Young Masters Pov Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day Chapter 329

[ … words ]

Ever since that day when I fell asleep and saw Asmodeus in my dream… again… I decided I wouldn’t sleep at all for the remainder of this journey.

Now let me tell you, it hadn’t been easy.

Because, of course, traversing a hellish jungle infested with nightmarish monsters — where you had to fight for your life on a regular basis — wasn’t exactly ideal when you were sleep-deprived.

But even so, it really hadn’t been easy.

So after a while, I developed a solution.

You see, people primarily dream during the REM phase of the sleep cycle, which you enter roughly ninety minutes after you fall asleep.

That meant that if I woke myself up before reaching REM sleep, I wouldn’t dream. Yes, it was a risky gamble the first time I tried it, but it paid off.

I started taking a series of power naps in place of a full night’s sleep and, after that second and last encounter, I never saw Asmodeus again.

Slowly, it became routine.

Sit down. Close my eyes. Count breaths. Let my heartbeat slow. Feel my mind loosen. Then wake up.

Sure, my body hated me for it. I still wasn’t getting proper rest. I was constantly tired, and my thoughts were growing sluggish from the sustained abuse.

But hatred was preferable to seeing him.

The Whisperer of Desires.

The Prince of Temptations.

The Most Profane One.

…And now, I had willingly decided to meet him after all that effort to avoid him.

What an irony.

I had to admit, it felt good to finally let go and fall asleep completely. I thought I’d be anxious, but I suppose my body was far more exhausted than my mind was cautious.

The moment I stopped fighting it, sleep swallowed me whole. It felt so nice that I almost forgot why I had been avoiding it in the first place. Almost.

Then I woke up inside a dream, and remembered exactly why.

•••

The scenery was almost the same as I remembered from the last time I had been here.

The sky was red. Not the red of dusk or dawn, but something deeper and darker, like a black canvas painted over with blood.

The heavens above were fractured, as if someone had hurled a stone at a mirror. Shattered fragments of reality hung suspended in the stratosphere, frozen mid-collapse.

At the center of it all loomed a red moon, bleeding rivers of crimson light that cascaded down into a silver lake as vast as a sea that appeared to have been made from something resembling mercury.

Dozens of gigantic hands erupted from that lake’s still surface. Each was pale as bone and taller than the highest towers, each reaching toward the bleeding red moon.

But none of them were able to touch it.

…And amid this nightmarish, almost beautiful landscape, someone was singing.

“I reach for you in every night,

Your delightful face, my only light.

Bleeding sky, yet burning bright,

You’re the fire in my soul~”

The voice was beautiful — achingly so. Rich and deep and soaked in mourning, it cracked on certain notes, not from age, but from grief.

I knew this voice.

I remembered this voice.

And yet, it still made my chest tighten, just like it had back when I didn’t know who it belonged to.

“If mercy was your only crime,

I’d sin with you a thousand times.

I’d break the heavens, steal their chimes,

Just to make you whole~”

Gods.

Once again, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life someone had to live to sing like that.

I could almost feel the pain he’d have to endure, the unfairness he must’ve been faced with, the brutality he would’ve been helpless against…

It pained my heart.

It hurt to listen to.

Unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately — my immersion was broken when that same voice suddenly spoke from behind me. This time, it carried none of the sorrow and all of the sass.

“Oh, look!” it chimed. “Who’s here to see me after dining and dashing from our last date!”

I physically shuddered before snapping around.

The moment I did, the scenery shifted.

Now I found myself standing at the edge of a tall mountain cliff, overlooking a view most hikers would sell their souls to glimpse even once.

The red sky was gone.

In its place stretched a boundless firmament of indigo and gold, clouds drifting lazily beneath the cliff under my feet like an ocean turned upside down.

Far below, mountain ranges overlapped in fading hues of green and brown.

And leaning casually against a weathered stone outcrop, as if all this was nothing more than a scenic overlook on a leisurely stroll, stood him.

Asmodeus.

He was in his male human form, looking nothing like how one would imagine a Demon Prince to look like.

He had no horns or wings or any other grotesque exaggerations meant to inspire fear at a glance.

He wore a simple loose black shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and dark trousers that fluttered slightly in the high-altitude wind.

His hair fell past his shoulders in lazy waves, a deep obsidian in shade that caught hints of violet when the light struck it just right.

His skin was pale, but not sickly — smooth, almost luminous, like marble reflecting moonlight.

When he noticed me staring, he grinned, his crimson eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Wow,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Not even a hello? I sing my heart out for you and this is the reception I get?”

Damn this asshole.

Asmodeus stepped closer and gestured with an open palm. “Tea?”

I frowned and followed the direction of his hand… only to realize I was already sitting in a chair beside a small coffee table.

Another déjà vu, I guessed.

The chair creaked a little as my weight shifted on it like it had always been there, patiently waiting for me to notice it.

Two porcelain cups steamed atop the table, filling the air with the scent of something floral and herbaceous. Chamomile, maybe.

I shot him a glare. “I don’t remember agreeing to this. Just like I didn’t last time.”

Asmodeus took the seat opposite me with theatrical grace, crossing one leg over the other.

He lifted his cup, inhaled deeply, and let his eyes flutter shut as if savoring the moment rather than the drink. “It’s fine~! Consent is such a complicated concept where dreams are concerned.”

“Please stop with your philosophical bullshit,” I groaned, rubbing my temples. “You’re not good at it.”

He looked delighted by that.

I took a few moments to steady myself, then let out a long sigh.

“So,” I continued, meeting his gaze, “the bleeding moon above Noctveil Wilds… that’s your daughter, right?”