章節 1: Welcome to Foreign Land of Lunafama
Emperor Shiori made his way back to the palace with his uncle, Vergil Ragnaros. Throughout the journey, Vergil gazed at the sky, lost in thought. He felt an overwhelming call to adventure, a call so strong that he believed he might one day become an enemy, and a true hero would rise in this world.
Vergil had a sense that the world he was about to witness and explore would be a remarkable one. Though "remarkable" might be an understatement, for it was a world where both magic and swordsmanship coexisted in perfect harmony.
Upon arriving at the palace, Vergil headed straight to his chamber. Without wasting time, he began preparing everything he needed — his ordinary sniper rifle, his black armor, and his black cloak. Once he was fully equipped, he strode confidently toward the palace courtyard, his eyes sharp and resolute.
Vergil effortlessly opened a dimensional portal in the palace courtyard, drawing the attention of the Elite Guards and Emperor Shiroi. Emperor Shiroi watched with longing in his eyes, clearly wanting to follow Vergil into the portal. However, his duties as Emperor bound him to remain in the world of Magnacarta VII.
The Elite Guards, witnessing this extraordinary event, immediately knelt and swore an oath of silence, vowing never to speak of it. The portal connected to a dense, shadowy forest. Fortunately, no wild beasts were seen while the portal remained open.
"Uncle, I have only one request for you," Shiroi said, his voice tinged with sadness.
"And what might that be? If it's technology, forget it," Vergil replied, his sarcasm unmistakable.
"I just want Uncle Vergil to return safely," the Emperor said with sincerity.
"Don't worry. I have a Dimensional Transmitter with me. If things get too dangerous, I'll activate it," Vergil reassured him.
Without further hesitation, Vergil stepped into the dimensional portal. The moment he crossed through, the portal closed behind him, sealing him away from Magnacarta VII.
Breathing in the fresh, crisp air of the forest, Vergil smiled in satisfaction. The scent of nature filled his lungs, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze giving him a sense of calm. But as he took his first step forward, a sudden, blinding flash of light enveloped him.
When his vision cleared, he found himself in a place flooded with light. In front of him stood a woman with long, flowing black hair, dressed in a pristine white gown. Her presence exuded an ethereal, divine aura. Vergil instantly recognized her essence — she was the Goddess of this world. And it was clear that she, too, had recognized him. She knew that an outsider had arrived in her domain.
"Ara~ Ara~ What do we have here? An assassin has arrived in my world," said the Goddess playfully.
"Let me guess — you must be the Goddess of this world. You're not the first to drag me into their realm," Vergil replied, his tone calm and nonchalant.
"Ehehehehe... I knew you'd be sharp. Welcome to Lunafama," said the Goddess, her voice teasing yet alluring.
"It seems my instincts to come here were right after all..." Vergil muttered with a composed demeanor.
"I can sense that you possess a power similar to mine... perhaps even greater," the Goddess said, her gaze narrowing as she observed him closely. "I can feel that you carry with you something missing from Lunafama... something I wish I could offer myself, but if I did, it would only lead to chaos."
"And what is that?" Vergil asked, his eyes narrowing with interest.
"Shadows," the Goddess replied, her voice soft but sharp. "Surely, you must already know the nature of this world. Here, wars are won on the battlefield with soldiers, tactics, and masterful formations. But behind it all, the kings and nobles engage in their own endless, petty power struggles. Unlike them, you embody 'the shadows' — a force that can eliminate them without the need for mass slaughter. With you here, balance can be restored in ways they will never expect."
"Interesting..." Vergil said with a faint grin.
"I see you already understand the principles of magic and swordsmanship," the Goddess continued. "You can create anything with magic alone... but there is one last thing I wish to grant you."
The Goddess stretched out her hand, and a soft, radiant light enveloped Vergil's body. His body tensed for a moment as the power settled within him.
"What kind of magic is this?" Vergil asked, glancing at his hands as he felt the power flowing through him.
"A simple enchantment," the Goddess replied with a gentle smile. "This magic will allow you to understand the writings and language of my world, both spoken and written. No more language barriers for you, assassin."
"Alright then, I suppose I'll begin my journey now," said Vergil, his voice carrying an edge of excitement.
"One more thing," the Goddess said, her eyes sharp and commanding. "I want you to establish a Brotherhood of Shadow Knights. Train them yourself. You may call them whatever name you wish, but they will serve as the hidden hand of this world's future."
Without waiting for a response, the Goddess waved her hand, and Vergil was enveloped in a swirling light. In an instant, he was back at the location where he had first arrived in Lunafama.
"Hehehehe... I can make that happen," Vergil said with a sly grin, his eyes brimming with ambition.
Vergil opened his eyes and saw that he was back in the dense forest. Wasting no time, he began searching for a path leading to the main road. Before long, he encountered a few villagers along the trail.
At first, the villagers were visibly wary of him. His black armor and cloak gave him the appearance of a soldier from a rival kingdom, and their unease was clear. Noticing this, Vergil spoke calmly, assuring them that he was nothing more than a wandering adventurer who had gotten lost. He claimed that his black armor was simply equipment he had found while exploring the forest.
His words managed to ease the villagers' fears, and they eventually guided him toward the nearest settlement — Draconoa Village. As they spoke, however, they warned him about the village's ruler, Lord Farmana.
"Be careful," one of the villagers said in a hushed, cautious tone. "Lord Farmana is a corrupt man. He'll squeeze every coin from us with his endless taxes. Nobody can defy him without suffering the consequences."
Hearing this, Vergil's eyes sharpened with interest. A corrupt lord, unchecked by his people and free to do as he pleased. This was more than just information — it was an opportunity.
An opportunity for an assassin to make his mark.
Vergil quickly arrived at Draconoa Village. On the surface, the villagers smiled warmly and welcomed him, but his assassin instincts told him something was wrong. Their smiles were forced, their eyes carrying the weight of quiet suffering.
He wandered through the village, quietly observing his surroundings while listening in on the conversations of the townsfolk. His sharp eyes caught sight of signs of oppression — children with hollow eyes, merchants with clenched jaws, and villagers glancing nervously toward the distant manor on the hill. It didn't take long for Vergil to piece together the situation.
Seeking more information, he visited the Adventurer's Guild, where he registered himself under the guise of a "doctor" looking for work. While he claimed to be a healer, he had no issue taking on odd jobs or hunting monsters. It was a convenient cover, and it provided an opportunity to gather intelligence on Lord Farmana.
After completing his registration, he rented a room at a local inn. The common room was lively, filled with adventurers drinking, eating, and exchanging rumors. Seated in a shadowed corner, Vergil listened closely to their conversations. The name "Lord Farmana" came up more than once. Most of the adventurers spoke of him with disdain, calling him a "greedy tyrant" and "a pig in fine robes." One particularly drunk adventurer sneered, "He wouldn't last a day in the wilds. All bark, no bite... unless it's at our coin purses."
That night, under the cover of darkness, Vergil made his move. Cloaked in shadows, he left the inn and silently made his way to a hill overlooking Lord Farmana's estate. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of the manor's layout.
The manor was heavily guarded. Soldiers patrolled the courtyard, their lanterns flickering as they moved in synchronized formations. Servants moved quickly along stone pathways, their heads down as if avoiding eye contact with the guards. Vergil observed everything from his perch, lying low on the hilltop.
He pulled out his binoculars, a piece of technology far beyond what this world could produce. With precise, calculated movements, he scanned the manor. His eyes darted between the guards, the towers, the watchmen, and the location of each entry point. As he assessed, he searched for the most strategic sniping positions. He even considered where he could take the shot if he had to end Lord Farmana's reign from a distance.
But tonight was for reconnaissance, not execution.
After gathering enough intel, Vergil quietly returned to the inn. He moved through the quiet village streets unnoticed, his steps as silent as a falling leaf. By the time the first candle was snuffed out in the town square, he was already back in his room, his mind running through multiple plans. He had seen enough to know that Farmana would not live long.
