Chapter 3 – Before the Game Ended (Part 3)
Silence fell again between us. I knelt, bruised and barely conscious, blood on my lips, bones screaming. Kyros studied me in that same unreadable stillness.
It was now or never.
"You're right," I said, my voice hoarse. "I've seen what's to come. Not visions. Not prophecy. I've lived it. Over and over. The fall of the sect. The rise of the Crimson Tribunal. Your death... and everything after."
He didn't flinch.
I pressed on. "Your death comes in winter. You'll be betrayed by one of your own—Elder Shan. He poisons your tea with Heaven's Dusk Powder. You never make it to the summit."
Kyros said nothing. But his hands curled behind his back.
I continued. "The Tribunal won't rise from outside. It begins here. In this sect. The Inner Circle is already compromised. They're building a new doctrine beneath your feet. You'll be too blind to see it until your mask cracks open on the ice."
Still, nothing. But he was listening now.
"Give me a chance," I said. "Let me live, and I'll give you information no one else has. I know the hidden cultivation manuals. The sect's buried relics. Forbidden techniques sealed in the Archives. I know how the Dominion War begins. And who survives it."
He studied me for several long seconds. Then:
"You expect me to believe you're some kind of prophet?"
"No," I said. "But you already believe I'm not Zerel Kai. That much is clear. So ask yourself—if I'm not him, and I'm not mad, then what does that leave?"
More silence.
Then he took a step back.
"You will not leave this dungeon. Not yet," he said. "But your execution is postponed."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
He wasn't done.
"If what you claim is true... then you are an asset. And I do not waste assets."
He turned to leave.
"You will be watched. Studied. If I so much as suspect deception, I will not hesitate. And if I find that you're lying... the pain you've tasted today will feel like mercy."
Then he paused at the door.
"Sleep while you can, Zerel. Tomorrow, we speak of terms."
And then he was gone.
I collapsed to the ground, letting the pain wash over me.
Alive.
I was still alive.
And with a chance to change everything.
But sleep didn't come easily.
I stared at the ceiling of my cell, where cracks formed constellations I never remembered seeing before. My breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, the dull ache in my ribs pulsing like a second heartbeat. I reviewed every word I had spoken to Kyros, every detail I had offered—calculated, intentional.
I couldn't give him everything. Not yet.
Only enough to stay alive.
My fingers found the rusted pinion still hidden in the folds of my robes. I clutched it, as if the cold iron could anchor me to this new, twisted reality. The seal on my core was loosening. Slowly. Painfully. But it was progress.
I couldn't afford to lose momentum.
Eventually, footsteps returned. A different rhythm—slower, hesitant. The cell door creaked open and an unfamiliar figure entered, holding a wooden tray.
A young disciple. Barely older than a boy. His robes bore the mark of the outer sect—someone low in rank. Disposable.
He set the tray down without meeting my eyes.
"Eat," he said.
I reached for the bowl and caught his hand.
He froze.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He looked like he might bolt. But curiosity slowed him.
"Ren," he muttered.
"Ren," I repeated. "Remember that name. Because one day, when this sect crumbles, the ones who helped me now will be remembered."
His eyes widened. I released his hand.
He didn't run. Not immediately.
Good.
I ate slowly. The food was bland—rice gruel and boiled roots—but it filled my stomach and eased the tremors in my limbs. My mind cleared.
There were things to plan. Names to recall. Events to prevent.
And if I was going to change this story, I needed allies.
I needed power.
And above all—I needed time.
Just a little more time.
Ren returned the next morning. No guards. No chains. Just her small figure in the dim light of the dungeon corridor, carrying another tray of food that steamed gently in the cold.
She knelt beside me, setting it down without meeting my eyes.
"You stayed up all night thinking," she said softly.
"I think better when it's quiet," I replied, barely glancing at her. "The noise of others clouds useful thoughts."
She paused, unsure if that was meant as an insult. I let the silence linger, forcing her discomfort to grow.
"I brought extra bread," she said, sliding the tray forward.
"How thoughtful," I murmured, picking up the bread but watching her instead of eating. "Tell me, Ren... do you enjoy working here?"
She blinked. "It's work. It keeps me fed."
"A cage can keep a bird fed too," I said. "Doesn't mean it's free."
She didn't reply. Good. Let her ponder.
"I know things," I said after a long pause. "Things that could help someone like you."
She looked uncertain. "Why would you help me?"
I offered the faintest smile. "Because I believe in investing early."
She frowned. "Investing...?"
"In people." I leaned forward, tone still casual. "And you might be worth something someday."
She looked down at the stone floor. "I'm just a servant."
I let my voice soften, not with kindness, but control. "Not always. You have potential. Do you want to waste it?"
She didn't answer. I could see her doubt. Her need to believe she was more than scraps.
That was the seed.
Later, after she left, I leaned against the wall, fingers steepled.
Ren. The quiet kitchen girl who barely appeared in the early game. An optional interaction, a side path that most players ignored.
But there had been a hidden branch.
A late-game twist where she returned as a boss.
Not just any boss—a corrupted sect master. Hardened, scarred, consumed by resentment. She had been sold to a rival sect, used, broken... and then she snapped. Killed her master in cold blood. Took his cultivation. Built a rogue sect from the bones of her trauma.
Few ever saw that version of her. Most killed her early. Or saved her, unaware of what she could've become.
But I remembered.
And before all that, before her fall, she had been born with a rare constitution.
The Spirit Confluence Physique.
A unique dual-cultivation body, instinctively harmonizing with a partner's energy. Not submissive—amplifying. Binding. Dangerous. With the right training and bond, she could become a pillar. Or a weapon.
She didn't know it. No one here did.
But I did.
And now that I had confirmed it—felt it in the subtle way her aura brushed mine when she lingered too close—I knew she could be molded.
Used.
Not recklessly. Slowly. Patiently.
The next day, I acted more distant. Let her speak first. Let her reach.
"I thought about what you said," she muttered, placing the tray.
"And?"
"You said I had potential."
"I did."
"Is that true?"
I didn't answer right away. I stood, circled her slowly, my steps silent.
"Everything in this place wants you to think small," I whispered. "To forget who you could be. But there are people who remember. People who see further."
I stopped behind her.
"I can show you more. But I don't give without return."
She looked over her shoulder. "What would you want?"
I stepped in front of her again, crouched to meet her eyes. "Loyalty. Obedience. You do as I say, and I make sure no one ever touches you the way they might've otherwise."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You don't know what they do to girls in this sect, do you?" I asked softly. "Not yet. But I've seen it."
She was trembling now. I didn't press further. Fear was best delivered in drops, not floods.
"Think about it," I said, standing. "Serve me, and I'll make sure your story ends differently."
She lingered in the doorway this time, hand on the frame.
"I'll come tomorrow," she said quietly.
"I know you will."
That night, I let my thoughts drift again. This time not to her future... but to her fall. To the way her robe had fallen from one shoulder as she leaned forward. Unaware of the power she carried.
Her beauty would grow. Her presence would change. One day, men would kneel for her and women would envy her.
But not yet.
For now, she was still malleable.
And I was still in control.
Let her come. Let her ask questions.
She'd think she was choosing this path.
But all she was doing... was following the one I'd laid before her.