger with a curved blade and an elegant brownish hilt, neatly hidden inside Adrian's dormitory wardrobe.
At first Dalton thought Adrian was merely a weapon enthusiast and intended to leave it at that—until he noticed a faint engraving at the base of the hilt.
So small and obscure it could only be seen if one looked closely.
But Dalton had found it.
Three interlocked ovals with connected arcs. The Triquetra. A sacred symbol of the Blasphemers.
Those who allied with the Hollows, worshiping the Abomination together.
Humans whose twisted hearts had been corrupted—those who longed for the Eternal Night rather than feared its coming.
Dalton confronted Adrian. He demanded that the man confess before everyone and apologize for the lies he had spread.
Otherwise, Dalton would expose it himself.
But Adrian had only laughed. "Then expose it," he said mockingly. "Let's see who they'll believe—you, the avatar of a cursed god, or me, the avatar of the God of Light?"
Adrian was confident Dalton would falter. And Dalton did falter.
The god who chose you was said to reflect your soul and your rightful place in the world.
The God of Light, who had chosen Adrian, was revered as one of the highest deities—a divine being said to have created the world alongside six other major gods.
But the god who chose Dalton… was neither popular nor beloved. In fact, he was feared.
The God of Nightmares. A being said to prey upon children and revel in their screams.
The same being who had given him this Heavenly Gift:
[Misfortune]
Absorb debuffs from your surroundings.
Note:
You will still feel the effects of the debuffs, though reduced by half.
Being exposed to debuffs does not grant you immunity to them.
Just being the avatar of the God of Nightmares was enough to brand him a pariah.
With [Misfortune]? He was little more than a walking shield.
Still, Dalton never gave up. He trained twice as hard. Read more books. Absorbed every lesson with precision.
And it paid off: he ranked third overall in the Starborn Academy.
Something Adrian himself, who ranked fifth, could not achieve.
But achievement did not equal popularity.
So when Dalton ignored Adrian's intimidation and told the truth to others, they… mocked him instead.
"Stop spouting nonsense, trash."
"Look how jealousy has turned him into something so pitiful."
"You really are rotten to the core."
Even those closest to him reacted the same way.
His younger sister, who had always been close to him since childhood, said: "Is this just to get my attention? You know what, it won't work! From now on, don't talk to me again!"
His childhood friend echoed it: "You've gone too far! Your hatred for Adrian makes no sense, but to accuse him of being a Blasphemer? That's beyond limits!"
Even his fiancée—the woman who was supposed to be his future wife—said: "Perfect timing. I wanted to break our engagement but didn't have a good reason. Now you've given me one. I hate liars, and I refuse to marry one. Goodbye."
Instead of heeding Dalton's warning, the three of them openly joined Adrian's admirers.
Rumors whispered that Adrian was courting all three, along with many other women.
With promises of eternal peace and everlasting glory, they fell to his rotten charm.
Alongside other top graduates of the Starborn Academy, they formed the Enlightened Group, openly fighting the Hollows.
Dalton? His title as top scholar meant nothing to the Becker family, who valued strength above all else.
His god's brand made him an outcast.
Even when Dalton threw himself into training his combat skills and aura, it yielded no real progress.
Not with [Misfortune] as his skill.
Then ten years passed. And the Enlightened Group was annihilated—by Adrian himself.
With all the power he had amassed, Adrian began the Eternal Night ritual.
Hollows poured forth from every shadow, devouring humans, beasts, all life itself.
And, as the name implied, it brought absolute darkness to the earth.
The last remnants of resistance fought back in vain. However, the Abomination's influence was too strong—especially with Adrian, once the strongest of men, now standing as its champion.
Among the dead were those once closest to Dalton, killed gruesomely.
His sister, sprawled nearby with eyes wide open, her throat slit.
His childhood friend, impaled against a tree with stab wounds all over her body.
His fiancée—Theresia Dahr, once hailed as the strongest woman in Anastasia—lay butchered into pieces.
And seated among them was Dalton himself. The one who had tried to warn them from the very beginning.
The one they had ignored when he spoke the truth.
Foolish. If only Dalton had been born with a stronger Gift. If only he hadn't been the unwanted bastard. If only it hadn't been the God of Nightmares who marked him.
