"Speak. Do you deny your guilt?"
The voice didn't just hit my ears; it vibrated through my actual skeleton. It was deep, husky, regal, and so heavy it could probably flatten a small nation. If "expensive mahogany" and "luxury watches" had a sound, this was it.
But enough of that.
"Answer."
I blinked, my brain still trying to shake off the feeling of being turned inside out by the transport. My eyes darted around the room. I was in a massive hall filled with people dressed in silk and gold embroidery that probably cost more than my first soul.
And then—ping. The interface blinked to life, sounding far too optimistic for the occasion.
[Congratulations, Tester! You've successfully arrived at the Mission Ground!]
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. My tone was somewhere between a sigh and a death threat.
I looked down. My wrists and ankles were bound in heavy iron chains that bit into my skin with a rude, clinical chill leaving painful red marks. My white tunic was a shredded, dirt-smeared disaster. I doubt anyone even realize this was supposed to be white. And worse, I was kneeling—on actual, freezing marble—in front of a throne.
And the man sitting on it? Oh, Lord.
He had dark auburn hair tied back with military precision and golden eyes that looked like they were haunted by a fire that refused to go out. He wore a sword at his hip and silence like a second skin.
Even in a room full of peacocks, he was the only thing worth looking at. He was like a blade forged from sunlight—dangerous, sharp, and currently looking at me as if I were a particularly offensive stain on his carpet.
Well, that doesn't feel right.
"What guilt?" I asked. My voice was dry—mostly from thirst, but partially from the fact that I had zero context of what the actual hell is happening here.
Usually, when the System drops me into a meat-grinder, I get a character profile. A backstory. A "Why Everyone Hates You" pamphlet. But the interface was being unnervingly quiet. They'd launched me mid-persecution, chained and accused of… something.
Was I a traitor? A thief? A misunderstood florist? I had no idea!
Hey! I called out to the God of Fertility, who was conspicuously absent. Wake up, you perverted peacock! I need a script!
[The God of Fertility is resting. He left a message: 'It's an SSS+ difficulty; whatever position you're in has nothing to do with me.']
A hot surge of rage bubbled up in my chest. Resting? He drafted me into a "Divine Womb" mission and then went for a nap while I was in shackles? I was going to find a way to file a divine HR complaint if I survived this.
I tilted my head back, my white hair dragging against the chains. I'd deal with the "Fertility" prick later. Right now, I had to deal with the Emperor.
"Do you truly not know your crime?" Thorne's voice cut through the room. Those golden eyes weren't just looking at me; they were trying to strip the truth right off my skin.
I opened my mouth to tell him I was just as confused as he was, but a hard object slammed into the back of my head.
Crack.
My vision blurred, and I tasted copper. Someone had just hit me with a baton.
"Is this how you prosecute crimes here?" I spat, the pain finally snapping my last thread of patience. "I haven't even been found guilty and I'm already getting the 'abuse and humiliation' package? Uncalled for. Seriously."
I'd been an Emperor in my twenty-second life and even on the last life where I was overthrown by a Coup de etat. I knew protocol, and this was tacky.
"What an absolute blasphemy to the royal laws!" some silver-bearded noble shouted from the side, looking like his monocle was about to pop out from pure indignation.
I wiped a smear of blood from my forehead with the back of my hand. Then, all of a sudden the interface popped up.
[Congrats Tester! This is your first mission: Survive the execution.
Reward: 5 gold coins
Punishment: Death]
W-what? This is unfair.
I badly wanted to complain but it's not like I had a choice.
Fine. I had one life left. I was chained to the floor of a SSS+ difficulty mission. I had exactly zero cards left to play. Might as well go out with a bang.
"If the crime," I muttered, letting a sharp, dangerous smirk pull at my lips, "is finding you incredibly attractive… then I am absolutely guilty, Your Majesty."
I made sure my voice sounded as smooth as I can.
The room went so silent you could hear a pin drop. Then, a collective gasp swept through the court like a gust of wind.
