As expected, it unfolded just as Nana Toki foresaw, like footprints set in wet clay.

As long as she didn’t play coy, the enemy grasped at smoke and got nowhere.

With no dead weight in the team, the cannon‑fodder rebels fell like weeds under a scythe.

When elites popped up, Nana Toki sent Yu Ang to take the hits, like an iron shield bracing a storm.

After fusing a drop of her blood, that scrappy “fodder” turned tough, like sun‑baked stone that neither chips nor cracks.

He handled several at once with ease, while Nana Toki, Ling’er Long, and Lorin circled with support like hawks over a field.

Within days, fighting as they advanced, they muscled to the outskirts of the Marl Kingdom’s capital like a squall rolling into harbor.

On the road, they even captured Eboron, one of the Four Heavenly Kings, like snagging a river shark on a village hook.

That, Nana Toki hadn’t expected, like a pebble skipping off a mirror lake.

In her head, the “proper plot” was four of them forming a temp party, cutting monsters and righting wrongs, a gauntlet of eighty‑one trials, like candles burnt end to end.

They’d collect seven dragon orbs, summon a divine dragon, wish granted, then breach the Marl Kingdom’s capital, like a red thread pulled tight.

To stop the Demon God’s revival and rescue the collapsing heroine, the Four Heavenly Kings would be the four elite boss monsters before the final clash, like gates before the inner shrine.

Her squad would split four ways, one king per fighter; but the male lead had a baked‑in “lose to bosses” debuff, like a curse stitched into his kit.

They’d fall behind, faces thick, and beg the universe for support, like monks rattling bowls at the stars.

Everyone would donate a sliver of vital energy so the male lead could go Super Sai‑type and one‑punch delete the wicked kings, like thunder breaking a cliff.

In the end, the lead beats the Four Heavenly Kings, stops the Demon God’s revival, and the world swims in victory, like blossoms after rain.

But without knowing, the heroine used as the medium for revival was already working mischief in the dark, reconquering the world like ivy climbing a ruined wall.

After Nana Toki disbanded the party, the four had to regroup to guard the universe’s peace, like lanterns relit against a long night.

System: “...”

Too many elements tangled; even the System didn’t know where to start roasting, like fingers caught in a skein of yarn.

This host’s logic was so “unique” it pushed the System into a blind spot, like fog swallowing a compass.

Shame she doesn’t write novels—oh right, she actually does, like a wink behind smoke.

Anyway.

The way things unfolded left Nana Toki baffled, like mist hiding a ravine; she hated detours, so she cut the branch quest cold and killed Eboron outright, like a sword chopping a knot.

She even gave it a nice label: “An elite boss that doesn’t trigger the final battle debuff for the male lead is trash!”

System: “...”

Catching Eboron wasn’t purely luck. Reviving Yu Ang was outside the Four Heavenly Kings’ expectations, like a stone tossed into their pond.

The other three, waiting in Marl’s capital, feared he’d become a variable, so Trollop sent Eboron to test him, like a snake flicking its tongue at a traveler’s ankle.

Unluckily, Eboron got spotted and cut down without a word by Nana Toki, like a candle snuffed by wind.

No one expected the Hedon Kingdom’s princess to break the script this hard, like a fox knocking over the chessboard.

Too late to grieve: with Eboron’s blunder, the Four Heavenly Kings decided to revive the sealed Demon God early, like a storm brought on before harvest.

“Strange… Last time, soldiers lined even the outer ring of the capital, but now I don’t see a single one,” Ling’er Long murmured, brows knotted like willow leaves in wind.

“Trying to lure us in and close the trap?” she asked, suspicion curling like honey over a pit.

“Low chance,” Lorin answered, voice flat as winter sun that refuses to thaw.

On the way, they’d cut down who‑knows‑how‑many rebel troops, like reeds sliced by a blade, and even three kings should know a tide of bodies can’t hold us.

“Maybe they know they can’t resist and plan to open the gate and surrender?” Yu Ang cracked his knuckles, grinning like spring sun breaking frost. “Rebels are just rebels—paper tigers in rain.”

Maybe it was the whiplash from crippling injury to full recovery; Yu Ang was giddy, like sap rising in new growth.

“Don’t relax,” Nana Toki said, eyes lifting toward the capital gate like a hawk measuring distance. “Trollop’s sly. This could be one of theirs.”

“We brute‑forced here like a ram through thorns, but these are the Demon God’s hands. Chestonet, the combat ace, hasn’t shown his blade.”

