Even now, as my eyes rolled back in shock at the realization that the one before me was the impending disaster himself, I still prayed desperately that it was all nothing but delusion.
But God did not grant my wish. On the contrary, as though to mock me, He gave me this dream.
Spare me, spare me!
Everything was a road drenched in blood. In the middle of that road, I crawled without legs, dragging myself until at last I clutched his foot and sobbed, begging.
It was utterly pitiful.
But the Zachary in my dream did not pity me. He only looked down at me in silence, as if to say he could never forgive.
I’ll do whatever you say! Please!
Even to myself, my desperate pleading looked strange. My face was a mess of tears as I groveled, but Zachary showed no mercy.
As though even looking at me was tiresome, he drew a knife, and at last—
“Haaah!”
—he killed me.
I bolted upright. My entire body ached as though crushed by a nightmare.
“Haa… haa…”
My hands trembled uncontrollably.
The dream had been so vivid that I could still feel the sharp blade at my throat, scraping across my mind like phantom pain.
I knew full well it had only been a dream, yet my hands shook madly, my face contorted. Pressing down hard on my eyelids, I heard a voice.
“Are you well, young master?”
No doubt a servant, waiting in the room.
“Y-yeah…”
The word came out reflexively, though still my body and hands convulsed, my mind reeling.
This is insane. That’s my future?
If that was what awaited me, then I could not dismiss it as just a dream.
What if I really am insane? Forget reincarnation—what if I’m nothing but a lunatic, imagining it all? Maybe everything is just my foolish fantasy…
But at the end of that forced reassurance, my eyes caught sight of the twisting Serpentine crest. At once, the strength drained from me.
Do I look like someone who could imagine something like this? And why this novel, of all things—why?
The moment I realized the book I’d entered was No Salvation, its great story arcs surged back unbidden. And the more I remembered, the deeper my despair grew.
I’m fucked. Truly fucked.
If it had been some generic story, I wouldn’t have been this tormented.
To put it simply: the protagonist was brutally brainwashed in Serpentine, his human rights crushed until his awakening, forced to live as a slave here. Afterward, once he awakened, he destroyed not only the family that had broken him but the kingdom itself.
In that descent, wielding the power granted by the god, he killed and killed again. Mad, rabid, he lived like a Dark Priest, slaughtering everyone in sight. Of course, the story did go on to have him meet the female lead, redeem him, and bring him back into the light…
But it was far too cruel.
The broad strokes—enduring hardship, heading toward a happy ending—were cliché enough.
But what set it apart was the sheer brutality of the male lead’s path of slaughter, so cruel it divided readers. And that was exactly what I feared now.
In the course of destroying the kingdom, his madness drove him to murder innocents, to kill even when there was no need.
And he didn’t stop there. He threatened his own sister, who had ascended as empress of the Holy Empire after ignoring his disappearance, and later devastated the very empire he was born to. His savagery only escalated.
That was why the novel’s title was No Salvation.
Because every victim, facing Zachary, cried out for God, begged for mercy, screamed for help—but before Zachary, he left only the words:
“There is no salvation.”
And killed them all without hesitation.
If my memory was right, the book had been controversial. Some said his vengeance was excessive, that he went too far in resenting the world. Others said that was precisely why it was satisfying, refreshing even.
Still, the real reason the book exploded in popularity was the female lead. The nights she spent with Zachary were so stimulating they sparked massive attention.
But she won’t appear for a long time yet.
Forget passionate nights—I was going mad. The female lead was a deeply kind soul, the only one capable of suppressing Zachary’s madness. But she appeared much later.
By then, it would be too late.
By then, the kingdom’s lands would be nothing but barren wilderness, as they were in the beginning of time. By then, my head would no longer be attached to my body.
Bang!
As I tore at my hair in despair, the door burst open. Startled, I lifted my head, meeting Mother’s eyes full of worry.
“Oscar! Oh, my son!!”
Behind her came the servants in a line. She must have rushed here the moment she heard I’d awakened.
Seeing me sitting up, Mother embraced my face in relief.
“My dear child, your face is half its size. If you weren’t feeling well, you should have told me. Ah, to see you burning with fever for days on end—your mother’s heart was torn apart.”
“Days… how many days?”
I leaned my cheek helplessly into hers, but at her words for days, my eyes went wide.
Mother cupped my face gently, saying, “It seems the fever is gone now,” her gaze warm, before pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Three days. You’ve been asleep quite a while.”
…Three whole days?
No wonder her face seemed thinner. The servants, forbidden to touch me, must have left the physician and Mother to take turns nursing me at my side.
“I’m sorry.”
“What sin could be yours? It was my fault for birthing you so frail. If I could, I would carry you again in my womb and bear you anew.”
Whenever my health worsened, Mother said that. That she wished she could birth me again, this time with better care, better nourishment, so I would be born stronger. She had been preparing for divorce back then, unable to rest properly, and it still haunted her.
Her words, full of that yearning, always left me both guilty and deeply moved—by how much she loved me.
“…And Father?”
But now there was something more urgent.
When I asked after the Marquis, Mother paused, brushing back my bangs. She blinked, surprised that I was the one to bring him up first, then answered calmly.
“Of course he is working.”
The Marquis always had endless work. He was forever buried in documents in his study, sometimes rushing off in a royal carriage to confer.
But somehow, I knew this “work” was not ordinary. I asked carefully.
“Is it… in the workshop?”
“Yes. In that vile place.”
Her tone was sharp with distaste.
Normally she respected his business and left him be. But this time, she could not, and clearly did not wish to.
I could not soothe her as usual. My face had gone bloodless; I could only clench my fists.
“What’s wrong, Oscar? You look unwell.”
“It’s nothing. Just my body…”
Three days. More than enough time to weave suggestions into the prince’s mind.
And what duty could outweigh the prince of the Thaddeus Empire?
If the sorcery failed, if the boy slipped away—it would be catastrophic. He must have worked faster, tighter than ever.
If only I had woken sooner.
I buried my head in my hands, guilt tearing me apart.
At my bedside, Mother fretted—“Is your head aching? Is it bad? Shall I call the physician?”—but I could not respond.
It’s over.
I cursed my frail body.
If I had spoken before the “education” began, I might have convinced Mother to send him back. She herself disliked it, and she always listened to me. We might have erased his memory, abandoned him in the desert, sent him away somehow.
Then surely we could have prevented annihilation.
But three days had passed. That could only mean the “education” had already begun. The prince must already be damaged—mentally, physically, or both.
Still… he is the protagonist. Unlike ordinary people… maybe it’s not too late.
The obedience sorcery unique to House Serpentine—what we call “education”—was carried out in six stages.