THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 742: Beyond Redemption (1)

A bloody inferno unfolded, with shambling corpses stacked high on top of each other, their arms outstretched in hopeless agony, grasping desperately at the ankles of one lone figure.

In this nightmarish realm, the contorted and mangled visages lunged toward Frey in vain attempts, forcing him to escape in terror, ascending ever upward to escape their grasp and reach the distant peak.

The undead horde showed no mercy. They scaled one upon the other relentlessly until they built a towering peak—a grotesque vision pulled right from the depths of the underworld.

This nightmare played out in front of Nameless, who observed everything without a word. His features stayed concealed under that icy mask, revealing nothing about his inner thoughts... or the extent to which Frey Starlight's turmoil impacted him.

Frey, meanwhile, bolted away in raw fright, completely baffled by the chaos surrounding him.

"What the hell are these abominations?! How did this sanctuary become a bloody ocean?!"

This spot was meant to serve as his refuge... isolated from the outer world.

But now, even that haven lay in ruins, as the underworld burst forth from its foundations without any forewarning.

"Didn't you crave power?" Nameless countered from his position close by.

"Well, here it comes. This is the strength you've been after—right in your grasp... or more precisely, under your soles."

"What do you even mean by that?! How does this madness benefit me at all?!" Frey yelled while frantically shaking off the undead that latched onto him.

Those warped, grimy expressions... no rational person could gaze upon them for extended moments without breaking.

"Don't you know who they are, Frey Starlight?" Nameless inquired. His tone reverberated softly, almost drowned out by the ferocious howls and shrieks from those horrors.

Still, Frey caught every word distinctly.

"I've never laid eyes on these creatures before," Frey shot back, flinging the bodies aside repeatedly... hurling them over the precipice of the fleshy peak... the mound of the fallen.

"I figured you'd claim as much," Nameless answered with composure.

"They all met their end in under a second from your blade. You didn't bother looking their way even once."

In the midst of the hellish din, Nameless's statement struck Frey like a splash of freezing liquid... triggering a terrifying epiphany.

"You mean..."

Nameless inclined his head in affirmation.

"They are the ones you slew... no others, Frey Starlight."

The bodies kept accumulating without end, layer upon layer.

Frey couldn't grasp the situation, so Nameless provided clarity.

"The Sixth Stage of Shadow Adaptation links to the Law of Life and Death in a special way. There's a key fact about myself you need to learn, Frey Starlight."

"Long ago, I could control souls... keeping them stored and bringing them back via containers I forged. However, that worked only for souls lost to causes outside my doing... those taken by outside forces unrelated to me."

Nameless settled down gradually at the top that Frey had scrambled so hard to attain, speaking steadily:

"But souls I claim myself behave differently. The instant a life ends at my touch, it vanishes nowhere. Their essence gains no peace, no freedom... it stays locked inside me, enduring torment without cease."

"The Sixth Stage of Shadow Adaptation draws its might from incinerating the souls of all I've slain."

Frey's gaze expanded in horror.

"Incinerating souls means devouring their entire being... every piece of who they were, to the final trace. They smolder gradually inside me until oblivion claims them... converting into the force I unleash on foes."

Soul-burning echoed the ancient feat of Abraham Starlight, who once set his own soul ablaze to ascend to that divine realm.

Yet Nameless harnessed multitudes of souls... all to forge strength beyond mortal dreams.

"This power was crafted above all to challenge the Demon King. It's the sole counter to his Devouring prowess."

The Sixth Stage of Shadow Adaptation delivered the ultimate boost in strength, growing in direct proportion to the tally of lives its user had claimed.

It stood as a singular gift... bound intrinsically to the Path of Blood.

"That same rule extends to you now—since you hold the identical might that I do. Put simply..."

Nameless motioned downward.

"These mangled forms shrieking under your boots are the essences of every soul you've taken personally up to this point."

Faced with that harsh reality...

Frey bowed his head again.

