I was reborn into a fantastical saga, tasked with a singular, chilling quest: to conquer the heart of Alistair Valerius, the Cold-Hearted High Acolyte. He was cruel, indifferent, utterly devoid of warmth, and utterly unapproachable. He killed me nine times. The first time, he flayed me alive, my skin meticulously stitched into a grotesque patchwork cloak for his own twisted rituals. The second, he ripped open my womb, fashioning my unformed child’s tiny skull into a chalice for his dark rites. The third, he carved my living flesh into a twisted, pulsating relic, then crushed every one of my two hundred and six bones to dust, scattering them across the Savage Steppes for the vultures to pick clean. … Each death, a brutal reset. The quest progress, wiped clean, forcing me to begin anew. I had knelt until my knees were raw, offering prayers for his enlightenment. I suffered dozens of agonizing miscarriages, my body perpetually broken. A single word of displeasure from him meant I had to consume filth for three years, a brutal penance he called “purification.” But he always killed me. By the ninth quest attempt, my soul was threadbare, my spirit utterly shattered. Alistair Valerius truly had no heart! I wept, begging the System to end the mission, but it was undergoing an upgrade and couldn't respond. This, however, also caused a crucial delay in the usual reset. I hovered, a disembodied spirit, and then I saw it: Alistair, tenderly caressing a portrait of Seraphina, his betrothed. His eyes held a heartbreaking tenderness I had never once witnessed. “My sweet Seraphina, just a little longer. One more death for that wretch, and I can return to the moment before you took your life.” “If she hadn’t poisoned me, you would never have stumbled upon me and her in such a compromising position!” “That should have been our wedding, but it became your funeral.” A cold dread pierced my ethereal form. He remembered. He remembered everything. The countless cycles, the resets, the deaths—he was untouched by them! And Seraphina… he wasn’t an unfeeling stone. He had simply despised me, utterly and completely, ever since Seraphina’s death! The quest, from its very inception, had been a cruel, elaborate failure. My spectral form trailed Alistair as he drifted towards a heavy wooden door, adorned with intricate, sacred carvings. What lay beyond startled me. The chamber was filled with chillingly accurate effigies of Seraphina, arranged with a disturbing reverence. Alistair Valerius, the Cold-Hearted High Acolyte, who had spurned me through nine lifetimes, now cradled one of these likenesses, pressing fervent, almost devout kisses to its lifeless features. His devotion, in this moment, surpassed even his spiritual practices. When the kiss ended, he tore off his robes, his eyes rolling back in a grotesque parody of ecstasy, enacting a twisted ritual of perverse devotion before the effigy! I watched, suffocated by shock. For nine lifetimes I had strived to conquer Alistair. Except for the first, when I had resorted to a love potion to be with him, he had adamantly refused to be sullied by any woman. In the fourth lifetime, when I, overwhelmed by emotion, had dared to kiss him, he had felt so defiled that he had doused himself repeatedly with scalding hot oil, scorching his own flesh. That was the only time the System had forcibly reset the world due to the target’s death. From then on, I never dared to touch him again. But now, what was he doing?! His eyes rolled back, a low groan escaping his lips, sweat beading on his brow as he performed this twisted ritual before Seraphina’s effigy! I watched his perverted ecstasy, then looked at my own hands, pale and wrinkled from hours spent in rubber gloves, tending to his endless "purifications." A wave of profound irony washed over me. What piety? He thought she was defiled, not himself. Just then, the System finally came online. “Detecting host death. Initiating reboot.” In a dizzying flash, I stood at the center of a grand wedding hall. Alistair was placing a ring on my finger. This reset had occurred even earlier than anticipated! Seraphina burst onto the dais, tears streaming down her face, a glinting dagger clutched in her hand. “Alistair, are you truly going to marry her?!” Alistair’s eyes darkened. He reacted swiftly, shoving me away with brutal force. I crashed heavily into a champagne tower, glass shattering around me, shards embedding themselves in my flesh. Alcohol seeped into the wounds. Every breath was agony. Yet, Alistair didn’t even glance at me. He rushed to Seraphina, tears welling in his eyes as he wrestled the dagger from her grasp. “My sweet Seraphina, don’t do anything foolish!” He… wept? Through nine lifetimes, each reset wiped the slate clean of previous emotional connections. I had grown accustomed to his tender devotion one moment, his utter cruelty the next. I had endured every humiliation, every torment, all for the sake of his healing, for the success of my quest. If the System hadn’t delayed its reboot, I would never have known he remembered everything from all nine lifetimes! He wasn’t without tears; they simply weren’t for me. “The wedding is canceled.” He held Seraphina close, his voice chillingly definitive. I stumbled to my feet. “What?” His face contorted in a sneer. “Clara Hawthorne, did you truly believe that by poisoning me, by crawling into my bed like a common alley cat, you could force me to marry you?” The entire hall erupted in gasps and whispers. “Gods, she looked so innocent, but she’s a tramp!” Seraphina sobbed, leaning into his embrace. “Alistair, that day, when I overheard you… I truly couldn’t bear it…” He gently wiped her tears, but when he turned to me, only pure loathing remained. “Your kind of cheap manipulation disgusts me.” He seized my wrist, dragging me across the broken glass on the dais. “Do you think I don’t know? Every time, you always…” He abruptly cut himself off. My pupils constricted. I forced the words out. “Every time, what? Tell me! Go on, tell me everything