Yu Lingye snapped her eyes open.
The burning pain of a venomous snake biting through her chest still lingered. The residual sensation of that tragic death was pinned deep within her bones, refusing to dissipate.
She stared at the black bed curtains above her, remaining motionless for a long while.
In the next second, she suddenly pushed herself up and frantically checked her body.
No wounds. Had she been reborn?
In her past life, she had been forcibly thrown into a game called 《Fallen Realm》.
After players entered this world, the system would first determine their most suitable main class, from which they would branch out into different subclasses.
But she had been a complete novice who knew nothing about gaming, not even knowing which path suited her best.
The game she had played the most was nothing more than a casual match-3 puzzle game.
To survive in this dangerous world, she had ground her dignity into the dirt, begging others not to abandon her when they fought monsters.
But in this place, compromise did not buy goodwill; it only exposed the darkest depths of human nature.
The politeness and gentleness taught to her by modern society became utterly worthless.
More tragically, under the exploitation and enslavement of her “allies,” she never managed to acquire a single life-saving class skill.
It wasn't that she hadn't struggled.
It was just that every time she tried to climb up, someone would drag her back down to an even lower place.
By the time she died, the only valuable things she had learned were how to identify ore crystals and plants.
“Miss Isolde, you are awake.”
A stiff female voice suddenly sounded from beside the bed.
Yu Lingye looked up and saw a maid standing in the shadows.
In the next instant, fragments of memory rushed into her mind, coming so fast and chaotic that they made her temples throb.
Isolde, the adoptive daughter of Duke Valen.
She was the “mad beauty” NPC from the early dungeons of 《Fallen Realm》, who helped the Duke lure and kill players and passersby, playing with their corpses and souls.
And the master of this castle, Duke Valen Sylvian, was once a human noble.
To pursue divine power, he modified himself using corpses, murdered his wife and daughter, devoured his servants, and eventually turned the entire castle into a monster's den.
After the original Isolde was adopted by him at the age of fourteen, instead of escaping, she revered these dark arts as sacred scriptures.
She screened prey for Valen, lured the strong into the castle, and then extracted the remnant souls of the defeated, stuffing them into doll bodies to play with.
The maid before her was one of the original host's creations.
Lia.
Isolde looked at her grey, lifeless eyes, and her stomach tightened slightly.
The good news was that there were temporarily no living people around to stab her in the back.
The bad news was that her current identity would likely get her hanged from the city walls on sight by the righteous faction.
What was even more fatal was that she had heard about the aftermath of this dungeon.
Several player teams had joined forces to breach the castle, cornering and killing Valen, and extracting two things from his body.
A God-tier item and a top-tier skill.
Later, the teams that received the item and the skill used these two trump cards to steamroll their way through the game.
But now, time had been wound back. Valen was still alive, and those two items were still on him.
Isolde lowered her eyes, slowly suppressing the slight tremor in her chest.
She didn't know why she had been reborn, but looking at the current situation, she knew her opportunity had arrived.
The current Valen wasn't too powerful in this early stage. As long as she killed him first and obtained the God-tier item and top-tier skill, she would never have to kneel and beg others again, nor would she have to cater to anyone's whims.
Those who had pushed her to her death in her past life, those who had looked down on her and trampled over her—none of them would get off scot-free.
But before that, she had to survive the immediate hurdle.
Although Valen was still developing in the early stages, he wasn't some passive mob lying in a coffin waiting to be looted. She remembered that in the late stages of the game when guilds were established, he was a terrifying existence capable of wiping out most players.
The players' victory had relied on sheer numbers, items, class synergy, and wearing him down using the terrain—and even then, more than half of them had died.
Now that she was in Isolde's body, her advantage was her identity, but her danger was also her identity.
The original Isolde was too fanatical about Valen.
If she showed even a hint of abnormality, she would be seen through.
And the consequence of being seen through would likely be turning into a fresh spare part.
