NOVEL WEB CHAPTER 286: NUMBER TWENTY
"Yawn. Guess it's time to step up," Greg muttered, stretching lazily as if the weight of the chaos below bored him more than it concerned him.
"Don't leave the tree if you don't want to die," he added to Daemon before dropping down from the branch.
The battlefield was a bloodbath. Every other player had been slaughtered by the shadow slaves—mercilessly and without pause. Only Greg and Daemon remained.
The tree they'd perched on remained untouched, avoided by the shadow slaves entirely, as if something about it repelled them.
Greg landed softly, crouching for a moment as dust flared around his boots. He was completely surrounded by the grotesque shadow slaves, their hulking forms twitching with unnatural energy. Yet, not a single one moved to strike.
"You can come out now," Greg said calmly, raising his voice just enough to carry. His golden eyes scanned the air lazily, half-lidded but alert.
"Seeing as your minions are just standing there like statues, I'm guessing you plan to show yourself from that direction."
A faint chuckle slithered into his ears.
"Wow, you have acute senses to notice my presence," a voice responded coolly.
A man appeared inches behind him, materializing from the shadows like a ghost. He wore a harlequin-patterned cloak enshrouded in shadowy mist and an eerie porcelain mask that was curled into a permanent grin.
Greg didn't flinch.
The stranger—Number Twenty—smiled behind the mask. He wasn't foolish enough to think Greg hadn't noticed his approach. On the contrary, he was well aware Greg had known he was there the entire time. And yet, Greg hadn't turned—not out of fear, but confidence. Maybe arrogance.
"I think I prefer Rebecca," Greg said nonchalantly, still facing forward. "At least she doesn't sneak up behind people like a rat. Which begs the question—why is one of her minions resorting to such cowardice?"
"To think you have the audacity to call my goddess by name... What an arrogant prick you are," Number Twenty growled, frustration leaking into his voice.
"Anyway, Augustus sends his regards," he whispered, leaning closer, his breath icy.
"I hope you've enjoyed your little life, because I'm about to end it."
Then, without warning, he dissolved into shadow, reappearing at a safe distance amidst the crowd of shadow slaves.
"Allow me to introduce myself!" he announced with theatrical flair, arms stretched wide.
"A numbered servant under the great Goddess of Darkness, I am Clown the Cruel—of the circus race, hailing from a universe far, far away! Exploding creatures are my favorite snacks. Your very existence offends my lady's gaze, yet she refuses to act. But fear not, for I, her loyal servant, shall erase you on her behalf and—"
"Shut up already and fight if you want to fight. Don't piss me off," Greg interrupted coldly.
Clown was momentarily stunned. Then he burst into a fit of laughter that echoed unnaturally across the field.
"Good! Good! Good!" he cackled, eyes gleaming behind the mask.
"Let's see how you fare against one thousand four hundred shadow slaves... and fifty elite variants!"
With a wave of his hand, the shadow slaves roared and began their charge.
---
Meanwhile...
The other members of the Twilight Guild were en route to Grey Empire territory—what remained of it. Despite its collapse, it had become a new gathering place for players, drawn by rebuilding efforts and the promise of quests.
The group soared through the sky atop majestic griffins—winged beasts native to Greg's island. While Annabelle's floating island used pegasi for transport, Greg's preferred creatures were far more ferocious.
"By the way," Chris called out over the rush of wind, his voice half-drowned by the gusts, "where's Annabelle—Greg's little sister? Haven't seen her around lately."
"In the demon realm," Will replied bluntly through the guild chat.
Chris blinked. "Demon realm? What do you mean by that?"
"What I said," Will typed, unconcerned.
"You can ask her for the details yourself. And just a heads-up—she's probably taken. But hey, you can shoot your shot."
Chris nearly lost his grip on his griffin.
"You all shut up!" Cain barked suddenly. "I'd like some peace before we land, but the damn notifications keep ringing in my ears thanks to you clowns."
Silence followed, tense and awkward, until they finally descended over the crumbling yet proud remains of the Grey Empire's capital.
The griffins were stored in their inventories—registered as mounts by the system.
As they approached the castle gates, they were quickly surrounded by guards. The knights were mostly fresh recruits—nervous, unseasoned, and a little too twitchy with their weapons.
"Relax. We're not here to fight," Chris said, brushing aside a pointed spear.
"We came to request an audience with the Empress."
"You have no permission to meet the Empress. Leave at once!" the knight captain barked, trying hard to mask his fear with authority.
The Grey Empire was a shadow of its former self. All their commanders had been wiped out—courtesy of Nemesis.
"Should I kill them?" Cain asked, almost lazily. "Or should we just leave? They'd make decent undead. Subpar, but usable."
His words made the knights shift nervously, some taking a subconscious step back.
"You can't do that!" Brian said quickly, stepping forward.
His objection seemed to revive the knights' courage, and they stepped forward once more, ready to defend their Empress.
"The one without moral sense, and the one with too much of it," Thomas muttered thoughtfully. "Wonder which of them will change the other."
Cain didn't seem moved. "I don't take orders from you. And I think I'll kill them if they don't get out of my way in ten seconds."
A swirl of dark mist formed around him, the air thickening as skeletal hands began to rise from the fog.
"What kind of audacity is this—causing a ruckus in my empire with no respect for its laws?" a cold voice rang out.
All eyes turned as Empress Elizabeth emerged from the castle.
A gleaming crown rested atop her snow-white hair, which flowed down like a curtain of frost. Her brows matched her hair in pallor, and her eyes—two glimmering oceans—were as cold as ancient glaciers. Her lips bore a deathly white hue, like someone who'd embraced frostbite. Her form-fitting dress swept across the stone floor, and wherever she walked, a thin layer of ice followed—turning each step into a frozen monument.
"Elizabeth?!" Brian was struck speechless.
He had expected her beauty, but not the transformation. The girl he once knew now radiated an icy, regal majesty.
"It's Empress Elizabeth," she said flatly, eyes boring into his. "I would prefer you address me by my proper title."