The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Inside a servant’s room along one of Evernight Palace’s strangely silent corridors, Ravian stood before Mirai while she stared intently into his eyes, as though making a decision that would determine her fate and trying to glimpse her future within his crimson gaze.

”So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?” Ravian asked.

For several seconds, Mirai looked at him, uncertain how to respond, before finally nodding.

”We have a deal, Rayan,” she said.

A victorious smile appeared on Ravian’s lips, but he quickly concealed it as he patted Mirai’s shoulder encouragingly.

”Then don’t worry. Leave the rest to me,” Ravian said.

”Mm...” Mirai answered with a shy expression, looking completely different from the cold, decisive Head Servant she had been until now.

Ravian had more or less guessed the reason.

Mirai could no longer protect herself.

Yes. That was the only conclusion Ravian had reached after thinking long and hard since dawn, searching for a method—or a loophole—within the rules of this game.

And he had finally found one.

How could the nightmare allow the Mage to save three people every night?

What, then, would happen on a night when only four participants remained, including the Killer? Wouldn’t victory become nearly impossible for the Killer if the Mage continuously protected herself and the other two participants, leaving the Killer unable to kill any of them?

Wouldn’t the game continue indefinitely under those circumstances? The Killer would be unable to kill any of the other three because they were protected, while the Mage and the remaining two participants could not accuse the Killer unless they had witnessed him being the last person to communicate with the previous night’s victim.

That was when Ravian came to a realization.

Every day, the nightmare had announced the same two facts:

The Mage was still alive.

The Killer was still alive.

That continued until the day someone acquired the Traitor role—the very same day only four participants remained, which was also the decisive day for the Killer.

That was a hint from the nightmare: from this day forward, neither of those two was guaranteed to remain alive.

Either the Killer would die at the Traitor’s hands, or the Mage would die at the Killer’s hands—or at the Traitor’s hands after the Traitor had killed the Killer.

Now, after seeing Mirai’s despair and watching her natural mannerisms return to the way they had been when they first arrived in this world, Ravian became completely certain that his guess was correct.

The Mage could no longer protect herself.

He did not know whether she could still protect the remaining participants, but the tension in her body and the terror in her eyes convinced him that she had permanently lost the means to protect herself.

Ravian was not in a much better position. The Traitor was now targeting him directly and would undoubtedly try to reach him as quickly as possible. In fact, Ravian would not have been surprised if the Traitor burst into the room at any moment, desperately searching for him.

Yet that did not deter Ravian in the slightest.

Instead, the pride in his eyes only burned more fiercely.

’So what if there is a Traitor capable of attacking me while I cannot fight back?’

’So what if my chances of survival have become almost nonexistent?’

’So what if the Star-Coiling Serpent has cursed every step I take with misfortune, seeking to destroy me?’

’So what if more than one Taboo is hunting me at the same fucking time?’

’Do you think I will retreat? Do you think I will fade?’ Ravian thought as the pride in his gaze reached unprecedented heights.

For the first time, his eyes openly displayed contempt for everything around him, as though he were far too exalted to entertain such pathetic thoughts.

’No. I will not fade or despair, nor will the resolve blazing in my eyes be extinguished—not until I stride forward and crush everyone who dared stand in my path and obstruct my steps.’ Ravian clenched his fist despite the calm expression on his face. ’So I hope you bastards are well prepared for the chaos you created with your own hands.’

Ravian’s gaze then dropped to his current body, and he remembered his physical body in the real world.

’I truly hope I can go far enough for that title—Nightmare of the Taboos—to become worthy of me.’

Ravian drew a deep breath.

Then he turned toward Mirai, and the absolute coldness and pride in his eyes were instantly replaced by a noble, reassuring smile. He gestured toward the room’s door.

”Shall we go, Miss Mirai? I’m certain that staying here will only delay the inevitable,” Ravian said.

He was not truly asking her permission. Before he had even finished the sentence, he reached out and opened the door.

Mirai quickly followed him.

...

In another corridor of Evernight Palace, the sound of steel scraping across the tiles had finally ceased.

Aldric lay on the floor in a vast pool of his own blood. His severed right arm was no longer the only thing he had lost; his other arm had been removed at the shoulder, while both feet had been severed above the ankles, leaving him incapable of even crawling.

And yet, somehow, he remained alive.

His chest continued to rise and fall with ragged breaths while his body trembled violently from pain and blood loss. Aldric did not know whether he had survived because of the nature of the spiritual bodies the nightmare had granted them or because Bran had deliberately avoided every vital point, but the agony consuming him was real enough to erase any distinction between his current body and his real one.

Bran stood before him, holding both bloodied axes and regarding him with the same calm attention someone might give to a piece of unfinished work.

Aldric raised his head with difficulty, no longer capable of concealing the pain or terror in his eyes.

”Wh-Why...?” His voice emerged weak and hoarse, the words nearly disappearing between his ragged breaths. ”Why don’t you just kill me?”

Bran lowered his eyes toward him as though the question had genuinely confused him.

”Kill you?” Bran repeated, raising one eyebrow. ”Would I kill you just to let that son of a bitch win?”

Aldric’s eyes widened despite the agony tearing through his body.

Until that moment, he had believed Bran had attacked him because he thought Aldric was the Killer. Perhaps Bran had been severing his limbs to interrogate or torture him before delivering the final blow.

But Bran’s words proved otherwise.

He knew Aldric was not the Killer.

He also knew that Aldric’s death would reduce the number of participants to three and immediately end the nightmare with the true Killer’s victory.

”I-If you know I’m not the Killer...” Aldric said, staring at him in disbelief as more blood trickled between his lips, ”then why did you do this to me?”

For several seconds, Bran merely stared at him in silence.

Then his smile slowly began to widen.

It was not a smile of triumph, nor merely the smile of someone enjoying his victim’s suffering. It was the same terrifying smile that could only belong to a serial killer who had finally found a game worthy of his time.

Bran tilted his head slightly, then cast a brief glance toward the passages branching off from the corridor, as though calculating how many places he still had to visit before the day ended.

”I did it to make it easier to find each of you, one by one, and to ensure none of you can run from me once I’ve killed that damned Killer today.”

His smile widened further.

”Time is precious, you know.”