you know!” But he merely released my hand, letting me tumble down the marble steps. Blood gushed from my forehead, instantly staining my face crimson. He stood above me, aloof as an ethereal deity. “Don’t waste your efforts trying to seduce me. I will forever despise a harlot like you.” The pain! The images of my nine deaths flashed before my eyes like a gruesome tapestry. The agony of being flayed alive in the first lifetime, like fire licking at my skin. The torment of my ripped-open womb in the second, like my very heart torn out. The crushing despair of my bones being pulverized in the third, like salt grinding into raw wounds. … The System seemed to be malfunctioning. The accumulated pain of all nine lifetimes crashed over me, a tidal wave of torment. And now, he was gently kissing Seraphina, without a backward glance. Guests swarmed around me, spitting curses. “Harlot! You deserve this!” Suddenly, a group of hotel security guards rushed forward. Under his command, they tore at my clothes, subjecting me to a brutal beating, leaving me a battered, broken mess. I heard him whisper low instructions: “When you’re done playing, make sure she can never bear a child again. Permanently. No loose ends.” I lay there, utterly ruined, but a faint, bitter smile touched my lips. “Alistair Valerius, you play your part so well…” He turned, his eyes cold and dangerous. “What did you say?” I wiped the blood from my mouth. “I said, may you both find everlasting bliss.” And in my mind, I summoned the System. “I relinquish the quest.” The System’s cold voice confirmed: [Host confirms abandonment of mission. Departure from this world in fifteen days.] It was a night of torrential rain. After the security guards were done with me, they dumped me out the hotel’s back entrance. My lower body was a mangled mess, bleeding profusely. My high heels were broken, forcing me to walk barefoot on the cold, grimy ground. I looked up and saw Alistair’s bodyguards lurking in the shadows, their phones aimed at me. “Don’t block the shot. Mr. Valerius wants to watch the live feed.” The bodyguard sneered at me. I forced myself to stand upright, dragging my injured leg towards a convenience store. Counting the few coins left in my pocket, I barely had enough for a roll of bandages. The cashier’s gaze fell upon my bruised face. “Isn’t that the harlot who drugged Mr. Valerius and tried to seduce him?” she sneered. I lowered my head, desperate to leave. The store’s television was replaying news of the wedding scandal. “Shocking! Prominent Businessman Exposes Bride’s Devious Plot at Wedding!” The screen cut to a close-up of Seraphina weeping in Alistair’s arms. The cashier suddenly raised her voice. “Look! The sacred relics on Miss Seraphina’s necklace are made from the High Acolyte’s consecrated finger bones. How precious!” Relics… I took the bandages. I remembered my fifth death, when I had been cremated, my bones supposedly yielding such sacred relics. The pain of my entire skeleton flared anew. I stumbled out of the convenience store, then realized I had nowhere to go. Alistair had seized all my assets, including my small apartment. The rain intensified. I found shelter under an overpass, fashioning a temporary refuge from discarded cardboard boxes. My soaked body began to burn with fever. In a daze, I saw the Clara of my sixth lifetime, hemorrhaging on this very spot, her blood pooling on the ground. I saw the Clara of my third lifetime, pressed into this corner by vagrants, the sound of my clothes tearing still echoing in my ears. Every painful memory from every lifetime surged forward, a horrifying torrent. Fever blurred my vision. Hunger gnawed at my stomach. I stumbled towards a nearby refuse heap. After searching through the reeking trash for a long time, I unearthed an unopened sandwich. Suddenly, a stray dog lunged, biting fiercely into my arm. I cried out in pain, but dared not raise my voice, fearing attention. When the dog released me, I looked at the wound on my arm—it was deep, showing bone. Just then, three unfamiliar men approached. “You’re Clara Hawthorne?” The leader pulled out a phone, flashing it at me. On the screen was Alistair’s stern face, his voice clear. “Do as I say, and the money will be wired to your account when it’s done.” “Mr. Valerius said to have some fun with you, and he’d pay us. Fair deal, right?” Another man yanked my hair. “Mr. Valerius said you’re quite durable. Don’t disappoint us.” I struggled desperately. “Get away! Don’t touch me!” But I was too weak. My resistance only enraged them. The first punch landed in my abdomen, knocking the breath from my lungs. The second struck my face, filling my mouth with the taste of blood. I instinctively curled up, trying to protect the back that had once been flayed. Blows rained down on me, and I distinctly heard the crack of breaking ribs. As I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, a siren wailed in the distance. The thugs scattered in a panic, not forgetting to deliver a final kick before they fled. I lay in the mud and water, feeling the stinging cold of the rain washing over my wounds. At dawn, a sanitation worker found me, muttering, “Another wretched woman found after being left for dead.” Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded behind me. “Yes, Mr. Valerius, we found her.” It was Alistair’s assistant. I heard Alistair’s voice from the phone. “Alive?” I forced open my swollen eyes, hearing the sanitation worker whisper, “Is this really the woman from the news, the one who drugged him and tried to kill herself?” A moment of silence from the phone, then the sound of shattering glass. “Suicide? Impossible! She clearly…” Alistair’s voice cut off abruptly. Clearly what? Clearly couldn’t die? I looked at the overcast sky, a faint smile touching my lips. Still thinking I’d bend to his will, and enjoy this glorious quest to win him over? In his dreams.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "392843", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel