Villain Ch 1747. Who Impersonates The Devil Emperor? [Part 1]
Red_King was bellowing nearby, his berserk state glowing with rage-fueled buffs. He grabbed a healer by the leg and threw him into a paladin’s barrier, shattering it like glass.
“You thought this would work?!” he roared.
Allen moved quieter, but no less lethal.
He slid through an opening and drove both daggers into a warrior class mid-cast. Her spell broke. Her body twitched. Then collapsed.
The rest started to panic.
They realized too late.
This wasn’t a highlight reel.
This was a warning.
Don’t hunt kings unless you can bleed like one.
Don’t pretend you’re strong unless you’re ready to get carved open by someone who doesn’t need to try anymore.
And Allen?
He was just warming up.
By the end, there were only three survivors running.
Two made it to the ridge.
The third tried to beg.
Red_King watched him.
A thin, broken voice stammered out—”P-please, I—”
Then Red_King turned away.
Didn’t swing. Didn’t spit. Didn’t care.
He didn’t kill him.
Didn’t need to.
The man would log out.
Or log the trauma somewhere else.
Either way, the lesson was loud.
But Allen had a different perspective.
No hesitation. No dramatics.
He stepped forward and drove his dagger clean through the man’s throat.
No spell. No flair.
Just cold, mechanical death.
The man’s avatar sputtered in red and collapsed.
Red_King turned his head back in time to catch the aftermath. His brows lifted, a breathless laugh slipping past his lips.
“Wow. You really don’t like giving mercy.”
Allen’s eyes were cold. Distant. “They ambushed us.”
His voice wasn’t angry.
Just honest.
“They should know what would happen.”
Red_King shook his head with a half-smile, like someone watching a storm devour a forest. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Allen didn’t answer. Just wiped his blade on the grass. It hissed where the blood met the terrain.
Red_King finally dropped to one knee, laughing breathlessly. His chest heaved with adrenaline and exertion.
“Anyway… that was… a lot. You good?”
Allen nodded once.
Not even winded.
“Alex better be worth this,” Red_King muttered.
Allen stared out toward the furthest cliff, his body still stained with blood. The scent of iron and ash filled his lungs.
Somewhere, someone had dared to impersonate the Devil Emperor.
And Allen?
Allen was in the mood to find out just how badly they wanted to die.
Violet storm clouds churned overhead, slow and pulsing, flickering with pale arcs of arcane lightning. The scorched earth beneath their boots crackled faintly—each step a crunch of glass and bone and whatever was left of broken ambitions.
They walked again. No fanfare. No victory screen.
Just silence, bruised terrain, and blood still drying on their gear.
Allen adjusted one of his daggers back into the sheath, the other still loose in his hand. Just in case.
Red_King kept flexing his right shoulder. Probably from that tackle earlier. Idiot tank moves. Brave, sure, but still dumb.
“Yo,” Red_King muttered. “Maybe I should try the guild chat again.”
Allen raised an eyebrow, not slowing. “You really think Alex will answer now?”
“Maybe.” Red_King tapped at the air, flicking open his UI. “Or maybe he’s just ignoring me out of spite. But hey, worth a shot.”
“You already pinged him earlier.”
“I’m pinging him again. With flair.”
Allen sighed. “What kind of flair.”
Red_King smirked. “Skull emoji. Fire emoji. Exclamation point. You know, urgency.”
Allen gave him a sidelong glance. “Subtle.”
“Always.”
They kept walking, the terrain shifting around them. The floating landmass creaked faintly, as if the sky itself was struggling to hold it in place. Far below, glimpses of the void shimmered—purple mist clinging to the underside like oil in water.
Red_King sent the ping, then rolled his eyes. “No response.”
“Maybe he’s mid-fight,” Allen said.
“Maybe,” Red_King replied, then paused.
Allen didn’t argue.
They reached a crooked ridge that jutted out like a broken fang. Burned banners flapped on bent poles. Markers of another failed challenge.
Allen paused at the top, letting the wind whip around him. The air smelled like scorched iron and damp stone.
Red_King stood beside him, quiet for a beat. Then he said, “If you don’t like this, you can still go back.”
Allen smirked faintly. “If you said that before we ran into the ambush, maybe.”
“But now?”
Allen glanced down at his still-glowing blade. “Now I’m interested.”
“Because they impersonated the Devil Emperor?”
Allen nodded. “It wasn’t just bait. It was a performance. They wanted people to think he’s here. I want to know why.”
Red_King gave a grim hum. “I’ve seen a few threads about that lately.”
Allen turned his head. “Threads?”
“Forum stuff. Rumors. Suggestions. Some PvPers have been trying to roleplay like they’re part of the Devil Emperor’s squad.”
Allen blinked slowly.
“…what?”
Red_King scratched the back of his head, awkward. “Yeah, it started as a meme. Like—’join the Emperor’s army,’ that kind of thing. But then someone suggested maybe there should be an actual system for that. Like a mechanic. Faction stuff. And well…”
“And?”
“It got votes.”
Allen closed his eyes briefly. Of course it did.
“There was even a poll with over a thousand upvotes,” Red_King continued. “Said the Emperor should be allowed to recruit players. Give them buffs. Emperor Marks. A whole progression line. You know, for immersion.”
Allen didn’t reply. Mostly because he was weighing the effort it would take to kill the server dev team in real life. And it would throw the game balance.
Red_King kept talking. “Then someone made a Discourd server. Started recruiting people to wear black capes and act spooky in PvP zones. Said they were ’The Hand of the Emperor’ or some shit.”
Allen stared into the void. Considered leaping into it.
“So… you’re telling me people have been impersonating the Devil Emperor for months and nobody thought to mention it?”
Red_King shrugged. “Most people were too busy. You know—you, Goldborne reveal, Elio’s rise, Alex’s achievements. Me being, you know, fabulous.”
He let out a slow breath. “And your ex.”
Allen didn’t flinch. He just blinked, bored. “Oh right. My ex.”