The inn's dining area buzzed with the usual chatter of adventurers. The smell of fresh bread, roasted meat, and ale filled the air. Seated at one of the corner tables, Vergil calmly enjoyed his meal. His presence drew subtle attention from the other patrons — his attire, noble in appearance but simple in style, contrasted with the rugged leather armor worn by most adventurers.
As he took a sip of his drink, the inn's door burst open. Six armored soldiers stepped inside, their faces stern and their eyes scanning the crowd. The lively atmosphere grew tense, and conversations died down to anxious murmurs.
"Where is the doctor?" barked one of the soldiers, his sharp eyes sweeping across the room. "Lord Farmana's son is gravely ill! We require a doctor immediately!"
The adventurers exchanged glances, and then, as if on cue, several of them turned their heads toward Vergil.
"That guy's a doctor," one adventurer muttered, pointing at Vergil.
The soldiers marched over, their gazes sharp and intense. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar over his left eye, spoke in a commanding tone. "You. You're coming with us. Lord Farmana's son is dying, and you will save him."
For a moment, silence hung in the air.
Then, Vergil set down his cup and stood. His face was calm, but there was a flicker of cold amusement in his eyes. "Very well," he said with a faint smirk. "Lead the way."
The soldiers gave him no time to prepare, escorting him straight out of the inn. As he followed, Vergil's mind began crafting plans within plans. He had seen the estate, memorized its layout, and knew the patrol routes. If fate had opened a door for him to enter Farmana's lair, he wasn't about to waste it.
Vergil arrived swiftly at Lord Farmana's estate, thanks to the horse-drawn carriage prepared by the captain of the guards. Sitting inside the carriage, he used the opportunity to gather more information. A doctor has the right to ask questions, and Vergil made full use of that privilege.
The captain, seated across from him, was a stern-looking man with graying hair and a sharp gaze, but he seemed more relaxed than most soldiers Vergil had met. He talked freely, as if the weight of his burdens was too heavy to carry alone.
"The village of Draconoa," the captain began, "is under the rule of the Britalienne Empire, the strongest power in this region. The empire is led by none other than Empress Immortal Eliza the 2nd, a woman known for her wisdom and unshakable will."
Vergil remained silent, watching the captain closely. He could sense that the captain was a man of experience, a soldier who had witnessed the harshness of life.
"Draconoa Village is small but old," the captain continued. "Legend has it that, long ago, a legendary white dragon made its home in these lands. The villagers claim that the dragon once protected this area, but for reasons unknown, it vanished without a trace. They say if a true 'chosen lord' rises, the dragon will return, bringing prosperity and glory to the village."
The captain laughed bitterly. "But that's just an old tale. No dragon has appeared in over 150 years. And the so-called 'lord' we have now? Hmph... the only thing he's summoned is misery and suffering."
Vergil raised an eyebrow. "This Lord Farmana… tell me about him."
The captain's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. It was clear this was a topic that stirred his anger. He glanced at the carriage door, making sure no one could hear them.
"Lord Farmana," he said in a low, bitter tone, "is nothing but a disgraced noble. His past is as rotten as his heart. He was once a knight under the direct command of the Empress herself, but during a campaign to purge bandits from the northern regions, he committed a crime so vile that even the Empress could not ignore it."
The captain clenched his fist. "He manipulated the villagers in one of the occupied towns, capturing the women and selling them into slavery. Not even the cries of children could stop him. He made a fortune off their suffering. When the Empress learned of it, she was furious. He should have been executed, but instead, she declared him unworthy of death. Instead, she exiled him to this forsaken village with his wife and son. She stripped him of his honor but still allowed him to oversee the region of Sant. Felucca, a backwater territory no one cares about."
Vergil's gaze remained cold, unmoving. His hands rested on his knees, his fingers tapping softly in rhythm with the movement of the carriage.
"And yet," the captain added, his voice laced with bitterness, "he was still given the authority to rule. Power. Influence. Even if it's just this remote place, he wields it like a tyrant. He raises taxes beyond reason, hoards wealth, and the villagers suffer for it. But worst of all..." The captain leaned forward, his eyes like sharpened daggers. "He's untouchable. No one can challenge him. Not even us."
