Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives Chapter 1686: Regretless [Part 3]

Chapter 1686: Regretless [Part 3]

Villain Ch 1686. Regretless [Part 3]

The paladin’s mouth opened again, but his lips stopped moving.

Soundless.

The scream was still there—face twisted in agony, jaw trembling—but the voice had been stolen.

His eyes—furious, terrified—were the only thing left of the man inside.

Allen watched, jaw clenched.

His own voice felt caught behind his tongue.

Zoe muttered, “He’s still aware.”

Larissa’s voice was thin. “He never stopped being aware.”

The mory continued.

The paladin—still kneeling—began to change. His limbs thickened unnaturally as armor fused to flesh. His tabard disintegrated, replaced by ceremonial plating and glowing restraints. The sword he’d prayed over was yanked from his grip, twisted into a halberd, recast in white fire.

The priest knelt before him, placing one hand on his ruined chest.

“You shall be known as Regretless,” he said.

And for a split second, sothing flickered across his face.

Not rcy.

Not cruelty.

Indifference.

“Your na will carry the weight you could not.”

Then the priest turned and walked away.

The light dimd.

The paladin remained kneeling—but now motionless. Weapon planted by his side. Light pulsing in his core.

The mory ended.

Just like that.

Back to the dungeon. The real world. The sanctum. Quiet, cold, cracked tile beneath their feet.

The only thing left of Regretless was a fading glow on the marble.

Bella whispered, “That was…”

No one finished the sentence.

Allen exhaled slowly.

He’d seen death before.

He’d caused it plenty of tis.

But this?

Watching a man turned into a tool? Watching faith be used like a cage?

“They turned him into that,” he said quietly. “Not for evil. Not for punishnt. Just… because they could.”

Larissa stepped forward beside him. Her face was unreadable, but her voice was sharp. “So he could fight forever. Guard a wedding that never happened. In a dungeon made to loop pain.”

“Sanctified servitor,” Alice said. “Bound paladin soul. Automated loyalty.”

Vivian sighed. “Ugh. I feel gross.”

Bella frowned, all her usual bounciness dimd. “He thought they saved him.”

“He thought it was heaven,” Zoe added softly.

Allen’s fingers curled at his side.

He hated this.

Not just the battle.

Not just the hypocrisy of holy systems doing worse than demons ever could.

He hated that he understood the paladin’s expression.

That quiet hope.

That mistake.

His voice ca low, serious. “We’re ending this.”

Larissa glanced at him. “You okay?”

He didn’t look at her.

“I’ve seen enough monsters,” he said. “But watching one be made… that’s different. I hate betrayal… Even though this is just a ga.”

The others fell silent again. There wasn’t much to say after that.

Just a chamber full of broken constructs, blood on the floor, and a light that had gone cold.

Allen turned to the door now unsealed at the far end of the round hall.

“Let’s move.”

He walked forward without waiting.

Behind him, the party followed. No banter this ti.

Just the sound of bootsteps on stained marble, walking toward a sanctum that might finally explain why the Bound Saint had cried.

Or why she’d been silenced.

And why this bride wasn’t going quietly.

Allen didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The air around him had shifted.

Not his aura—though that still pulsed faintly, laced with the corruption of blood and soulbinding, cloaked in the scent of scorched silk and sanctified oil—but him. His presence. That quiet weight in the room that made everyone else… not speak. Like their voices would clang too loud. Like sothing fragile might break.

He wasn’t angry.

Not in the way he was during combat, where he smirked through the blood and flirted with chaos.

No.

This was different.

This was quiet Allen.

And not the cool and calculating Devil Emperor version they all teased.

This was the Allen with that empty look in his eyes. The one that said he was rembering sothing he didn’t want to rember. The one that said don’t ask.

And yeah—none of them did.

Larissa watched his back like she was trying to read sothing carved into it. That subtle tension in his shoulders. The way his hands weren’t even on his weapon now. The way his steps weren’t cautious—they were just… steady. chanical. As if he was moving because stopping would hurt more.

Vivian glanced at Zoe.

Zoe t her eyes and just shook her head once.

Don’t.

Not now.

The dungeon air was cold. Bitter with that dry incense-smoke sll. Still tinged with ozone from the sanctified lightning they’d just barely dodged. Shadows danced around them as they passed broken lanterns, each one flickering with those weird twisted halos the dungeon liked to decorate everything with.

No one said it, but they all felt it.

Allen was too quiet.

Even for Allen.

And it wasn’t just because of the battle. Or the Warden. Or the mory of the screaming paladin turned into a living statue of loyalty.

It was because…

Maybe it hit too close.

Larissa, walking behind him, felt her chest tighten. Not jealousy. Not protectiveness. Just… sothing she couldn’t na. Sothing real. Sothing raw. She’d seen that look in his eyes once before.

Two years ago.

Back when he gave everything to Sophia.

He trusted her. Believed in her.

Until she left him behind.

And then walked away like she didn’t just burn a loyalty most people would kill for.

Watching that paladin in the mory—watching him beg, watching him scream for sothing he thought was salvation and realize too late it was a trap…

Yeah.

That wasn’t just lore.

That was a mirror.

Allen’s posture hadn’t changed. But sothing behind his eyes had.

Like he wanted to scream, too. But just didn’t have the voice left for it.

Just like Regretless.

The corridor narrowed. Their boots splashed through shallow puddles of mana-tainted water, stained slightly pink from old sanctified blood. The next hallway curved like a ribcage, stone ribs bent inward, half-crushed pews piled in corners like debris from a wedding no one finished setting up.

Still, Allen walked.

And no one stopped him.

He didn’t say leave alone.

But his back did.

That faint tension at the base of his neck.

The way he didn’t glance back even once.

It said ‘Let cool my head.’

It said ‘I’m thinking. Let bleed through it.’

So they let him.

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