Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1685: Regretless [Part 2]

Chapter 1685: Regretless [Part 2]

Villain Ch 1685. Regretless [Part 2]

Allen landed hard, boot-first into the back of the “Saintsplitter.”

His sword followed, slashing in an upward arc that caught the monster’s arm mid-swing and ripped it clean off. Silver ichor sprayed like a fountain, splattering across Allen’s coat, still warm, almost sticky. It hissed on contact with his aura, the smell of sanctified rust and burned oil punching the air like incense gone wrong.

The monster let out a warbled scream, voice-box shredded, half-human and half-modem static. Its remaining hand still clung to its sanctified axe like reflex—loyalty etched in ruined muscle memory.

Allen didn’t flinch.

He spun low, sliced through its knee joint with brutal efficiency, and then—before the thing could even fall—

He shadow stepped above it again.

And came down with a vertical cleave straight through the collarbone and out the hip.

-THRKKK!

The body didn’t even have time to finish falling. It just split, cored down the middle like a broken relic. The two halves collapsed into a heap of twitching parts, gold and crimson guts glimmering like broken promises.

[Enemy Defeated – Cathedral Executioner “Saintsplitter” Lv. 212]

[EXP +115,000]

Allen exhaled, letting the blade rest for a second. His hands were sore—deep ache in his knuckles. His coat was nearly soaked in monster fluid now, and the pressure in the air still felt wrong.

Holy.

Sterile.

Suffocating.

He turned slowly, eyes sweeping the battlefield.

“Status?” he called out.

Zoe flipped in midair and slammed her heel down into the last Bride Seeker’s head, cracking the skull like a watermelon. “Mine’s done!”

Jane, now standing atop a pile of smoking ribs and broken ribs from the “Blamebringer,” wiped blood off her glasses with a patch of clean robe. “Also done. She tried to confess my sins for me. Very offensive.”

Shea stood, wings dripping sanctified oil. “Two tapped out. Vivian and I tag-teamed the Vowkeeper.”

“Barely,” Vivian huffed, her cheeks flushed, whip still crackling in her hand. “I almost got married. Twice. That one was insistent.”

“Did you say yes?” Bella giggled, sitting on top of her defeated monster’s chest like a victorious fox queen, brushing blood off her knee-high socks.

“I said, ’I have a boyfriend’.”

Alice was the last to speak. “Mine imploded. Quietly. The last one didn’t even scream. It just… gave up.”

Allen nodded once, slow.

All eight enemies lay dead. The chamber had gone quiet again—but not in the empty, creepy way it had before. Now it was the kind of silence that comes after a battlefield is earned. Holy light still flickered in the cracked glass above them, but it no longer felt like judgment—just aftermath.

Allen lowered his blade, letting it dissolve into smoke and sparks.

His breath fogged faintly.

They had won.

Then—

A pulse.

Right from the center of the chamber.

[Sanctified Core Residue Detected]

[Initiating Memory Echo Playback – Subject: Regretless (Sanctum Echo Knight)]

The floor glowed faint white where the final monster had died—Regretless. The first one Allen had killed. Its shattered core, long dormant, suddenly flared. Not with aggression, but with memory.

It burst—not in an explosion, but a soft splash of light.

And for a second, the entire room shifted.

The dungeon projected a memory.

Just… a vision.

The battlefield shimmered to life in front of them.

The glow from the shattered core flared upward—like a curtain of smoke igniting in reverse—and then folded outward, projecting a memory that hit with the force of a dream gone sour. The sanctum faded. In its place stood a ruined field.

Ash. Smoke. Screams.

Sunlight filtered down in thin, unnatural shafts, barely breaking through the clouds of burnt incense and blood-misted air.

A lone man knelt in the dirt.

Broad shoulders, armor caked in soot and gore. A faded tabard bore the emblem of a forgotten kingdom’s holy order—a twin-crossed sun, now blackened. His sword was stabbed into the ground before him, both hands braced on the hilt like it was the only thing holding him upright. His chest heaved.

Blood ran freely down his brow and pooled near his shredded thigh. His leg was mangled. Tendons exposed. Bone glinting white in places it shouldn’t.

He muttered something.

A prayer.

Barely audible.

“…Saint Riona… if I fall here, carry me home. Let it be clean. Let it be righteous…”

“Is that—?” Zoe asked, voice hushed.

“Yeah,” Allen said. “That was Regretless.”

But not yet a monster. free.web(n)ove(l)(.)c(o)m

Not yet bound.

Not yet gone.

Around the paladin were corpses—some human, some demonic, others twisted, hybrid things with halos and horns. Whatever war he’d fought here, it hadn’t been clear-cut.

He looked up, eyes barely open.

A figure approached from the far side of the broken battlefield.

Not running. Just walking.

Calm.

Confident.

A priest in white robes lined with golden filigree, robes unburnt, unbloodied. Not a speck of ash touched him.

He glowed like a false sunrise.

The paladin smiled weakly. “Priest…?”

The man nodded, still walking toward him. His voice was smooth and honey-warm. “You fought well, brother. Riona sees your devotion.”

The paladin coughed, pain blooming behind his words. “I can’t… move. I think I’m dying.”

“No,” the priest said gently. “You’re being chosen.”

Something about the way he said it made Allen’s fingers tighten near his sword hilt, even though they were only witnessing a memory. View the correct content at fr\eewe.bn(o)v\el.c(o)m

The paladin furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” the priest whispered, and raised a hand.

A soft golden sigil flared above the paladin’s chest. Gentle at first.

Then violent.

“Wha—wait—wait! What are you doing?!”

The paladin screamed.

A real scream. Not fear—betrayal. Like something deep inside had been carved open. His leg twitched. Froze. His fingers stiffened on his sword hilt. Gold light crawled over his armor like a virus, etching symbols that didn’t belong—replacing battle marks with ritual bindings.

“Stop! This isn’t—this hurts!” He choked on the last word, coughing up blood.

“Pain is just the vessel resisting,” the priest said. His face remained impassive, eyes shining with sanctity. “Soon, you will feel nothing.”

“I don’t want this!” the paladin gasped. “I gave my life—I followed every vow—I bled for the Light!”

“And now you become the Light,” the priest intoned, voice echoing unnaturally as the rite deepened. “A perfect form. Immortal. Silent. Loyal. Without flaw.”

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