I Am the Dark Lord.

I’m currently suppressed.

I’ve locked horns with the Archbishop—one of those who sealed me away.

I don’t know what my expression looked like to him—maybe stubborn.

But his gaze was like a vicious wolf’s: fierce, greedy, cunning, mad yet calm.

Time seemed to freeze.

He examined me like prey already in his jaws, or a cornered beast he’d crush with one impatient swipe.

I couldn’t read his thoughts.

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly—a tiny curve, but I caught it.

It was pure mockery. Mocking the ignorant. Mocking my futile attempt to betray the Hero.

He thought he’d seen through my scheme.

He was right. This wasn’t a hidden plot—it was an open one.

I wouldn’t say it aloud, but I wasn’t afraid of exposure.

But I saw through him too.

He hid a deep, deep secret about me—from me, and likely from the Hero as well.

Finally, he broke the icy silence that felt like centuries: “Hero, the Dark Lord and I have private matters. Would you step aside?”

I flashed an OK sign to the hesitant Lott.

He nodded slowly. “Do as you wish.” Then he turned toward the window.

“Thank you.” The Archbishop crouched, placing his hands on the floor. A simple silencing barrier flared to life.

“You think you can hide from me?” His voice turned sharp. “Let me reintroduce myself. I am Archbishop Wu Fangzheng of the Church. A master of mind-reading and prophecy. Second only to the Pope. Behave yourself.”

“Eek, Archbishop! So scary!” I fake-cowered into the corner. His eye twitched.

“You think I won’t kill you right now?” he snarled.

“If you could kill me, you’d have done it already,” I shrugged. “Archbishop? All I see in you is cunning and greed.”

“You won’t last much longer anyway.” He laughed coldly, the sound making my skin crawl. “Stop scheming to betray the Hero. You’ll fail.”

“How do you know unless I try?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Ha! Aim elsewhere. The Hero won’t live long—might die before you do.”

“Why tell me this?” I frowned. This should be secret.

“I’m offering a choice: trust the Hero or trust me. Hand over the Dark Lord’s treasure and secrets. I might spare you.” He looked utterly confident.

“I…” I hesitated for a split second. Then snapped back. Losing those would strip my value to them. “You were wrong from the start.”

“I’ll be the one who survives—not you, not even the Hero!” I forced supreme confidence, exaggerating. You read minds? Go ahead—read this!

Mind-reading exists in the Dark Lord’s legacy too. Without touch or spells, it only heightens perception of physical cues—expressions, pulse—aided by prophecy-like techniques.

But prophecy isn’t perfect. One type simulates outcomes from current data, like a computer model. The other foresees the future directly—but demands immense skill and cost, yielding vague, fragmented visions.

So I doubted he saw anything real. Or he wouldn’t ask.

Maybe their grand prophecy on my treasure vault’s location concluded: the Dark Lord knows. Ha!

That was highly possible.

I burst out laughing. The Archbishop’s beard seemed to bristle in confusion.

“Mocking me?”

“I’m laughing at all of you. Did you use grand prophecy on my vault’s location?” I dropped the act. His widened eyes confirmed it.

“Was your result: the Dark Lord knows?” I pressed.

For the first time, panic flashed across his face. He glared, eyebrows twitching. “How do you know? Could it—?” He glanced at the oblivious Hero by the window.

“Because the Dark Lord knows! Haha—I can’t hold it!” I rolled in the cage. “You’ve all been fooled!”

My bluffing skills clearly outmatched the Hero’s.

“So don’t jump to conclusions before guessing the secret, okay?”

“Your ‘jumping’ relies on what?” He smirked suddenly. “The Dark Lord’s cunning? Without power, cunning is useless.” He thrust out a hand. No spell—just raw magic forming a giant claw that seized me.

I screamed inwardly. No room to dodge. A crushing grip lifted me off the ground.

Suffocating pain tore through me. My ribs creaked under pressure. I could only gasp out air, not breathe in.

After gaining a second life… am I to die like this?

Agony blurred my vision.

“As expected—mind-reading can’t break a Dark Lord’s will. Keep resisting! Where’s that big mouth now?” His taunts faded into ringing ears.

“Snake demon…” I choked out with my last breath. Is this bastard part python? Trying to suffocate me!

“Hmph!” He withdrew the magic. I crashed onto the fox fur robe, coughing violently, unable to move.

I truly felt death’s grip. I gulped air like a drowning man dragged ashore.

“Try jumping again, little brat? Your days are numbered.”

“Sadist,” I muttered, turning away.

He dispelled the barrier, stood tall, hands clasped behind his back. “Hero, that’s all for today. Remember—the public trial of the Dark Lord is the day after tomorrow. You must attend.”

The day after tomorrow? Time’s running out. Am I, a Dark Lord, to perish here?

No… A faint despair crept in. I curled tighter in the cage, drafting escape plans. But pulling one off in two days? Nearly impossible.

“Understood.” The Hero glanced back at me, worry in his eyes. He whispered something to the Archbishop. Whatever it was, a triumphant smile spread across the Archbishop’s face.

What did the Hero say! I can’t trust him—not fully.