"Why not?" Vergil asked, his voice low but sharp like a blade.
The captain snorted, his lips curling in disgust. "Because no one wants to end up like the last fool who tried. A villager once stood up to him. A farmer, old but proud. He dared to demand lower taxes so his family could eat. Lord Farmana ordered the guards to make an example of him. They hung the man in front of his wife and children. After that, no one else dared to rebel."
Silence hung in the air like the calm before a storm.
"You seem different, captain," Vergil said quietly. "You speak of him with disgust, but you're still here, following orders."
The captain gritted his teeth, his face filled with frustration. He opened his mouth as if to argue but stopped. He leaned back, sighing deeply. There was a weight in his heart that could not be lifted.
"You think I don't want to act?" the captain muttered, his eyes distant as he stared out the window. "You're right. I want nothing more than to see him removed. But I have soldiers to think about. Men and women who follow me, men who have families. If I make one wrong move, they'll all be killed." His eyes darkened. "I'm not a hero. I'm just a man trying to survive."
Vergil's blue eyes flickered with cold amusement. "A man who survives is still better than a dead fool."
The captain glanced at him, his eyes narrowed. "You're a strange one, doctor."
"People tell me that often," Vergil replied with a faint smile.
Vergil stepped down from the horse-drawn carriage, his white cloak swaying as his boots touched the stone path leading to the estate of Lord Andrea Farmana. His sharp, sky-blue eyes scanned the structure before him.
The estate was surrounded by thick stone walls, reinforced with metal spikes at the top. Inside, heavily armed guards patrolled every inch of the courtyard. Their armor was full plate, covering their bodies entirely, leaving no vulnerable spots exposed. It was clear they were well-trained and disciplined.
Vergil observed them carefully, noting their routes and timing. His assassin instincts were at work. Every patrol route, every blind spot, every point of entry — nothing escaped his gaze.
(Tight security... But no defense is perfect. There must be a route I can exploit.) Vergil's thoughts were methodical as he cataloged the estate's weak points. His eyes shifted to the upper floors of the estate, checking for possible sniping locations. A particular balcony caught his attention — elevated, with a wide view of the main hall. Perfect for a sniper's nest.
"Doctor, this way." The captain of the guards gestured for Vergil to follow him.
Vergil nodded and followed in silence. His aura shifted to that of a calm and quiet doctor, hiding the predator that lurked within.
Vergil stepped into the grand hall of the estate, greeted by the sight of luxury and wealth. Velvet carpets, golden chandeliers, and polished marble floors. The air smelled of incense, strong and overwhelming, perhaps to mask the stench of rot hidden beneath the estate's perfection.
Sitting on an elegant chair at the far end of the room was Lord Andrea Farmana, a man in his early 30s. He was clad in noble attire, but his unshaven beard and messy hair gave him a rugged appearance. His sharp, hawk-like eyes locked onto Vergil as he approached.
"You're the doctor?" Farmana's voice was cold and authoritative, the kind of tone used by someone who never heard "no" as an answer.
"Yes, I am. I heard your son is unwell, Lord Farmana." Vergil maintained his professionalism, his voice calm and neutral.
"Good. This way." Farmana gestured, leading him into a nearby chamber.
The room had an air of melancholy. A young boy lay on a large bed, his face flushed red with fever. His small frame was drenched in sweat, and he coughed weakly as he lay half-conscious. His mother sat by his side, a worried look etched on her face. She glanced at Vergil but said nothing, her eyes hollow from exhaustion.
Vergil approached the child and knelt beside the bed. His hands moved with precision and experience, checking the boy's pulse, examining his breathing, and inspecting his tongue and eyes. After a moment, he stood.
"It's just a fever, nothing serious," Vergil said flatly.
"What? That's it?" Lord Farmana's eyes widened with surprise. "All this fuss for a fever?"
"Yes. It's a mild infection, but it will pass." Vergil scribbled down a simple list of ingredients. "This is a recipe for a basic fever-reducing potion. If you give him this and ensure he drinks plenty of water, he'll recover in a day or two."
