How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game - Chapter 539: Dungeons and Chaos 5

Chapter 539: Dungeons and Chaos 5

What’s going on?

The thought wasn’t calm—it was jagged, sharp, cutting into her mind with each frantic heartbeat.

Where am I?

Where is this?

Is this real?

Her breath hitched, and before she could process more—

Cough…! Cough…!

The sound dragged her attention back to him.

“S–Senior Riley!” she cried, her voice cracking.

She scrambled to her knees beside him, the meadow’s soft grass bending under her weight as she pressed her hands desperately to the gaping wound in his chest and arm.

Warm, wet life spilled between her fingers.

He chuckled—a low, rasping sound that hurt to hear. “Haha… Senior, huh… it’s been a long time since the last time I’ve heard you call me that.”

“Quiet down for now,” she snapped, voice trembling. “This will hurt for a bit.”

Her mana flared before she even thought to stop it.

Flames burst from her palms, casting a flickering orange glow over his bloodied skin.

The fire hissed as it met torn flesh, searing through the mangled stump where his right arm had been.

Riley groaned softly, but there was no accusation in his eyes—only a strange, fading warmth.

For a fleeting second, Stacia wondered why she felt no pain using her mana here. No strain, no tearing in her core. It was impossible.

But there was no time to dwell on it—not when his blood was still flowing.

She narrowed the heat, controlling it with surgical precision, sealing torn veins, charring the edges just enough to stop the worst of the bleeding.

The smell of burnt flesh curled into the air.

Her stomach twisted, but she moved on, shifting toward the gash in his chest.

Only for his left hand—cold and unyielding—to catch hers.

“Stop wasting your mana… and go.”

Her head snapped up. “Huh?”

His voice softened, almost playful, but there was a weariness behind it.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay here… and give you some time.”

“What are you talking about—”

Before she could finish, he pulled her forward, one hand cupping the back of her head.

His embrace was firm but gentle, his warmth pressing into her like a memory she didn’t want to lose.

Then—

[Why did you resist, little light…?]

The voice came from behind her. It wasn’t spoken—it invaded, crawling into her mind with a cold so deep it made her bones ache.

[Vain effort can only lead to this outcome… Why resist when you know all roads lead to me?]

Stacia’s entire body locked up.

A suffocating pressure surrounded her, as if the air itself had been replaced by an endless, crushing void.

Her vision swam.

The meadow seemed to wither at the edges.

“I’m sorry, Stacia…” Riley whispered.

Golden light began to gather around him, burning brighter and brighter until it forced her eyes shut.

[Little Light…. I am the end….]

[YOUR END…]

“Haha, I know…. that’s why let’s place a bet shall we?”

[……..]

Stacia wanted to ask what was going on but before she could say something, Riley spoke.…. his voice broken.

“Next time…. I hope the next me… will do better…”

And then the light consumed her.

….

When she woke again, it was to a familiar sight—or at least, that’s what her mind tried to tell her.

Her eyelids slid open slowly, the ceiling above her swimming into view.

The carved wood, polished to a gentle sheen, the subtle golden trims along the edges… yes, she knew this ceiling.

But the moment recognition hit, so did a surge of panic.

Her senses spiked—every breath sharp, every sound too loud. She pushed herself upright in one sudden motion.

“Senior!” she called out, voice edged with urgency.

Her eyes swept the room, searching for him.

But this wasn’t the meadow, nor the strange stone chamber she had been in before.

This wasn’t anywhere close to where she had been.

No… this place was—

“…My room?”

A gentle voice, warm and unhurried, answered from nearby.

“Hmm? Oh my… forgive me for my manners, Your Highness. Did I make too much noise, perhaps?”

She turned toward the source and found herself staring at Selicia—Sel—her personal maid.

The woman stood near the side of the room, halfway through a graceful bow, a soft smile on her face.

Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, a dusting cloth tucked discreetly at her side.

“Sel…?”

“I’ll prepare your warm tea right away, Your Highness,” Selicia said with practiced ease, already turning toward the tea stand.

She moved with the familiar rhythm Stacia knew so well, as though she had been doing this every morning for years.

Stacia didn’t answer right away. Her mind was still tangled in questions, but her body remained still, as if moving too quickly might cause the fragile scene to shatter.

It was only when she turned toward the tall mirror beside her bed that her breath caught.

