Depraved Hero's Path

"You didn't kill them, did you?"

Rifna was a bit annoyed by the question. She had just been kissing his chest while stroking his chiseled abs. Slowly raising herself and straightening her back, she stared down at him with a raised eyebrow.

They were on a luxurious bed covered by a red velvet blanket embroidered with emerald and golden threads, a courtesy of the Gallery of Ancient History that held an exhibit showcasing the room that belonged to a certain queen in medieval ages.

Rifna sat astride him, the only thing veiling her figure was a delicate set of white lingerie.

"Why do you say that?" She asked, left eyebrow raised.

Elijah remained silent for a moment.

His gaze lingered on her thin figure, and on the tail that waved behind her.

"You're too cute to kill them like that."

Rifna's lips curled upwards. She slowly let her body descend onto his, her left hand on her right hand, her right hand on his chest, and her chin on her left hand.

"Go on."

Elijah's gaze momentarily went to the ceiling. He lay with his hands folded beneath his head.

"Zarath suggested that the Relics absorb the bodies of those who have failed to Clear the Games, however, I don't think that's exactly it. There were no corpses despite the fact that we were told that plenty of people had entered the place."

"Of course, they have." Rifna hummed. "Who wouldn't want to steal a piece of culture and history?"

"Hm… I don't think they care about the culture or the history, but sure. In any case, what I think is…"

Rifna was left blinking by the end of his explanation, her eyes sparkling.

It wasn't much of a mystery in the first place. However, in combination with everything else,

"Looks like…" Rifna whispered, her fingers passing below his underwear. "We're quite alike… Slaver thing aside."

"Please, don't hold my occupation against me."

"♪"

***

The former White Army waited for their punishment.

They couldn't leave just yet.

While death awaited the White King, the others were convinced that they wouldn't get out of this scot-free either.

Footsteps echoed, and they gulped. Their time had come.

The former White King, Gin, was still on the ground after having been shoved by Petra.

With his gaze stuck to the ground, he couldn't think about anything to say or do.

He was about to die.

What's a lowlife supposed to do in the face of imminent death? Beg for mercy? Pray for his soul? Make a speech?

There was nothing Gin felt he could do, except wait for his death.

"Good game." Rifna said once she stood over the fallen White King. "The odds were stacked against you, but you put up as good a fight as you could have." She explained, extending a hand towards him.

Gin stared at that hand silently.

She had walked through the group and gone immediately to him, ignoring everyone else.

Because he was the King? Because he was going to die. Because only the King deserves to die.

"So, how is this gonna go?" He asked with a dry chuckle. "Will I die when my hand touches yours, devil? Will I explode? Get a heart attack? Die some other way?"

Rifna stared for a moment before slowly turning around.

"You really want to try this?" She asked with a confused expression.

They were shaking and trembling, deeply aware of how outclassed they were.

Still, he was their temporary leader. They had stuck together through thick and thin. And by Resigning, he had just saved their lives in exchange for his.

"Just make it quick," Gin reached for her hand. "Before they do something stupid."

"Hm?"

Gin's hand grabbed Rifna's and… While his subordinates clenched their teeth and fists, he waited.

And waited.

"You can let go of my hand now." Rifna said, a bit creeped out. "You shook hands at the beginning, and were supposed to at the end. Hm… Didn't feel like either of you would accept doing so, which is why I, as the referee, am shaking your hand. Let go now."

Gin slowly pulled his hand back and stared at it in utter bewilderment.

"What's… This supposed to mean?"

Rifna stared at each and every Participant's confused facial expressions before letting out a sigh.

"The Black King realized it sooner."

"Realized what?"

"Why do we still have to hear about that bastard?" Petra asked coldly, spitting on the ground.

Rifna snapped her fingers. The next moment, all were surrounded by the various Relics of the Art Gallery.

"It is true." She started, staring at a particular Painting. "Those who lose my Games die. Running away from the Ghost, failing to survive an otherworldly creature's assault, or misunderstanding the point of a Game will all lead to Death. Running out of time will also lead to the Participant's Death, and to his Life Force being drained and absorbed by the Relic, allowing that Relic to regain the strength expended during the game. However, losing and winning the Game aren't the only outcomes possible."

Gin's eyelids wavered as he was starting to understand what Rifna was getting at.

His gaze slowly fell to the ground, and Rifna laid a hand on his head, staring with a kind, motherly smile.

"You are the first." She whispered. "The first to humble yourself, and to accept that you couldn't win. The first not to run away without having any kind of plan. The first to logically accept the correct step presented to those who have no other choice but to lose, those with no chances of winning. Out of the hundreds of people who have entered the Undying Archives of Old since the start of this Apocalypse…"

One by one, his comrades slowly started to understand.

"What you're saying is that…?"

"Gin is…?"

Petra's eyes momentarily widened as she understood. They narrowed quickly after that.

"You were the first," Rifna continued. "To rationally and gracefully accept defeat."

It was an invaluable secret of the Undying Archives of Old. One that Petra was already thinking about capitalizing on.

"Those who humble themselves and Resign…" Rifna extended a hand towards the nearby door, causing it to start opening. "Are free to leave with their lives."

Only two Paths present themselves to those who want to ever walk out of the Undying Archives of Old.

Victory, or Resignation.