Farmana glanced at the paper, scowling. "That's it?"
"That's it," Vergil replied bluntly. "Simple ailments require simple cures. You should be thankful it's nothing worse."
Farmana's face shifted, irritation flashing in his eyes, but it quickly turned to relief. He took a deep breath, releasing the tension that had built up in his chest.
"You've done well, doctor." He reached into a pouch at his side and tossed a small bag of coins toward Vergil. The sound of clinking gold echoed in the room.
Vergil caught it midair, his movements smooth and precise. His fingers squeezed the bag lightly, gauging its weight. Not bad, he thought.
"Tell me, doctor," Farmana said, stepping closer. "Are you from Britalienne? You have the air of someone from the capital."
Vergil gave him a subtle smile. "I'm just a wandering doctor. I go where I'm needed."
Farmana eyed him carefully, his gaze sharp like a predator sizing up prey. This was a man used to manipulating people.
"A wanderer, huh? How fortunate for us that you wandered into my lands. Tell me, Doctor... What do you think of the Empress?"
Vergil didn't miss the sudden shift in tone. He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "The Empress? I've never met her. Why do you ask, Lord Farmana?"
Farmana's eyes hardened, his voice growing sharp. "Because she is a fool. A tyrant hiding behind the title of 'Empress.' She pretends to be just, but she exiles her own loyal knights to rot in the dirt."
Vergil's gaze didn't waver. He knew exactly what Lord Farmana was talking about. This was a man bitter over his past punishment.
"But it's fine," Farmana muttered with a smirk. "One day, she'll slip. When that happens, I'll be there to remind her of the mistake she made. Mark my words, doctor. I'll be the one laughing in the end."
Vergil didn't respond. He simply nodded and pocketed the coin pouch.
"If that's all, Lord Farmana, I'll be on my way. Your son will recover shortly."
Farmana waved him away. "Go. But remember this, doctor. In this world, only the strong get to decide what's right and wrong. The weak just obey."
Vergil's eyes narrowed for the briefest moment.
(Oh? So that's how you see it?)
"I'll remember that, Lord Farmana," Vergil said, his voice cold as steel
.Vergil was escorted back to the carriage. The captain accompanied him once more, silent for most of the journey.
"So, what do you think of Lord Farmana?" the captain asked, his eyes watching Vergil closely.
Vergil leaned back in the carriage, tilting his head toward the sky, his eyes half-closed. "He's loud. Men like him are always loud."
"He wasn't always like this, you know," the captain muttered. "Back when he was a knight, he had promise. But greed and power reveal a man's true nature."
Vergil said nothing, but his mind was already at work. He could feel it — the slow, deliberate shift in fate.
When they arrived back at the village of Draconoa, Vergil didn't go straight to the inn. Instead, he took a detour, walking slowly through the village streets.
He saw the faces of the villagers. Tired. Weary. Hopeless. He saw children running barefoot, their eyes dull from hunger. Farmers carrying heavy loads with backs bent like old trees. This wasn't life. This was survival.
His steps slowed. He gazed at the faraway estate of Lord Farmana. It was faint, barely visible on the hill in the distance, but his eyes locked onto it as if seeing straight through the stone walls.
(Only the strong decide what's right and wrong, huh?)
He smiled coldly, his teeth barely visible beneath his hood.
(If that's true, Lord Farmana, then I wonder... will you still feel strong when a shadow appears behind you?)*
His hand hovered over his side, fingers tapping lightly against the hilt of his dagger.
The darkness of the forest enveloped everything in shadow. A crescent moon hung high in the sky, casting faint silver light upon the land. Hidden among the foliage, a figure clad in black armor and a flowing black cloak knelt in perfect stillness. His presence was so subtle that even the animals of the forest did not sense him.
It was Vergil, the shadow that stalked the night.
His gaze was sharp and unwavering, fixed on a hill in the distance. The estate of Lord Andrew Farmana stood atop that hill, its torches burning brightly, a symbol of its master's arrogance. But tonight, that flame would be snuffed out.