The girl reflected there had the same golden-blonde hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders, the same deep crimson eyes that burned with quiet intensity.

It was her.

But… younger.

Smaller shoulders.

Softer features.

A frame that barely rose above the height of the dressing table.

“This is…”

Her hand reached toward the glass, fingertips brushing over the cooler surface as if she could pass through it and touch the truth on the other side.

She looked like she was ten years old again.

……..

BZZZT!!!

GRRKKK!!!

The sound tore through the darkness like a crackling storm, the air itself trembling as though thunderclouds were rolling overhead—except there was no sky here.

Deep within the dungeon’s lowest and most forsaken pits, far below where sunlight could ever hope to reach, a figure sat cross-legged in the gloom.

A clown.

Or something that wore the skin of one.

Its grotesque frame swayed slightly as it worked—five, no… six long arms moving in jittering harmony, fingers clawing invisible lines into the air.

Glowing red trails followed each movement, forming symbols and spirals that writhed like living worms before sinking into the blackness around it.

Two enormous crimson eyes hovered on its pale, painted face, gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Before it floated a single red orb, its glassy surface showing the events of a story it wove—its story.

Except… something was wrong.

The image within the orb blurred, distorting until it was nothing but a smear of color and light, as though the connection had been sliced away.

The creature froze mid-stroke, its fingers twitching in midair.

For a heartbeat, it felt something it despised—

Loss of control.

Its voice cracked and shuddered like rusted metal grinding against itself.

“PPPPPRRROBBBBLEEEEMMMM… R-R-R-ESOLVED…”

Its painted smile didn’t move, yet the sound came again, warping into a dissonant chant.

“STRANGE… strange… S T R A N G E…”

“CURIOUS… STRANGE…”

Thoughts spiraled and crashed inside its mind—so many at once that even it could not untangle them.

The tragedy of the young Stacia had already been written.

Her role was in place; her path marked from the beginning.

So why—

Why had the thread of her tale gone dark in those few short moments?

Its gaze returned to the orb.

The image flickered back into focus.

Stacia appeared there, still confused, still tangled in events she could not yet understand.

The clown leaned forward, its many arms folding in on themselves like the petals of a hungry flower.

“STORY WORKKKK…” it rasped.

Yes… the plan was in motion.

She was in the right place, the right scene…

And yet.

Something had interrupted.

Something had severed its reach, if only for a heartbeat.

The creature’s grin never changed, but its eyes narrowed until they became thin, dangerous slits of crimson light.

A ripple of caution passed through its entire frame.

It hated caution.

….

“So, this is my limit for now.”

High above the sprawling forest, suspended in an endless sea of blue sky, a young woman sat in perfect stillness.

Golden-blonde hair spilled down her back, catching the sunlight and scattering it in faint halos.

Her deep blue eyes were calm yet sharp, reflecting a mind working with precision.

Beneath her, there was no solid ground—only a thin, floating circle of magic, runes etched so fine they seemed like threads of light stitched into the air.

She sat cross-legged at its center, perfectly balanced, the faint hum of arcane energy resonating under her.

In her hands, she toyed with a sphere of radiant glyphs—runes spinning, colliding, and locking together into more complex shapes with each subtle movement of her fingers.

A web of impossibly intricate magic unfolded inside the sphere, its core glowing with a soft, living light.

‘Will something like this really work?’

‘Yes….’

She had hoped to push the spell further, to confirm the deeper truths buried within its structure. But for now… the fact that it worked at all was enough.

Her gaze shifted downward, to the forest far below—a patchwork of green and shadow.

But her eyes didn’t merely see the treetops.

They mirrored.

The reflection staring back at her was not of the forest at all, but herself.

A sudden rush of memory struck her—like an ocean wave breaking in her mind. Joy and grief, victory and loss, hope and despair.

Every moment that had shaped her, every version of her that had walked the paths of countless lives, rose to the surface all at once.

It was as if countless selves stood around her, watching, judging, remembering.

She smiled.

“We won’t fail this time…”

“Yes, we won’t,”

“This will be the last.”

Her blue eyes sharpened, gleaming with quiet resolve as she spoke the words with different tones.

With a snap of her fingers, her body dissolved—not into dust, not into light, but into a thousand glowing, butterfly-shaped runes.