Oliver stood in the midst of the Throne Room, the Dark Crow staying right by his side as he stared at the variant of himself. Wearing an ancient royal robe, with a far more pristine, well-kept face than he had ever possessed, his white hair flowing neatly over his shoulders, he almost looked like Oliver. However, he was different in many ways.

Subtly... disturbingly different.

More built. More kingly. More honourable.

Oliver was anything but those three things.

[Ding!]

[You have encountered King of the Dark Castle]

[Faceless Shadow]

[Rank: Unknown]

It was the same as his first life when he had come to conquer the Dark Castle. The King was a faceless Realm Beast that liked to take the appearance of its opponents—their battle style, and sometimes even their memories, mimicking them down to the smallest detail.

So typically, to defeat it... was like defeating oneself.

"What is this, Oliver Mori?"

Oliver glared at the Dark Castle’s King seated upon his throne as the creature looked around, as though searching for something that wasn’t there, something beyond the visible. He had a smug look across his face and a bright, almost mocking smile. One that disgusted Oliver deeply.

"Do you come to challenge me for my throne alone?"

Oliver said nothing for a second. He simply stared at the Faceless Shadow, his expression unreadable, before finally speaking—

"Shut the hell up."

Taking the Throne from the Faceless Shadow would entitle the entirety of the Dark Castle to Oliver. The Realm Beasts, the Knights, and all the horrors lurking within the castle would fall under his command without question.

So this wasn’t just a fight.

This was a battle for the Dark Castle itself.

Then the Faceless Shadow finally rose from his throne, stretching his hand out to his right as his smile slowly faded into nothingness, replaced by a cold, hollow stillness.

A crackling noise filled the air as the blade of a green, verdant sword formed into his grasp, energy condensing and sharpening until it took shape. Then, with a slight frown, he pointed the sword toward Oliver.

"Prepare yourself to die."

With that, the King charged forward with explosive speed, covering the distance between him and Oliver within seconds, his figure blurring through the dim light of the throne room.

Oliver summoned Racell instantly, the twin blades materializing in his hands as the Dark Crow lunged into the air, its wings slicing through the heavy air as they both readied themselves for the incoming attack.

The Crow was the first to act, lunging at the approaching King with a sharp dive, aiming straight for his upper body.

However, the horrid King of the Dark Castle was far too experienced. With a clean sidestep, he evaded the attack effortlessly, continuing his charge forward at Oliver while paying no attention to the Crow at all, as though it were insignificant.

Wham!

Oliver held his breath as the King suddenly doubled in speed, reaching him with a deadly thrust of his sword that came like a flash.

"Shit!"

He groaned, lurching to his right just enough to avoid the attack, letting the blade graze past him as it cut through the air, close enough to feel its killing intent brush against his skin.

But the morbid King was not yet done.

He turned sharply, converting his momentum into a brutal shoulder clash as he slammed into Oliver’s chest, forcing him back several steps with sheer force.

Oliver’s breath hitched, his eyes zoning out for a mere second as the impact rattled his body.

’He’s fast...’

Yet the King was still not done. As he furiously lunged once again at Oliver, his sword was raised high overhead, ready to deliver a devastating blow straight down onto Oliver’s skull.

This time, Oliver could not dodge with how fast the attack came. It was almost like he was fighting a monster ten times stronger than he was—something far beyond his current level.

Oliver gritted his teeth, raising both blades of Racell up to parry the Verdant sword, bracing himself for the impact.

Then...

It was a feint.

The King quickly changed his stance and pulled his blade back at a speed too quick for Oliver to properly register, aborting the overhead strike entirely and redirecting into a thrust aimed directly at Oliver’s gut.

"Fuck..."

Oliver groaned through gritted teeth, doing his best to block the attack, but he was too late.

SPLOOOSH!

The blade pierced through him.

Thud!

His body hit the ground with a heavy sound.

[Shadow Travel activated]

The Faceless King halted in his stance, straightening without the slightest hint of surprise as he turned around slowly until his gaze fell upon Oliver, collapsed on the ground right in front of the Dark Crow.

"You ran," he said softly.

Oliver, who lay sprawled on the ground, forced himself up into a sitting position, his movements slow and strained. A faint smile stretched across his lips as his hand pressed against his impaled gut, where blood dribbled down between his fingers.

