How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

Chapter 528: Grand Ball.

Deep into the night, where the silver moon barely pierced through the shadowy veil cloaking the academy’s darker corners, a lone student walked with deliberate, hushed steps.

Her presence barely made a sound.

Wrapped in the stillness, her trembling hand clutched the pendant around her neck—a dark crystal encased in ancient silver.

It pulsed softly in alternating hues of sickly green and blood red, its glow casting eerie reflections on her pale face.

Her eyes mirrored the pendant’s glow—one green, the other red—shimmering with fear and devotion in equal measure.

She passed through a series of illusionary barriers, each one flickering as if the very air warped around her.

No ordinary person could see them, much less cross.

These wards bent the world around them, hiding what should never be seen by those uninitiated.

Finally, she arrived.

A circular, decrepit space hidden beneath the crumbling alcoves of the eastern wing—once a storage yard, now a forsaken altar.

The stone beneath her feet was blackened, etched with infernal runes that pulsed like veins.

And in the center—

It waited.

“T-T-T-T-R-R-R-IIISHHHAA-AAA-AA????”

A voice that didn’t sound like it came from a throat.

More like it was squeezed through a thousand broken flutes.

It screeched, gurgled, and chuckled at once—a chorus of madness.

A grotesque clown-like entity stood at the heart of the ruin, its body twisted with impossible joints and stitched-together limbs.

Its head tilted a hundred and eighty degrees in one smooth, slow twist, its eyes widening in glee as they landed on the girl.

Its mouth opened in a too-wide grin, revealing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth, each one wet with ink and blood.

Colors—sickly greens, toxic purples, and blistering oranges—floated and flickered over its body like shifting graffiti, never settling.

In its crooked hands was a crimson-black notebook, pages already filled with moving text and diagrams that slithered like worms across the paper.

The demon never stopped writing, its pen scratching as though it were etching directly into someone’s soul.

Trisha dropped to her knees, her breathing uneven.

She dared not speak.

She cast only a glancing look at the notebook—and immediately regretted it. Her body locked up, her chest tightened.

Her thoughts frayed.

She nearly screamed.

It was only a glance—but it was enough.

She didn’t understand what she saw.

She couldn’t.

Her brain refused to process it, refused to make sense of the warped geometry, the symbols that changed shape when you tried to remember them, and the names—oh gods, the names written in bone and ash.

She gulped, her throat dry as sand.

Her entire being quaked beneath the weight of that book’s presence alone.

If she had to guess—if she dared to guess—it was likely the Domain Marble.

The demonic relic that only the high initiates of their cult whispered about.

A forbidden artifact, said to allow demons to reconstruct reality itself within their dimensional spheres.

A personal domain. A reality rewrite zone where everything bent to their will.

The rules of the world—physics, time, even death—held no meaning inside one.

She had thought it was a myth.

She had thought a lot of things were myths.

But tonight… was proof of how wrong she was.

“I-I have completed my mission, oh great clown…”

Her voice trembled, not just from fear, but from anticipation.

The alley thickened with a presence—not fog, not smoke, but a pressure, like reality itself was choking.

“KEKEKEKEKE… SEE I SEEE… I SEEEEEE…

PRECIOUS… FOUND?”

The clown-demon’s voice echoed like shattered glass rolling down a chalkboard.

It twisted through the air, its grotesque head twitching as if trying to look at her from angles no creature should.

“Yes…”

Trisha lowered her gaze, trying not to make eye contact with any of its eyes—the ones on its face, arms, chest, or the random ones that blinked open and closed across its skin like blooming sores.

She held out her trembling hands, revealing a tightly folded piece of parchment, stained with dried ink and small smudges of blood.

She had stolen it at great risk—drawn from hidden pockets, whispered conversations, magical probes. It had cost her dearly.

The clown-demon hissed in delight.

One of its elongated, jointless arms stretched unnaturally forward, like a serpent wrapped in flesh.

It plucked the paper between two long nails that looked more like scalpels.

“HMMMMMMmmmm…”

As it unfolded the parchment, the air around them seemed to waver—darkness deepened, and a distant choir of screams resonated like it was coming from behind a closed door somewhere far below the earth.

