I Became the Mastermind Who Betrays the Heroines
Chapter 132

Chapter 132 - Traitor (3)

A room sealed by curtains.

Beyond the calm and dim stillness, a white-haired old man sat at his desk.

None other than Gaston Gallimard, the headmaster of the academy.

He sat with his eyes closed, as if in deep focus.

The teacup balanced on his fingertips had long since gone cold.

“……”

Not a single movement.

An oppressively heavy atmosphere.

It could be described as "silence," but that would fall short—beneath the surface, it was closer to chaos. A battlefield.

The old man stood amidst the savage fragments of a shattered future.

Then—

“…Has it begun.”

The Prophet murmured.

A foreboding presence rising from deep underground.

Terror, rage, despair, sorrow… the cry of a beast bearing every omen of ruin.

He could feel the writhing birth of sticky malevolence.

It seemed—

The story was unfolding just as before.

Still unable to break free from prophecy.

The hands of fate moved forward, ticking down like the executioner's axe falling upon the condemned.

The old man placed his teacup, still full of red tea, down beside him.

For a brief moment, its trembling surface reflected a man strewn beneath the weight of duty.

His aged lips moved.

“Traitor.”

To a certain boy.

The Prophet made a plea that would never reach its intended ears.

His voice laden with conflicted emotion.

“Please… protect that child.”

His words scattered like dust in the wind.

And the headmaster once again fell into silence, as though swallowed by the tide.

---

Academy underground.

Bodies and blood littered the floor.

A space drenched in darkness.

The ceiling stretched so high it was impossible to gauge its height. Damp air added to the eerie ambiance, and the overwhelming stench pushed it into something grotesque.

The temple felt like a perfect depiction of humanity’s corruption.

Truly the depths of sin.

And we stood at its center.

BOOOOM—!

A blast roared out, shaking the ceiling.

A surge of demonic mana stormed the entire underground like a hurricane.

Shattered spells, blood, and flesh—fragments flew in all directions.

The enemy was upon us.

"O LAMBS—OFFER YOUR SLAUGHTER UNTO THE LORD!!!"

They charged as one, screaming their hymn.

Each and every one of them crying blood.

If nightmares could take form, this was what they would look like.

I furrowed my brow and swung my sword lightly.

“Hmph.”

Shhhk—!

I cleaved an arrow flying straight at my face.

The peculiar tremor in my fingers.

It felt less like cutting metal or wood, and more like slicing through a chunk of flesh.

Naturally—these weapons were crafted from human bone and flesh.

“Offerings… they’re using life as a conduit.”

A sickening method.

Still-living, squirming muscles and organs.

And perhaps due to contamination by mana, the blood itself corroded whatever it touched.

Everything about it was vile and repulsive.

I raised my sword.

“How troublesome.”

I had to conserve my output.

The ritual had cracked under the pressure of injected demonic mana.

I would need to restore the seal left behind by the Ancient Star.

And I had no way of knowing how much output that would require.

That meant I needed to limit how much of my lies I used.

A frustrating restriction.

But of course—

“You're all so bothersome.”

That didn’t mean I was overwhelmed.

Just annoyed.

After all, I had received personal instruction from a Sword Saint. I wasn’t helpless even without magic.

If it was a brawl in the mud, I’d fought plenty of those from rock bottom.

Years of hard-won experience.

I stepped forward.

CLANG—!!

A casual swing of my blade clashed against a cultist’s spear.

Sparks flared up.

I broke through the enemy’s defense with brute force.

Clang! Screech, skkrrkk—!

As our weapons clashed in a contest of strength—

Another cultist slipped in from the side, aiming a stab straight at my neck.

A smooth, coordinated follow-up.

Of course—

It was already seen through.

I snapped my fingers lightly.

Snap—!

A barely noticeable lie, so small it didn’t even register as output.

A thin veil of shadow blanketed the enemy’s vision.

Like a blindfold being forced into their eyes.

Their stance faltered.

“…?!”

Just one second.

But that moment was enough to disturb their strike path.

Swish—!

The blow veered off course.

A lukewarm sensation of bone brushed my cheek.

The enemy’s balance had broken.

I didn’t waste the opportunity.

I shoved away the cultist in front of me, grabbed a fistful of his long, flowing hair—

The shadows cleared too late. Their vision returned—

But it was already over.

“Ta-da.”

Slice—!

A silver streak drew itself in the air.

And in the next moment—

I held a neatly severed head in my hand.

The headless body collapsed to the ground.

I stepped back with one foot just as the cultist I had pushed away charged in again.

Madness filled his blood-red eyes.

A prayer screamed like a curse.

"!!BY THE DIVINE WILL OF—DAHSNRU—HLERETH!!!"

He lunged, spear slicing through the air.

I angled my sword to deflect the blow.

At the same time, I swung the severed head in my other hand like a mace.

Hair whipping through the air.

SQUELCH—THUD!!

A blunt, sickening impact.

The skull struck his temple with full force, sending him staggering backward.

Without pause, I drove my sword into his heart.

Rotten blood sprayed out.

Splurt—!

‘That makes five.’

A steady breath in.

Though I had to conserve my power, that didn’t mean I was completely unable to use it.

As long as I only drew on it lightly in battle, the strain would remain manageable.

I clapped my hands.

Clap—!

In the blink of an eye, my figure flickered and vanished.

A golden afterimage reappeared in the middle of the enemy ranks.

A short-range blink.

I formed throwing weapons at my fingertips.

“Where are you looking?”

SHHHK—!

I gave them no time to react.

Jet-black shards exploded in every direction.

Blossoms of shadow bloomed outward in dozens of streaks, piercing through the enemies’ foreheads.

Flesh and blood scattered like leaves in the wind.

My breathing quickened slightly. I lowered my sword.

Fighting barehanded was inefficient for stamina.

These were still just small fry, so there was no issue yet, but—

‘The problem is…’

There was no end to them.

The evil horde kept charging.

Even pierced, sliced, dismembered—they moved like puppets, relentless and unfeeling.

Their movements were so unnatural, they felt almost surreal.

A reminder this opponent was not to be taken lightly.

I turned my gaze to the man at the temple’s center.

A familiar face.

The Puppeteer.

Sometimes, the cult would produce monsters.

Katasto.

A phenomenon where natural talents like music, art, or speech were corrupted by demonic mana—breaking the very framework of reality.

A concept as rare as the [Stars] themselves.

And every one of them wielded power on par with a calamity.

In the original story, they would hunt professors or key figures, even destroy the cathedral that served as the church’s main base—ushering in the world’s destruction.

This man was one of them.

‘So he’s appeared.’

The Puppeteer.

Also known by the moniker Marionnette.

He first appeared midway through the original plot.

One of the strongest forces within the cult, and a literal reaper who had left countless corpses in his wake.

The small fry before us now were all his puppets.

“As expected… an annoying power.”

There was no end in sight.

The puppets obeyed their master’s will with frightening precision.

He didn’t just manipulate chimeras or humans—he had begun animating corpses as well.

Instead of clearing the battlefield, it only descended deeper into chaos.

Labored breaths as the battle intensified.

I wouldn’t be able to conserve my output much longer.

‘Still—’

If I wasn’t alone, the story changed.

I signaled.

Toward the fox, her hair now blazing red.

A call for righteous punishment by fire.

“Miss Irene.”

“Mhm.”

“Burn it all.”

“Leave it to me.”

A streak of flame tore through the air in a straight line.

Then an eruption followed, engulfing the area.

Blazing heat incinerated corpses and puppets into a handful of ashes.

All that remained was thunder in our ears.

BOOOOOM—!!

Firepower enough to collapse the temple.

I brushed aside a stray ember that had grazed my cheek, then turned to the princess.

She responded as if she’d been waiting.

Planting her sword into the floor.

“Your Highness.”

“I’ve been waiting.”

Her lips moved.

A single incantation that would flip the board.

“Blade, bloom in shadow.”

—Charlotte Ryu Sword Art Secret Technique—

Ashen Garden

KRRRRRK—!

Cracks split across the marble floor.