Isolde sat up and looked down at this unfamiliar body.
Her fingers were slender, her skin pale, and there was a dark red stitch mark on the inner side of her left wrist.
She remembered this mark. It was the proof of identity of a Soul Stitcher.
This class of witches specialized in researching corpses and dark magic. To facilitate dismembering corpses at any time, they would implant “Soul Thread” magic into their bodies.
She stared at the mark, her expression gradually darkening.
This sort of thing was very convenient for dismantling and sewing corpses.
But if she wanted to use it to kill Valen, it was far from enough.
“Miss.”
Lia spoke again from beside the bed.
“The Duke has ordered you to go to the study as soon as you wake up. Do not delay.”
Only then did Isolde get a clear look at Lia.
Half of her face was wrapped in yellowed bandages, with grey-black stains seeping from the edges, revealing only a single, cloudy grey eye.
Her classic maid uniform was somewhat tattered, her withered yellow hair clung to the side of her neck, and her posture was stiff and upright, like a dilapidated doll.
Isolde asked, “Did he say what it is about?”
“He did not specify.”
“Who else is in the study?”
“Only the Duke.”
Isolde got out of bed. The moment her feet touched the floor, her knees almost gave out.
It felt like the residual emotions of the original host were acting up.
Joy, attachment, adoration, greed.
A chaotic mess of emotions clogged her chest, so sickening it made her want to vomit.
“Is there a mirror?” she asked.
Lia turned and fetched a cracked mirror from beside the wardrobe.
The mirror reflected an unfamiliar face.
Pale, slender, with long black hair cascading down to her waist.
Her facial features were exquisitely delicate, though a lingering gloom weighed heavily between her brows.
Isolde.
The “little maniac” as players called her in the dungeon actually possessed a beautiful face perfectly suited for deception.
She smoothed down her black skirt, counted three heartbeats to ensure she wouldn't blow her cover the moment they met, then stood up and pushed open the door.
“Let's go.”
Lia nodded slightly and followed her out of the room.
The corridor was dimly lit, with faded portraits hanging on both sides. The eyeballs of the subjects in the paintings had been completely hollowed out, leaving only dark, empty sockets that seemed to turn with the footsteps of passersby.
The carpet had absorbed moisture, muffling her footsteps. The air was thick with the scent of chemicals and stale blood.
Isolde walked in front at a moderate pace. The memories in her mind were too fragmented, and she needed time to sort through and organize the useful information.
Valen was usually a “recluse” who disliked being disturbed. Summoning her to the study today was highly unlikely to be for idle chatter.
She remembered that in her past life, some players had analyzed the boss fight: Valen's weakness was not in his head or his heart, but in the “Silver-White Core” embedded in his third vertebra.
Since the players hadn't arrived yet, as long as she maintained Isolde's basic persona and found an opportunity to get close to that Silver-White Core, she had a real shot at pulling off a counter-kill in their first encounter.
At the end of the corridor, a heavy wooden door came into view.
The castle's coat of arms was carved onto the door.
A dissected crow, with a spider lily blooming from its chest cavity.
Lia stopped and knocked on the door. “Your Grace, the young lady has arrived.”
A man's deep voice drifted from inside the room:
“Come in.”
The moment the door opened, a pungent odor hit her in the face.
The smell of formalin, blood, and the rancid stench of rotting flesh mingled together, nearly rising to the back of Isolde's throat.
Her stomach violently churned, and she almost threw up on the spot, but she forced herself to swallow it back down.
The study was massive, with towering bookshelves reaching all the way to the ceiling. Aside from heavy ancient tomes, they were lined with giant glass jars.
Inside the jars, contorted human organs and unidentified biological tissues were preserved in liquid, gleaming coldly under the dim green candlelight.
And in the center of the study, a mass of something was coiled up.
Isolde imperceptibly drew in a sharp breath.
Rate on N.U.