“It’s the list…” Trisha whispered, her voice taut with dread and pride. “The list of everyone Riley holds dear… everyone he’s ever considered precious.”

A low, guttural purr emerged from the demon’s form—if such an unholy thing could be called that.

Its chaotic, ever-changing face contorted into something resembling joy.

Colors warped across its skin. Symbols twisted and reshaped into curses.

It danced in place, erratic and spasming.

“STORY WRITTEN…

TRAGEDY READY…

PRECIOUS LOST…

MAJESTIC!”

It threw its many arms up in celebration, and hundreds of paper-thin shadows slithered across the floor in response.

Some of them bore fangs.

Others simply moaned.

Trisha stood still as the wind picked up, spiraling unnaturally within the sealed space.

Her long black coat fluttered around her, her eyes glowing brighter in contrast to the suffocating dark.

The demon bent down toward her, mouth slowly unhinging like a snake preparing to feed, but instead of devouring her…

It offered a hand.

“TRISHA…

DONE WELL.

REWARD… APPROPRIATE.”

Its voice grew still for once, heavy with a chilling seriousness.

“YOUR WISH…

TELL.”

Trisha stared at that impossibly stretched, blood-marked hand, the sigils dancing along its arm burning into her vision.

She smiled.

Not a mad smile.

Not even a victorious one.

But a solemn, aching one.

“As expected… instead of the goddess who never answers… you demons always listen. You give results. You give worth. You give people like me a voice.”

She stepped closer.

She knew she would burn.

She knew her soul would be altered, condemned.

But she didn’t care anymore.

“I wish…” she said, pressing her hand into the demon’s claw.

“I wish to meet the Great Father.”

For a moment, everything fell silent.

Even the demon stopped twitching.

And then it smiled.

Wider than it ever had before.

Its laugh was silent—but all the candles in the area it created exploded.

Then the demon opened its arms, and without a single second of warning, it grabbed Trisha and swallowed her whole—not just physically, but existentially.

The space they stood in cracked, as if reality itself glitched.

The pendant Trisha once wore dropped to the floor, smoldering with red ash, before dissolving into nothing.

And then… silence again.

Opening her eyes, Trisha’s mind trembled at the being in front of her….

It was a lady of utter pure darkness.

“G-Great father?”

“She will suffice for a short while…. your gift will be treasured Asmodeus….”

The great darkness’s words broke Trisha’s mind.

…

A week passed—just like that.

Time moved on, indifferent as ever.

And so did I.

My days resumed their usual rhythm at the academy:

Waking up earlier than most students, training with Seo in the mornings before the campus even stirred, reviewing theoretical formulas and memorizing complex spell structures for the upcoming exams.

‘To which, I still wonder what’s the point of, considering us knight department students…’

Mapping out plans for future events, making quiet preparations, and observing people—those who would eventually prove useful in the grander picture.

But if there was one change in the cycle, one unmistakable shift that had woven itself into my daily routine, it was this:

I no longer woke up alone.

Every night—without fail—someone else was there beside me when I opened my eyes.

At first, I thought it was a one-time thing, maybe a spur-of-the-moment decision.

But as the days passed, it became clear there was… structure.

If not a formal agreement, then at least a silent understanding among them.

One night it was Alice. The next, Snow. Then Rose. Then back to Alice.

They had… coordinated.

I didn’t know whether they actually sat down and drafted a literal sleepover rotation chart, or if some unspoken feminine telepathy kept them synchronized—but whatever the case, the consistency was undeniable.

It was both amusing… and exhausting.

Not that I was complaining.

If anything, having them beside me brought an odd sort of comfort.

Their presence—whether it was Alice’s possessive warmth, Snow’s sleepy cuddles, or Rose’s calm and constant breath on my shoulder—put a pause on the chaos in my mind.

Even if just for a night.

And yet, despite my quiet gratitude, I sometimes wished for more.

Not more in quantity, but in unity.

A night where all of them would sleep beside me, together.

Without rotating turns.

Without hiding from academy regulations or sneaking past curfew barriers.

I wanted that—because I loved all of them.

But certain circumstances—namely, the academy’s strict “no cohabitation” policies and the high likelihood of emotional combustion—made that scenario more fantasy than reality.