The attack from the King had been too fast, impaling him halfway before the Shadow Travel skill could even fully take effect.

"Hahaha, I’m fucked," Oliver groaned, his lips still curved into a weak, almost amused smile despite the situation.

This was very much different from the Faceless Shadow he had fought in his first life. It wasn’t this powerful, certainly not this fast, and for sure had never once taken his own face in such a perfect, unsettling way.

Something... felt off.

"You have no honour in how you fight," the King spoke, raising his stained sword up to his gaze, staring at it blankly as though examining something deeper than the blood upon it.

While he did that, Oliver slowly stretched his hand out, the motion deliberate despite his condition, catching both the Crow’s and the King’s attention.

"What are you doing?" the King asked.

"I have a question."

Oliver’s tone was calm—too calm—confusing both his summon and the King himself.

At this, the King tilted his head slightly, then lodged his blade into the floor beside him, granting silent permission for Oliver to speak.

This was exactly as Oliver had predicted. There was no reason for the King to deny him speech, especially when he was already a dead man.

If not by the King’s hand, then by the massive loss of blood from the hole in his stomach.

Oliver let out a slow breath before finally speaking, his tone confident, sharp, and accusing.

"I have been wondering something... and it finally clicked thanks to..."

He groaned slightly, gesturing weakly at the hole in his stomach.

"Thanks to you stabbing me in the gut, I finally realized something."

The King remained silent, his hand slowly stretching toward the hilt of his lodged sword, a subtle reminder that Oliver’s time was running out.

Oliver, however, did not panic.

All he did was laugh quietly, staring down at his wound before lifting his gaze back up to the King once more.

"You are that crazy magician, aren’t you?"

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

Nothing moved.

From either side.

All that could be heard was the faint, hollow howl of wind echoing through the vast throne room.

Then finally...

The King moved.

His hand grabbed onto the hilt of his sword and pulled it violently from the tight grip of the floor.

Oliver’s last card... had failed.

Then the horrid King of the Dark Castle began to move forward, each step echoing throughout the Obsidian Throne Room like a judgment ready to be delivered.

While this happened, Oliver simply remained where he was, kneeling and unmoving as blood continued to escape his body endlessly. Even if he wanted to, he could not think of a way to escape the next attack.

The King was faster.

Stronger. More trained. More brutal.

This was no doubt... his end.

And then...

Something strange occurred.

The dominant strides of the formidable King began to falter—no... that wasn’t quite right.

They changed.

The steps gained a rhythm, swaying slightly as though he was moving to some unheard melody, something only he could hear.

Then the King stopped completely.

A smile slowly formed across his face.

Oliver blinked a few times.

And in the next moment, where the King had been standing previously was now occupied by the familiar Admin.

The strange magician stood there, back in his usual suit, his hair slowly transforming from white back to its original black, while his hat wove itself into reality from nothingness and settled neatly atop his head.

Even his sword had somehow taken the form of an elegant, expensive cane.

"You are truly brilliant, Oliver Mori," he said, taking off his hat once again and bowing slightly. "But how did you know? I was sure I hid myself and my intentions quite well."

Oliver frowned.

What a load of crap.

"Your statement earlier gave it all away. I wear the darkness... and you are the darkness. So you became me—as the King of the Dark Castle," Oliver muttered. "But that still isn’t enough for me to realize you were the one pulling the strings..."

Oliver coughed hard, blood escaping his lips as he felt himself growing weaker, his life force draining steadily from the wound in his stomach.

Recovering slightly, he lifted his head again and looked at the Admin.

"With the Void Knight, who surprisingly appeared outside the gate and was evidently much stronger and more unstable than I remembered... the three Giant Knights who had also gotten stronger... and finally the King—who is comparable to a Level Fifty Player instead of a Level Twenty."

The Admin let go of his cane, yet the strange stick remained standing upright on its own, defying logic entirely, before he began to clap slowly.

"Wow... you are all caught up, Oliver. Not what I expected. But the Black Bitch is correct—you are interesting to watch."

Oliver grimaced.

’This damned fool is a psychopath.’

"I did all this for a good reason, I can assure you," the strange man said, his tone soft, almost regretful.

But Oliver didn’t buy it. Not even for a second.

His eyes sharpened further, filled with irritation and suspicion.

"What sort of good reason... tell me."