Vines of steel rose one by one.

Swords and roses intertwined, forging a path.

A dazzling garden unfurled before us.

As her slender hand twisted the embedded sword, thousands of razor-sharp petals scattered like blades.

They pierced through the hearts of the puppets.

Even the flowers ran red with blood.

I watched and murmured.

‘The momentum isn’t bad.’

I calmly assessed the battlefield.

Two allies.

Both of them doing well suppressing the puppets.

Given the enemy, it would be tough to endure unscathed—but at least the small fry were being thinned out.

The chorus of fire and vines carved a straight path forward.

A path that led directly—

To the altar.

“Finally, I can see you.”

Beyond the scorched remains and lingering smoke, the Puppeteer stood in view.

His hand was resting on the seal.

And his eyes, cold and calculating, were fixed on us.

As if he recognized our presence.

‘Judging by the state of the altar… the ritual’s not even 50% complete.’

It seemed we had time.

I decided to focus on cleaning up the area first.

I cloaked my hand in jet-black shadow.

This opponent wasn’t to be underestimated.

Though not quite at the level of the “Conductor” who reached the realm of [Stars], he was still a top-tier villain.

Not someone to confront casually with my output restricted.

I compressed a thin layer of lies.

As I bared my killing intent and prepared to strike—

“…So. I see now.”

Suddenly, he spoke.

His gaze locked.

His madness-colored eyes saw only one thing—me, the golden serpent.

As if realizing something, he began to speak.

“The one who’s always opposed our will.”

I thought to ignore him.

But the next line made me freeze on the spot.

“It was you… ■■■■.”

He named me.

I hesitated.

How—how did he know that name?

My thoughts stalled.

“Wait, what did you just—”

“I cannot defeat you.”

And indeed.

How could a mere mortal hope to stand against the vessel of a god?

But still—

He couldn’t allow this plan to fail.

Not when it was His will.

“So I offer everything.”

CRUNCH—!

Then came the unexpected.

Caught off guard by hearing [that name], I had let my guard slip.

He bit off his own tongue, spreading demonic mana around him.

Crimson light seeped upward from the altar.

A suicidal offering—!

He had sacrificed his own life.

A Katasto with a unique gift—one of the continent’s greatest—his soul alone was enough to shatter the already-weakened seal.

In a single moment.

SHATTER—!

A sound like breaking glass echoed.

And the seal was obliterated.

A torrent of pitch-black light surged up from the floor, swallowing the entire chamber in demonic energy.

Fragments of blood and corpses scattered wildly—it was hard to even stay upright.

I raised a shadowy veil to protect my companions.

WHOOOOOOOSH—!

A merciless storm of mana.

The temple was practically obliterated.

The Puppeteer’s body was torn to shreds. Even his puppets had completely dissolved.

I slowly increased my output to weather the raging winds.

How long passed?

As the savage current began to die down—

The true calamity revealed itself.

“…Damn.”

I clicked my tongue.

What lay before me was beyond horrid.

I slowly lifted my head.

KRRRRRRR—.

A scraping sound like claws on eardrums.

The ceiling loomed at least 50 meters high—and the head of a creature just barely touched it.

Its massive wings and tail covered what remained of the shattered temple.

Black flames flickered between its jaws.

It was, undoubtedly, a living thing… yet the word "life" didn’t suit it at all.

Its heart and flesh—rotted and decayed.

[EP23. The Awakening of Evil]

—Blood boiling, malice seething, life crying out for death—

The boss monster of the episode.

According to the lore, it represented Death itself—[Death]—an ancient dragon, corrupted into a chimera.

In modern terms: Death Dragon.

And now, we stood face to face with calamity.

ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAR—!!

Its cry shook the entirety of the underground.

A chill ran down my spine as I muttered a complaint.

“…No helping it now.”

I clenched my fists again.

Gripped in both hands—a blade carved from shadow.

My closed eyelids slowly lifted.

And the pure white irises beneath gleamed dangerously.

The serpent spoke.

“I’m not fond of hunting, but—seems I’ve got no choice.”

It seemed—

It was time to bring out the second plan.

The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!