Vergil stretched out his left hand, his voice as soft as a whisper.
"Manifest..."
A pulse of black mana swirled in his palm. From the void, a sniper rifle materialized. Its sleek, matte-black body glowed faintly with blue runes along the barrel. The end of the rifle was fitted with a built-in suppressor, ensuring that no sound would betray its master.
Vergil positioned himself on the ground, steady as a statue, his cloak blending into the shadows. He pressed his cheek against the cold steel of the rifle, his eyes gazing down the scope. But this scope was no ordinary scope.
Three ethereal rings floated in the air before him, each one a circle of runes rotating slowly. They overlapped, enhancing his precision, range, and vision. Through these magical scopes, he could see the world in perfect clarity, as if it were broad daylight.
Time passed. Minutes. Hours. But Vergil didn't move. Patience was his greatest weapon.
His eyes stayed locked on the estate. He tracked the movements of the guards, observing their shifts and patterns. He noted how many guards were stationed at each entrance, how often they rotated patrols, and which areas were blind spots. The estate was a fortress, but even fortresses had cracks.
Then, as if fate itself had granted him a gift, the balcony doors of the estate opened.
Lord Andrew Farmana stepped out.
He wore a loose, casual robe of white silk, his golden medallion glinting under the moonlight. He held a wine glass in one hand, gently swirling the crimson liquid. He breathed in the fresh night air, savoring the peace of his estate.
"Fool," Vergil muttered under his breath. "You've sealed your fate."
His eyes narrowed, focusing on his target. The ethereal rings adjusted, zooming in on Lord Farmana's face. He checked for anyone accompanying him. No guards. No servants. Not even his wife. Farmana was completely alone.
(No guards. No distractions. No interruptions. Perfect.)
Vergil's breathing slowed. His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the wind. Every muscle in his body relaxed, his hands steady as stone.
He activated a spell, silently weaving it into the bullet. The runes on the side of his sniper rifle glowed faintly as his mana surged into it. The spell "Piercing Shot" was applied. It would allow the bullet to bypass any magical barriers or mana shields, something he had anticipated after his earlier encounter with Lord Farmana.
(Arrogant nobles always have magical protection. But no shield can block a bullet that bends through space.)
Vergil's eye stayed locked on his target. His breathing grew shallow. Inhale. Hold. Exhale slowly.
The moment of clarity arrived.
Vergil's finger lightly pulled the trigger.
A silent flash. The sound was barely more than a faint hiss. The bullet, infused with mana, cut through the air faster than sound itself.
Time seemed to freeze.
The bullet's path was perfect. It struck Lord Farmana directly in the forehead.
No explosion. No splash of blood. No shattered bone. The bullet pierced cleanly through his skull and exited through the back, leaving no visible mark.
Lord Farmana's body went limp. His wine glass slipped from his hand, shattering on the balcony floor. His body swayed for a moment as if his soul hadn't realized it had already departed. Then, he crumpled to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.
Silence. Absolute silence.
The guards below had seen nothing. They heard nothing.
Vergil's cold blue eyes lingered on the still body of Lord Farmana for only a moment. The man was dead. The mission was complete.
He opened his palm, and the sniper rifle faded into a pile of broken, rusted metal. This was another one of his abilities — "Destruction Manifest" — a technique that allowed him to reduce his summoned weapons into worthless scrap, ensuring no evidence remained. The pieces of metal were small, jagged shards, no bigger than coins. He swept them into a pouch attached to his waist.
Vergil rose from his position, his body blending into the surrounding shadows as he slowly retreated into the forest.
(One less tyrant in the world. The villagers will feel it soon enough.)
As he moved deeper into the woods, his heart remained calm. No triumph. No sense of victory. Only quiet satisfaction.
"Only the strong decide what's right and wrong, huh?" he muttered, recalling the words of Lord Farmana. "Then you weren't strong enough."
His eyes gazed upward toward the crescent moon, a sharp grin creeping across his face.
"One down. More to go."
And with that, the shadow of Vergil Ragnaros vanished into the night.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票