Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives Chapter 1900: Repeat The Loop

Villain Ch 1900. Repeat The Loop

Larissa scanned the edge of the clearing, her nostrils flaring. "Greg?"

Nothing.

No footsteps. No wheezing. No groaning.

No sound of anyone still alive—or pretending to be.

They spread out slightly, scanning the ground.

No footprints. No torn cloth. No sll of old blood or rotting magic.

Just damp soil.

Jane crouched and ran her fingers through the dirt, murmuring a detection spell. Faint green light shimred between her fingertips, then faded instantly.

"No residue," she said.

Alice floated a few inches off the ground, sitting on her broom, her expression unreadable. "It’s like it never happened."

Bella rubbed her temples. "So... we just fought a vengeful bride ghost who cursed her family into eternal suffering and then vanished with the entire town?"

"It’s Tuesday," Vivian muttered. "That’s the usual workday for us."

Shea snorted, but it ca out tired. "You’d think after all that, the system would at least give us a vacation quest."

Allen didn’t respond. He was staring at the edge of the clearing again, at where the fog had faded completely this ti.

Then sothing else caught his eye.

Movent. Small. Quick.

Sloppy Smile

Fat Woodpecker

Bored Wolf

Allen stared at it.

Normal.

Everything was normal again.

Including the monster format.

It felt absurd. Like reality itself was trying too hard to convince them everything was fine now. After all that. After her. After the screaming. The branding. The collapse. The judgnt.

Just a few harmless mobs with dumb nas standing around like NPCs waiting for soone to kill them for a daily.

Bella rubbed the back of her neck and let out a long, theatrical sigh. "So what now? Back to the Cursed Crypts?"

Allen didn’t answer at first. He was still looking at the monster list, as if expecting it to glitch again. It didn’t. The numbers stayed the sa. The monsters blinked stupidly.

Then he said, quietly, "Yeah. We’ll go back."

Shea raised a brow as she wiped off her harp strings. "But...?"

Allen turned toward them, sword resting across his shoulder. "But before that, I want to check sothing."

"What kind of sothing?" Zoe asked, stretching out her arms, tentacles twitching like they were sore.

Allen’s expression didn’t change. "Greg."

Vivian made a noise halfway between a snort and a scoff. "Greg? You want to check on Greg?"

"I want to go back," Allen said. "To the village. The first one. Where we saw him. Where he gave us the quest."

Bella blinked. "Why? He’s gone, right? Poof. No soul tether. No fragnt."

"Should be gone," Allen said. "But Elise cursed him. Rember?"

They were quiet then.

Each of them glanced around. At the forest. At the sun. At each other.

And not a single one said no.

Because they rembered.

Elise’s voice still echoed like a ghost beneath the trees.

They didn’t argue.

Didn’t debate.

Didn’t even speak.

They just started walking.

Disguised themselves as players—ordinary, harmless, low-level adventurers. Nothing suspicious. No high-powered aura, no summoned hellfire, no flashy Succubus whip or Kraken tentacles or necromantic bones.

Just eight mismatched travelers heading toward a tiny village on the map, one that shouldn’t an anything anymore.

But did.

They passed through the low stone gates like they had the first ti. Dirt roads, crooked fences, fields dotted with wild garlic and low wheat. NPCs moved around like nothing had happened. Like the world didn’t just bend itself backward and bleed from the inside.

And there—

In front of a crooked little farmhouse, standing by a stack of garlic baskets and an old wheelbarrow—

Was Greg.

Sa bright eyes.

Sa stupid straw hat.

Sa garlic-stained apron.

He scratched his neck, then waved energetically at two players standing before him. One was a lanky rogue with mismatched boots. The other, a mage with too many glowy trinkets for soone under level 150.

"Well howdy, strangers!" Greg said, smiling big. "Fine day for harvestin’, eh? But I got a problem, if you don’t mind lendin’ a hand!"

Allen froze.

"You see," Greg continued, still chipper, "My daughter—she ran off into the woods. Said she was visitin’ her grandma out past the trail, but she never ca back! I’m worried sick, y’know? Darn fog’s been rollin’ in lately, and the woods don’t feel right no more. Could you help find her?"

The rogue accepted the quest instantly. The mage nodded, throwing in so generic dialogue about honor and bravery.

And Greg bead.

Clapped both of them on the shoulder.

"Thank you kindly! Just follow and keep your ears open. She is a bit shy, but she’s a good girl. Wouldn’t hurt a fly."

Allen didn’t move.

Neither did the others.

Because Greg didn’t look at them.

Not at first.

Not until the players turned and walked away down the path, quest markers glowing above their heads.

Then Greg turned.

And looked right at them.

His eyes t Allen’s.

And he smiled.

Not the warm, garlic-farr smile.

Not the clueless dad-next-door smile.

But sothing else.

Wider.

Colder.

Sharper.

The kind of smile you wear when you know the story always resets.

Then he tipped his straw hat—just slightly.

And turned away into the woods. With the players.

Allen stared at the wooden boards like they might bleed.

Vivian folded her arms slowly. "Yup. Definitely not cursed at all."

Jane didn’t speak.

She didn’t need to.

None of them did.

They just stood there, in the middle of the too-normal village, with too-clean roads and too-happy NPCs.

And the garlic farr who smiled like he rembered everything.

The wind blew.

Carrying the faintest scent of lilies.

And sothing burned under it.

Like veil silk and ash.

Zoe crossed her arms and muttered, "So... do we stop him?"

Allen’s voice was quiet.

"...No. We can’t. It’s his curse."

They all looked at him.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t frown.

Didn’t show a thing.

Because he already knew.

They hadn’t escaped.

Not really.

They were just back at the beginning.

And Elise wasn’t the only one cursed to repeat the loop.