Though…

If anything, I should be thankful. Those academy rules were probably the only thing saving my life right now—physically…

Because as much as I thought I had high stamina… these girls were monsters in disguise.

Literal beasts.

Every visit drained me more than any sparring match I’d had with Seo.

‘And to think, I once believed I had the highest endurance among them.’

Now, they were keeping up with me.

Matching my pace, challenging me, even teasing me when I began to falter.

…Of course, I always won in the end.

Barely at this point though….

‘Seriously since when did they get so good at it?’

Still, the victories were mine.

“Master,”

I turned slightly. “Hm?”

“Your face is gross, stop thinking about something perverted.”

“I wasn’t,”

“Liar,” Lavine shot back immediately, her gaze sharpened with knowing.

I laughed softly, shaking my head.

“Honestly, you’ve gotten too good at reading me lately.”

“That’s because your thoughts are always loud, and gross.”

“Hey, I think about other things too.”

Lavine ignored my words, flitting silently through the air beside me.

She’d taken her usual form: a small, glowing fairy no bigger than a clenched fist.

Wings fluttering gently, a faint trail of celestial dust followed her, almost like stardust hanging in the breeze.

I’d grown used to seeing her this way—it was second nature by now.

She almost looked innocent, like a decoration plucked from a storybook.

And, as always, no one else could see her.

Thanks to her Celestial magic, Lavine could conceal her form entirely from the physical plane. Most students walking past us wouldn’t even bat an eye.

Just a guy walking down the path alone, no big deal.

So how did we talk without me looking like a lunatic arguing with thin air?

Telepathy.

Lavine preferred it that way—direct, efficient, and less humiliating for me.

Right now, we were making our way toward the academy’s main medical facility—the Healing Ward.

Not for treatment.

But to meet Stacia.

Lavine’s voice entered my thoughts again, uninvited and as blunt as ever.

“By the way, Master… are you sure we should keep leaving that clown alone?”

Her words were laced with disapproval, and even through telepathy, I could feel the weight of her concern.

“That thing’s been getting more erratic lately. Its movements are secretive. Paranoid. And now it’s… fraternizing with one of your classmates.”

I kept walking, not slowing my pace. I already knew.

“It’s fine. Keep monitoring it like we planned. You know what to do if it crosses the line.”

Lavine didn’t answer, but I could feel her unease.

Still, I wasn’t being careless.

Thanks to the Celestial Mark Lavine had branded on it, we had a leash wrapped around that freakshow’s neck.

Should anything go sideways, I could be there in seconds.

Hunting demons was, after all, my specialty.

Still… Trisha, huh?

I hadn’t expected her of all people to be involved in a demonic worshipping.

But looking back, the signs were there—her energy, her gaze, the way she lingered just a little too long on things most ignored.

It didn’t matter.

If she became a problem, then I’ll just have to kill her….

…….

We finally arrived at the Healing Ward.

The interior was quiet as always, with that clean, antiseptic calm that came with magical recovery environments.

But I didn’t stop inside.

I veered toward the back, past the common beds and through a gently locked gate that only permitted specific individuals.

Beyond it lay a garden—private, serene, and unnaturally beautiful.

Like something grown in a dream rather than soil.

Petals shimmered in unnatural hues, some glowing faintly with residual mana.

The air here felt lighter, more fragile, as if sound itself refused to break the peace.

At the center of it all, surrounded by nearly-blooming flowers, she stood.

Platinum-blonde hair caught in the breeze.

Crimson eyes that didn’t just look at you, but through you.

She turned her gaze toward me as I stepped forward.

“Senior,” she said with a small smile.

“Stacia,” I nodded.

She walked closer, and I met her halfway.

Like a ritual, unspoken but understood.

Stacia tilted her head up slightly, rising on her toes to bridge the gap between us.

“I was getting really hungry you know~”

This crazed princess, really can’t hold her tongue…

Then, without a word of hesitation, her lips pressed against mine.

As our lips touched, I felt a faint pull.

My mana flowed out of me, siphoned through the connection.

Yes, this was something I’ll probably have to get used to once every week now.

She needed my mana for her condition.

Well at least until she heals completely.

From the corner, Lavine hovered near a vine-wrapped pillar, her arms folded and her expression sharp with judgment.