“Don’t get careless,” she warned, like sailors eyeing black water.

She didn’t think killing the weakest Heavenly King made them invincible, like a spark boasting it’s the sun.

And the Protagonist Lord still carries that ‘lose to bosses’ debuff, like a cold thread woven through fate.

“We’ll slip in and scout,” she decided, unease pricking her gut like iron filings drawn to a magnet.

Maybe it was because since Jade Ring Long was taken, no word had reached them, like a kite cut loose from its string.

She didn’t believe the Four Heavenly Kings would tend the heroine kindly, like wolves minding a lamb.

There had to be another plan, a hook under black water.

With the walls’ defenses weakened, they entered like night‑thieves—over the wall, shadows over stone.

A hundred‑meter wall, scaled in a breath like lizards on a cliff; she made Hedon’s “pillars,” Ling’er and Yu Ang, look like fence posts beside a cedar.

“So that’s how you got in and out when you kidnapped the princess?” Yu Ang stared, conflicted clouds bunching before rain.

Imagine Kurus, already bound for Hedon, hearing she breezed through their security like a knife through tofu.

“Your wall’s poorly built,” Nana Toki said, dismissive as rice paper painted thick. “Tall, sure, but useless—like a drum with no skin.”

“Climbing trees was harder,” she added, a sparrow hopping from branch to branch.

Ling’er Long: “…”

After this chaos, she’d order the walls rebuilt, brick laid under dawn.

Yu Ang: “…”

Why does a princess know tree‑climbing and wall‑hopping, like a silk‑clad cat?

Is scaling walls part of noble etiquette now, like tea served with daggers?

Lorin: “…”

Nana Toki kept the surprises coming, fireworks behind a fan.

Compared to her frequent antics, this was nothing, like ripples after a tossed stone.

Meh—set that aside and she still carried a trace of princess, like moonlight on armor.

With Ling’er and Yu Ang guiding like familiar lanterns, they slid into the palace’s heart, ink seeping through silk.

Something felt off—air thin as cold incense in a temple.

The capital was empty, a shell with the tide gone.

Streets, homes, shops—no one, lanterns without flame.

No silhouettes in the palace either, mirrors refusing to reflect.

The Marl Kingdom lay silent, like a dead city weathered for years, dust on an altar.

“Yah!” Ling’er Long reached for the nearest door, but a surge of magic sprang like a hidden trap in ivy and flung her back.

If Nana Toki hadn’t caught her, like a net beneath a tightrope, Ling’er might’ve suffered internal wounds, drums cracked by a single strike.

“Looks like a Heavenly King’s handiwork,” Nana said, thorns woven into wood.

She sent ice Spirit Energy into Ling’er to soothe her, frost cooling a fever.

She pulled an Amber Talisman from her pocket and slapped it onto the door, sealing wax on a letter.

Then she opened it cleanly, a reed parting water, and found the room empty, wind moaning in a hollow.

“Ah… so that’s the plot,” she murmured, a script peeking from sleeves.

“What is it, Your Highness?” Lorin crowded in, eyes combing grain, seeing nothing in the bare space—like fishing a dry pond.

“Nothing major. My guess is Jade Ring Long is bound in one of these rooms,” Nana said, like a pearl hidden in lacquer.

Finales always act like this, destiny tugging a red thread.

“Then what’re we waiting for? Let’s open rooms,” Lorin said, keys chasing locks.

“With your talismans, breaking these wards is easy.”

“True,” Nana said, “but not all these spaces will be empty. Some will be strange—stay sharp,” wolves sniffing snow.

She handed each an Amber Talisman, candles passed in a cave. “If something feels wrong, retreat first,” oars pulling back from whirlpools.

“Got it!”

They nodded and split, swallows darting into rafters.

After an hour, most doors stood open, blossoms shaken loose across the floor.

“Then this must be the one,” Nana said, the last bead on a string, unease swelling like thunder stacking behind hills.

Please let it not be a trap, a step over thin ice.

Creak… Wood scraped long in the silent palace, crickets in a mausoleum.

They edged in, shadows slipping through rice paper, and the sight hit before they braced themselves.

Two identical Jade Ring Longs hung bound to two white crosses, twin moons pinned to icy frames.

They slept, faces serene and stately, lotus on still water.

They wore ceremonial white to match the crosses, snow draped on stone, like a secret rite the room itself wouldn’t confess.

Below the crosses lay wood and coal soaked in kerosene, a pyre thirsty for flame.

The whole room stank of gasoline, rancid rain trapped in a sealed jar.