I felt the dull throb in my skull and leaned into it. If I was going to fail and return to the void, I was going to do it while being the most annoying person in the room. Besides, I wasn't lying. If I was going to be executed, I'd rather the last thing I saw be a face that high-definition.
I can't wait to see the look of that God's face after we met in the after life. Goodluck waiting for ten years.
"Are you mocking the court?!" the silver-bearded noble barked, his face turning a delightful shade of purple.
"What? Are you saying I'm wrong?" I shrugged, the chains rattling. "Look at him. The man doesn't even belong in this room. He's a blooming rose among withered weeds. The rest of you pale in comparison. Honestly, the lighting in here doesn't do any of you favors, but him? He's carryng the whole aesthetic of the kingdom on his back."
I actually chuckled. The old men's face was contorted in such pure rage I thought they might spontaneously combust.
Hey,Silver linings.
But beneath the outrage of the nobles, a sharp stillness coiled in the Emperor's posture. He didn't look amused. He looked like he was deciding which part of me to cut off first.
"How dare you speak such nonsense!" a knight roared, shoving a spear against my shoulder to force me deeper into the marble.
I exhaled slowly, locking eyes with Thorne.
"Did I say something wrong? And besides, if I die here, who else is going to tell you the truth? All these people want is an heir out of you, but look at them—they're terrified. Can any of them survive actually loving you?"
"Beside me? Are any of them willing to take the risk?"
The court erupted into a chaotic mess of whispers. I was just spitballing based on the "Cursed Emperor" title I've read in the mission description, but it seemed I'd hit a nerve.
I knew him, there can't be a mistake. This is Emperor Thorne Ravencourt.
"SILENCE."
One word. The room didn't just go quiet; it felt like the air itself froze. The pillars shook.
Thorne stood up. My stomach did a slow, nauseous flip. Every step he took down from the throne echoed like a drumbeat. He didn't break eye contact once. His presence was suffocating—molten and terrifying.
When he stopped in front of me, he didn't say a word. He just unsheathed his sword.
The silver blade hummed. I kept my chin up. If I was going to die, I was going to do it with a smirk. The cold metal of the blade slid under my chin, lifting my head until I was forced to look up into that golden fire. The edge dug in just enough to draw a thin, hot line of blood.
He studied my face, his expression unreadable. Then:
"Throw her in prison."
He turned on his heel and walked away, his robes trailing behind him like shadows.
The knights surged forward, dragging me up by my arms. My feet scraped the marble, my wrists raw. I blinked, genuinely confused.
Wait. That's it? No beheading? No dramatic monologue? I was sure as hell I'm gonna get beheaded.
"Bring in the next criminal," Thorne commanded, his voice already moving on.
But before the knights could drag me out, the massive chamber doors burst open. A gust of cold wind swept in, and the entire room went dead still.
I forgot to breathe.
He was tall, otherworldly, and walked with a grace that made everyone else look like they were wading through mud. Raven-black hair flowed behind him like silk, and his eyes—violet, glowing faintly—looked like twin amethysts drenched in moonlight. It was a beauty so mesmerizing it felt like a physical attack.
Is his crime inciting a war with his beauty? I wondered.
He walked past me, his hair fluttering in the draft. He didn't look at the nobles. He didn't look at the knights. He looked at me. Our eyes met for one heartbeat, and a strange, electric heat jolted through my stomach.
The doors closed behind him with a dull thud. I actually let out a small groan of disappointment. I wanted a second look.
Wait—focus, Saoirse! You're in chains!
"Let me go!" I snapped at the knights. "I can walk, damn it! I'm not a sack of potatoes!"
They didn't care. They hauled me through the winding halls until we reached the dungeons. With a loud, final clang, I was tossed into a cell. I hit the floor, dust rising into the stale air, and hissed as the cold stone bit into my bruised knees.
I sat back against the dusty concrete, closing my eyes.
My head was spinning. Two gods-damned beautiful men in one hour. This mission was either going to be my salvation or the most aesthetically pleasing execution in the history of the universe.
"Well," I whispered to the dark cell. "At least the scenery is better than the white room."