The Poet's System
Chapter 71: Final Circle

Chapter 71: Final Circle

Daylan and the others braced themselves as the figure drew near, but its mere presence made them instinctively retreat into the greenery with each step it took.

The moment she emerged from the mist, she laughed and began to clap. It was a girl with two pointy horns, dressed in a tight black vest, with white bandages wrapped firmly around her chest and feet.

She looked exactly like Daylan—just like the captains did—but with silver-grey hair streaked with black, tied back in a ponytail with a red banner.

Her arms and ribs were covered in tattoos, and she wore black trousers.

The moment they saw her clearly, their expressions shifted at once.

"Daylan, this one looks like you too... your mother knows you’re alive," Medora murmured, watching as Daylan let his guard down. Something about the girl didn’t sit right with him. Even so, he kept his distance, still unsettled by her overwhelming presence.

"Master Daylan," she said with a bow and a smirk. "Your mother was right... she said you never die—and here you are, proving her right."

Her words were met with confused, awkward glances from Daylan and the others.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Artist," she said, bowing once more. "The last member of the Infernal Four."

Daylan shivered on the inside as he looked at her. There was no way he could win—even with Medora and Rhea by his side. She was at least three times as powerful as the captains had been... and there were four of them?

Artist turned to Rhea. "You there—impressive. You sensed my presence even after I suppressed it... looks like I still need some work."

Rhea began to smile, grateful for the praise. Even so, she—more than anyone—knew it was best not to attack.

This is my fight... Come on, Daylan.—he took a deep breath.

"What do you want, Artist? I don’t think you’re here to fight—you could’ve killed us before we even had the chance to react."

Artist’s eyes widened, and then a smile spread across her face. "You’re very smart too, Master," she said, tapping her bottom lip with a finger. "Hmm... I’m just here to stall you—so your mother can get away."

For some reason, Artist suddenly began mumbling to herself. "Because she’s not our master—you are. And fighting your mother would probably get you killed. If that happens, the organization ends, and we’re left without a master..." Her words came out so fast, that none of them caught a thing.

"What did you just say? Why are you helping Giselle escape?" Rhea demanded, her face contorted in anger.

Artist smiled and, without a moment’s hesitation, stretched out her hand and snapped her fingers. Before they even realized it, they were all bound together in a tight chain and dropped to the floor.

Daylan glanced down, feeling the tightness and coldness of the chains—then it hit him.

He’d figured out Artist’s ability. One of the tattoos on her ribs was a chain, and it had vanished. She could bring her tattoos to life.

Daylan’s fear had faded—for some reason, he no longer saw her as a threat. He leaned slightly toward Artist as she suppressed her aura, walked over, and squatted in front of them.

She stared into Daylan’s eyes before ruffling his hair. He looked confused and visibly uncomfortable with her long fingers brushing through it.

"We failed to protect you before—that’s how your mother was able to attack you twice. But this time, we will protect you."

"Protect me? Who are you people?"

Artist sighed and sat beside him. "The Infernal Four were created by your father, using her cursed aspect—solely to protect you."

She paused for a moment. "We were made to protect you. We just... never got the chance. Don’t take that from us again."

Medora gritted her teeth behind them, furious at Artist’s words. "Protect? Where were you when his mother severed both his hands and stabbed him in the heart? And now you talk about protection?"

Artist paused for a moment before speaking. "Your mother has no reason to fight you anymore. She just wants to return to wherever she came from... so I suggest you stay out of her way. And when you’re finally strong enough, we’ll kill her at your command."

Rhea and Medora began straining against the chains, trying to break free.

"You still haven’t answered Dora’s question," Daylan said. "Where were you? And if there are four of you, where are the other three?"

She gave an awkward nod. "We wanted to help, trust me. But those were your father’s orders to us: ’Until Giselle becomes strong enough to kill Daylan, none of you are to interfere.’ Those were his exact words—not long before he stabbed himself."

My father knew what her next move would be?

Daylan was torn between confusion and determination. He wanted to kill his mother before it was too late, yet Artist’s words made him question if she was even worth fighting against.

What confused him most of all were his father’s instincts. What exactly was he?

Daylan lay on the ground, the chains pressing tightly against him, his gaze fixed on the floor with an unreadable expression.

"What if I promise you this—I won’t die, and I will win?"