"You were too naïve, Dalton Becker," Adrian said, cold and inhuman. "Had you struck me back then instead of confronting me, you might have had a chance to slow this, even if only a little. It was your negligence, your naïveté, that killed those you loved—and brought about this apocalypse."
Adrian was right. Dalton had been an outcast, yes—but never weak.
People avoided him out of fear, not because he was powerless.
He might have struck Adrian back then, inflicted a fatal wound, slowed his growth.
However…
"You know I would never do that."
Adrian sneered with contempt. "Were you too afraid to kill me? See how your cowardice has led to this—"
"Not because I feared killing. No. I dreamed of killing you every day. I envied you. You, a mere commoner, someone fate should have ignored, yet you were given everything.
"Me? I was born into Anastasia's great clan. I had wealth, resources, status. You should have envied me.
"That's why I couldn't comprehend, when I first found that damned dagger. You had everything I wanted. You were fate's chosen! And yet you betrayed it all, spat on the world's trust. Why?"
Adrian sighed. "Then let me tell you a truth, Becker. Since your story ends here regardless. I… am a regressor."
"What?" Dalton grit his teeth. "Don't joke with me."
Regression—the mythical power said to belong only to the long-dead God of Time. The ability to return to the past.
But Adrian's eyes held no sign of deceit.
They reflected a conviction solid as stone. "I've lived through this cycle not tens, not hundreds, but thousands of times. And every time, the world collapses. The Eternal Night cannot be stopped."
Dalton clenched his fists. "So you gave up? You chose to ally with the Hollows? Out of despair?"
"Easy for you to say, when you've never endured my suffering. I… have watched those I loved die before my very eyes, thousands of times. A fate unchangeable no matter how hard I tried."
Adrian's gaze turned hollow, haunted by unbearable grief.
A grief so raw Dalton almost felt a pang of sorrow himself.
"The Abomination promised to release me from regression… if I hastened the Eternal Night."
Dalton froze. That was his reason?
No—it was selfishness, nothing more.
Adrian didn't care if everyone died, so long as it ended his own suffering.
The man once exalted as untouchable was nothing more than a coward—lower than dog filth.
"The Eternal Night reaches perfection when the last life is extinguished. Our deaths will complete it." Adrian's dagger plunged into Dalton's gut. "So die."
Agonizing heat spread through Dalton's body—but the first cry came not from him, but from Adrian.
Adrian looked down at Dalton's hand by his shoulder, stabbing a syringe into his neck filled with a gray liquid.
Adrian's eyes went wide. "You…"
He shoved Dalton away, ripping the syringe free and tossing it aside, clutching at his neck. "What… what have you done?"
His panic was justified.
That potion had many names: Water of Life. The Goddess's Tears. The World's Genesis.
But it was best known as the Elixir of Immortality.
Hidden in the secluded valleys of Cremazon—the ruins of a fallen nation in southern Anastasia.
To retrieve it, Dalton had endured countless trials. Poisoned food. Venomous beasts. Becoming patient zero for incurable plagues.
At least [Misfortune] dulled the worst effects.
Through ten years of alchemical study, he managed to refine the potion—though imperfectly.
It could extend life by a century, fortify the body against all disease and debuffs.
Dalton had intended to use it on himself, to offset his worthless skill.
But now, with the Eternal Night already upon them, what use was life prolonged?
And yet—he'd found a better use for it now.
"You're too naïve, Adrian Hart."
Adrian, still hysterical, glared at him. "What?"
"You should have struck my vital points. Ended me quickly. Your carelessness will cost you."
Adrian staggered toward him, eyes blazing. "I'll kill you! No, I'll make you beg for death first!"
But Dalton only smiled.
He pulled Adrian's dagger from his gut.
[Misfortune] dulled the pain enough to keep him standing.
Enough to say his final words.
"Enjoy the Eternal Night you longed for, filthy Blasphemer."
Then he slashed his own wrist.
Blood poured freely. Adrian rushed to stop it, using his divine healing as the Avatar of Light.
But Dalton plunged the dagger into his own neck.
The searing pain tore away his consciousness.
Three seconds later, Dalton lay dead.