Once again, Oliver Mori sat right in front of the Enigmatic Magician, within the dark Castle’s throne room.

The hall stretched wide and hollow, an oppressive silence lingering in the air as shadows clung to the cracked walls like living things. The faint scent of blood and ash still hung heavily, a reminder of the battles that had unfolded not long ago. Every inch of the place felt watched... as though the Castle itself was alive, bearing witness.

The Enigmatic Magician had his hat and cane placed neatly on the floor before him, his legs folded over one another with deliberate calm, his gloved hands resting lightly upon his knees. He sat just a few meters away from Oliver, his posture composed... almost too composed for a being who held absolute control over everything within this domain.

While he remained like that, unmoving and unreadable, Oliver reclined his back against the massive body of the Dark Crow. Its feathers were cold and stiff beneath him, yet faint traces of dark energy still pulsed weakly through them. His hands were pressed directly into the deep gash in his gut, fingers drenched in blood as it continued to seep slowly between them, warm and relentless.

Each breath he took burned.

Each second stretched longer than the last.

Yet... he watched.

Knowing that the Admin had been the one to orchestrate and manipulate the entirety of the Dark Castle did not make him feel any safer, even after the man had revealed himself as the King.

If anything—

It made everything worse.

At any moment from now, Oliver knew well enough—

If this man wanted him dead...

He would already be dead.

After several long seconds slipped by in suffocating silence, the enigmatic man finally decided to speak.

"So... shall we speak, Oliver Mori."

At that, Oliver simply nodded, suppressing the restless curiosity clawing at his thoughts as he waited for the mysterious Admin to continue.

"First of all, I will let your system screen identify me," he said, raising a single finger before tapping aimlessly at the air, as though interacting with an invisible notification only he could perceive.

And in the next second—

[Ding!]

A holographic grey notification flickered into existence before Oliver’s gaze. His eyes slowly lowered toward it, focusing despite the haze of pain clouding his vision.

[Name: Zepharion Avenmir]

[Race: Dark Elf]

"Zeph...? So that’s your name?" Oliver said, a trace of curiosity slipping through his otherwise dulled tone, not bothering to hold back the faint edge in his words.

Zepharion Avenmir gave a small nod.

"I am the head of the Second Level, whereas that Black bitch governs the First Level. So everything that happens here... falls under my rule and reason."

Oliver nodded, absorbing the information. From what he already knew, Admins were not merely powerful, they were entities that influenced the game massively, bending its structure, its outcomes... even its logic.

’Maybe this is the time to learn more about them.’

"That doesn’t explain why you tried to kill me," Oliver said, pausing briefly. "Or if I might say... tried to kill me."

At that, Zeph chuckled—a low, amused sound that echoed faintly in the vast hall.

"No... it is not in my interest to kill you."

Oliver frowned slightly.

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"As I told you previously, Oliver Mori... I am the darkness. And you... wear the darkness. Do you not understand?" Zeph asked, his tone carrying a faint, almost genuine puzzlement.

Oliver’s expression hardened instantly.

"Do I look like some fucking poet to you? Talk," he snarled, his patience thinning.

At that, Zeph simply smiled.

Unbothered.

He snapped his fingers.

In an instant, his hat vanished from the floor, only to reappear directly before Oliver, several feet away, settling down with unnatural precision.

"Everything here has simply been a test for you, Oliver," Zeph began calmly. "From the moment you entered the Second Level, I have manipulated your every move from the very start."

He paused, watching Oliver closely.

"If you passed, you live. If you failed, you die."

Oliver said nothing.

But his mind... moved.

It all somewhat made sense.

From the very first moment where he fought the Cerberus, to the Void Knight, the Giant Knights, and finally the King.

Every single battle had been designed.

Structured.

Intentional.

His endurance was tested against the Cerberus.

His combat ability and cunning against the Void Knight.

His strategy against the Giant Knights.

And finally... his ability to decipher and understand against the King.

It was all connected.

A sequence.

A trial.

’So it was never random...’

But still—

’Why?’

"Why did you put me through all these tests?" Oliver finally asked, his voice carrying a sharper edge now.

Zeph smiled faintly.

"Let me share something with you, Oliver Mori. Within ten kingdoms, and ten kings—all allies on the surface, yet enemies beneath. What is their greatest weapon against one another?"