Artist brushed her fingers through his hair once more. "I wish you could, but right now, after where your father’s sword struck, I doubt the whole city could stand a chance against her."

Daylan had been warned by Silver multiple times about how powerful Giselle would become if she ever reached the Phantom headquarters. Yet, he still failed.

Slowly, he began to understand why his system had deemed him weak—and why it had tasked him with eliminating her while she was still vulnerable.

As he lay there, every passing moment stabbed sharply at his heart. He had let everyone down, and with Giselle’s power, he knew whatever devastation might follow would be his fault.

At that moment, the only thing holding Daylan back from crying was his stubbornness. But in an instant, it all vanished when he remembered something—his system.

If his system was strong enough to create a new reality where Dexter never died as a form of punishment, then all he had to do was endure its cruelty until he gained control. No matter how powerful his mother was right now, once he took control, he could finally kill her.

If the system could rewrite reality itself, then surely... It could rewrite me too. I’m not at my limit—I’m at my beginning.

His eyes sparkled as he burst into laughter, leaving everyone around him confused and wondering what had come over him.

"Untie us, Artist."

"What? No!" Artist responded.

"It’s an order—we’re not going to fight my mother. Instead, we’ll help the chivalries and guards fight the demonic monsters."

"What do you mean, Day?"

"Trust me, Dora. We don’t have to kill Mother today. After all, if I die today, who will protect Zira?" He smirked.

Artist hesitated for a moment, but the resolve on Daylan’s face wasn’t fueled by rage or revenge—it was quiet acceptance.

She sighed and summoned the chain back, watching it fade and transform into a tattoo once more.

They stood up, brushing dirt from their clothes.

"You’re coming with us too, Artist. As the future leader of the Phantom, I want a strong name for us."

Artist smiled and gave him a firm nod.

Without hesitation, they broke into a sprint toward the city’s gate, where the battle was unfolding.

As they ran, Daylan slowly pulled his mask on.

"Are you sure about this?" Medora asked. Daylan gave a firm nod. She smiled and put on her mask with satisfaction.

By the time they neared, the mist had already swallowed part of the northern district.

Daylan exchanged a glance with Medora, and they nodded in unison. He activated Dark Spiral and began weaving through the demonic monsters, attacking from behind and forcing some of them to turn toward their direction.

Daylan specifically targeted the hellhounds and ghouls, slaughtering them with a mix of excitement and rage—fueled by his frustration at not being able to kill his mother as he truly wanted.

The monsters didn’t see what was striking them; all they saw were their comrades falling one by one.

"I spiked your emotions again, Poet!" Rhea yelled with a smirk as she leaped from one giant ghoul to another, the excitement in her eyes shining as she crushed their heads with a single strike.

Artist, on the other hand, looked confused. The only person she could see fighting from her side was Medora, who was burning imps from the sky with a single swing of her sword.

But what her eyes truly searched for was Daylan—and all she could see was a shadowy figure.

She smiled, recognizing how much he had grown, as she effortlessly slaughtered the giant ghouls that approached her without a second thought.

The guards cheered as they saw their captain in action, but their cheers quickly died when they spotted Medora—and realized she had already slaughtered nearly half of the demonic monsters.

They looked perplexed—even the chivalries—but a single order from Rhea was enough to fully rally the guards, and the chivalries joined the fight as well.

Not a single one of them noticed Daylan directly; all they saw were the monsters falling before their eyes—and Daylan was reveling in it. It was as if each kill released a bit of his rage and filled him with relief.

It didn’t take long—barely thirty minutes—and over three hundred demonic monsters lay lifeless on the ground.

Daylan deactivated Dark Spiral and stood there, holding his knees in relief. Before he and Medora could react, the guards and chivalries were already charging toward them.

Artist unleashed her aura in an instant, causing most of them to collapse to the ground while others dropped to their knees, burnt and trembling.

"Master, where are we heading?" she asked.

Daylan turned to Rhea, who was already at her guards’ side, and she winked at him.

Without a word, he walked toward Artist, marked her with his ink, and the three of them teleported to their mansion.

[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]

Congratulations, you have successfully completed the task.

Reward: Spiral Edge increased by [2%]

[End of Volume 1: Lost Soul.]

Warning: You weren’t forged by the fire to kill her—you were forged to outlive the ruin she leaves behind.

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