This round, monsters vanished from his sight.

Corpses faded too.

Instead, humans appeared.

Males.

Females.

Demons included.

No exclusions.

Every entity he'd ended lingered there—eternally—poised for annihilation.

And their feelings persisted undimmed.

Their pain.

Their cries.

Their anguish.

All assaulted Frey in a relentless wave.

An boundless loathing... so fierce it pierced him vividly, akin to myriad daggers assaulting from all sides.

Previously, Nameless had wiped out vast multitudes across endless species. Frey had chalked it up to his deranged trials.

But reflecting now... a handful of bodies would have served for tests.

Nevertheless, Nameless purged millions per instance.

The motive shone evident at last.

He sought the supremacy that elevated him over everyone—to confront the Demon King directly.

Nameless lacked sentiments. The laments of the slain never stirred him, nor did remorse weigh on him for their agony.

He tread upon their remains, burned them as kindling for his inferno... without flaw or falter.

But Frey?

Like it or not, Frey retained his feelings.

Regardless of his growing chill... they endured.

He remained capable of sensation.

Of sensing it all.

Could any sound psyche withstand such an abyss?

An abyss where myriad tormented essences damned you to insanity.

Every element in that crimson tide consisted of lives Frey had claimed with his own hand.

A fraction of what Nameless once commanded.

Yet...

It sufficed to make Frey's skull throb as if ready to burst, with those tortured howls ripping into his thoughts.

The calls... suppressed until this instant... shattered free the moment Frey unlocked the Sixth Stage of Shadow Adaptation.

The burden proved crushing, beyond mortal limits—so intense that, back in reality, Frey dropped to one knee unwittingly, gripping his skull while gasping for air.

"Their calls... their shrieks... their pain... it all rings sharp and vivid in my thoughts..."

"They damn me... all of them do.

They damn me... while pleading... for release from this endless agony..."

Frey ground his jaws as he confronted the reality of thousands of anguished essences howling within his psyche simultaneously.

Despite it all, he hauled himself upright... gradually, with excruciating effort.

"This strength suits a fiend... not a ruler," Frey whispered, his tone dripping with revulsion.

"Whoever wields this will know no redemption... no virtue will grace their existence.

The fate for those who lean on such might holds no mercy...

How can one who inflicts torment on countless souls—alive and beyond—ever seek absolution?"

No angle changed the core fact Frey now knew:

This gift embodied utter darkness... the essence of true horror.

The wheel of life and death formed a natural cycle, a rule set since creation's birth.

But Nameless had broken that wheel—crushed it beneath his heel—reducing others' essences to mere instruments for his use.

"This cannot be pardoned...

No pardon exists for you. None will ever grant it to you."

Gripping his head still, Frey compelled himself to persist.

"Nor for me... as I tread your trail."

His stare grew shadowed bit by bit... the look of one embracing his destiny.

"Perhaps I haven't slain as many as you...

But the count of essences lost to my strikes isn't trivial."

Even unaware...

Even blind to how those essences would bind within him, writhing in perpetual pain, denied any escape...

Frey rose once more and raised his eyes.

Ahead stretched the clash—where Amon battled Gehrman and Abraham.

At this moment, Frey required strength.

Strength to rescue the survivors.

Strength to prevent further losses among his allies.

"Even if it demands wielding this force...

Even if it requires trampling their remains... fine. I'll shoulder it."

Deliberately...

Frey advanced with his initial stride.

Followed by the next.

Then another.

All the while withstanding the brutal cries and ceaseless fury resounding in his head.

"I'll turn into a beast if necessary.

To claim the might I require, I'll persist.

As long as the toll falls on me alone in the end... I'll proceed."

Frey recognized this gift would strip away the final traces of his human side.

Nevertheless... he pressed on.

He understood souls like his would elude any grace.

That the dead's fury and wrath would probably pull him to a doom worse than their own ends.

Yet Frey showed no pause.