Oliver thought for a moment, piecing the question together.

"Honestly speaking, a great army would answer your question..." he said, before shaking his head slightly. "But that wouldn’t involve me. So that doesn’t fit."

His gaze sharpened.

"So... I’ll say an assassin."

Zeph nodded, a pleased expression crossing his face.

"An assassin is not just someone who wears a cloak and goes about stabbing others. No, no, no."

He snapped his fingers.

In an instant, his appearance shifted.

White hair.

Oliver’s face.

Then again—

Another figure and identity.

Again.

And again, changing his identity at will .

Until finally—

He stood as himself once more.

"A true assassin... is someone who is no one... anyone... and everyone at the same time."

Oliver gave a slight nod.

"Proceed."

Zeph raised his gloved fingers toward his gaze, his voice lowering as the atmosphere thickened.

"The entirety of the game... is not as it seems. Just as you Players have your own battles... we, the Admins, have ours as well."

His gaze locked onto Oliver.

"That is why I want you, Oliver Mori."

The air seemed to grow heavier.

Colder.

"A time will come... where your world will fall into utter chaos. Where the end will come for you and all you love. Your past... your future... everything."

He paused.

"And whether your race stands in the end or not... relies on whether you can make this deal."

Oliver’s eyes furrowed as memories surfaced—fragments of his original timeline. When a catastrophe had caused the destruction of an entire continent.

That was the first time he and a few others had learned about the existence of Admins.

But why him?

And were there had been others before him?

Others who were chosen...

And failed?

Others who had died slowly... crushed by something far beyond their comprehension?

Oliver could only wonder.

"Why me then?" Oliver asked, his voice sharper now, carrying both defiance and confusion. "I am no hero. Why should I be the one to shoulder your burdens and your wars? Why even partner with a human to achieve the goal of killing another Admin?"

He exhaled faintly.

"That’s basically asking me to kill a god."

Zeph lingered for a moment, staring directly into Oliver’s empty, exhausted eyes.

Then he spoke.

"Your death in your first life... the death of Eva Montclair... and a number of what you experienced... were orchestrated by an Admin."

At that—

Zeph noticed the shift.

Subtle.

But there.

Oliver’s gaze sharpened.

Something stirred beneath the emptiness in his eyes, but he held it.

"An Admin is among you humans," Zeph continued, "manipulating every single scenario of the game the way he desires... shaping outcomes, controlling fates."

He paused.

"And do you know the strangest part?"

Silence.

Oliver said nothing.

But he listened.

"The strangest part is... every one of us is accounted for."

"Which means there might be another Admin we do not know of... or possibly one of us is lying, secretly pulling the strings of humanity."

Zeph paused again taking his time to organize his words of what he could say and what he could not before continuing.

"Reasons... are unknown. But the repercussions... might very well place your entire race at stake."

"Then why me?" Oliver cut in, his voice sharp, almost demanding now. "Why was I killed in my first life? Why did Eva have to face the same fate...?"

He paused, staring at his blood-covered hands.

Then slowly lifted his gaze back to Zeph.

"Why?"

Zeph shrugged lightly.

"I do not know myself." He paused.

"But my theory... is that it has something to do with the Scale of Judgment."

With that, Zeph rose to his feet, dusting himself off before picking up his cane from the ground. He gave a slight bow, his movements smooth and deliberate.

"For now... I have said enough. It is up to you to decide whether what I have told you holds value."

Oliver looked up at him, saying nothing.

Then his gaze slowly shifted—

To the hat still resting before him.

"Are you forgetting something?" he said coldly, gesturing toward it.

Zeph shook his head.

"Take it as a gesture of goodwill. And only wear it... if you accept my offer."

Oliver did not react.

His lifeless eyes simply returned to the enigmatic Magician once again.

"Keep this conversation between us, Oliver. Restore the scales back to their original strength... for the coming war."

With that, Zeph began to walk away.

His footsteps echoing faintly through the vast throne room.

After a few steps, he paused.

Slowly tilting his head back toward Oliver one final time.

"And I would strongly advise... that you return to the First Realm."

And then—

He disappeared without a trace.

Leaving Oliver alone on the cold, blood-stained floor.

Still bleeding.

Still edging closer to death.

As the silence closed in around him once more—

And all he could do...

Was sit there...

And replay the words of the strange, enigmatic magician again and again within his mind.