But every ti he turned, every surface only showed him, multiplied endlessly.
And then, when he looked too long into one reflection,
the faces behind it began to move again.
Screaming. Reaching out.
Desperate to be free.
Raito’s pulse quickened. His blade tightened in his grip.
Sowhere inside this mirrored hell, the true boss was waiting,
watching through his own reflection.
Raito’s eyes stayed fixed on the mirror.
What he saw made his blood run cold. Hundreds of faces, twisted in terror, stared back at him. These were the people the Mireborn King had killed, souls trapped in the reflective surfaces of this cursed room.
A scream tore from his throat. He stumbled backward, closing his eyes, unable to bear the sight. The noise that erupted from him was pure anguish, echoing through the mirrored chamber.
Then, suddenly, the mirrors shivered. A crack ran through the glass, and three figures began to push outward.
Raito opened his eyes. They were coming out.
The three were screaming, yet not alive. Their bodies were visible, but grotesque; necks twisted unnaturally to the side, limbs dangling as if lifeless. Yet their eyes burned with a desperate plea.
Raito’s dagger rose instinctively. "Sorry... rest in peace," he whispered.
He moved faster than thought. The three lunged at him, but his blade t them before they could close the distance. One swing, two swings, their heads toppled, rolling across the mirrored floor.
And then, they were gone.
The room fell silent. The mirrors reflected only him again, but now the weight of the Mireborn King’s atrocities pressed on him heavier than ever.
Raito inhaled slowly, gripping his dagger tighter. This is just the beginning.
Twenty more figures erupted from the mirrors. Their mouths opened, but no sound ca out—they couldn’t scream the way they did trapped inside the glass. Still, Raito could hear them. Help... help...
He bent his head slightly, calculating. They surged forward, but he didn’t hesitate. In a single, fluid motion, his dagger slashed upward, cutting down all twenty at once. He clasped both hands together, feeling the tension leave his body.
"Don’t worry," he whispered, voice low but firm. "I’ll get him. I’ll bring you peace. He won’t leave unpunished."
From the mirrors, more human souls began erging, warriors, fighters, n and won who had been trapped. They charged, but Raito moved faster than their feeble strikes, cutting through them with precision. Slash after slash, they fell one by one, until only a single mirror remained.
A voice bood from within, cold and commanding.
"Hey... I didn’t expect you to defeat them. They were no ordinary soldiers, but the one you’re about to face... I am the king. The Mireborn King. You won’t win here the way you did against the others."
Raito’s eyes narrowed. He turned to the remaining mirror, and from its depths, a figure erged. Golden armor glead even in the dim reflection, long hair flowing, a long sword gripped in hand. His eyes were dark, piercing, and locked onto Raito.
The king charged. Steel t steel as their swords collided in a thunderous clash. Sparks flew.
"He’s... strong," Raito muttered under his breath, feeling the imnse power behind each strike.
He swung his cursed blade, aiming for the king, but the skillful warrior countered effortlessly. Instantly, Raito vanished his sword into the victory box and drew his dagger, blocking a deadly strike aid at his chest.
"What... how is he this strong?" Raito thought, sweat forming on his brow. "He’s already dead, yet his strength is nothing like the others."
They exchanged a flurry of blows. Raito swung, attempting to strike his neck, but the king vanished, reappearing behind him in a blink. Raito twisted, spinning, trying to catch him mid-move.
No one else is truly the king, Raito’s mind raced. He may even be stronger than the Death Knight. This isn’t going to be easy.
Both warriors faced each other again, their movents blurring faster than the eye could follow. This was no ordinary fight, it was a clash of titans, and the room itself seed to tremble beneath their power.
He and the king traded steel in mid‑air, dagger against long sword, sparks shredding the reflected light. Raito drove a flurry of slashes at the dead king’s head; each blow sent them spinning higher into the mirrored ceiling. For a heartbeat the king vanished from his sight.
Then Raito felt it, a cold pressure behind his neck. The king’s aura, closer than reality. Raito twisted, ducked a strike aid at his skull, and spun a back‑kick into the air. The king t it with the sa motion; their heels collided, sending both of them careening backward, suspended for a second between heaven and floor.
Do I defeat him now? Raito’s mind ran the possibilities. He wasn’t stupid, this corpse king wasn’t as powerful as when he had been alive. But sword against sword would be a war of attrition. He needed a decisive edge.
A voice cut through the noise, soft, desperate, almost human.
"Save ... save us. I called you here. Take out now. Free us."
Raito froze. Did he just hear voices in his head? The king spoke again, a rasp like wind through bone. It wasn’t the mocking roar of the other dead he’d cut down. There was pleading in it.
Steel sang. Raito lunged, fast as thought, and his dagger sliced the king’s throat. Blood, or sothing like it, sprayed and vanished into the air. The blow should have finished him. It didn’t. The king’s eyes flashed with sothing like triumph, not pain.
Raito landed, breathing hard. "Who are you?" he spat into the mirrored hall. "Show yourself, the keeper of this place. Show yourself, bastard."
He started smashing the mirrored walls, fists, dagger, anything, looking for the core of this chamber. The glass shattered in fractal splinters; screams like trapped wind ca from every broken shard. As he struck the floor, the world shifted, pressure collapsed inward, an aura like a second heartbeat pressing against his back.
He turned slowly.
There he was.
Raito t his own face.
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