NOVGO.NET Chapter 1964: Rot
Chapter 1964: Rot
Villain Ch 1964. Rot
Allen stayed quiet, but his jaw clenched slightly. Just a flick of tension. Barely visible.
Elio stepped closer, not to close the distance, but to give the conversation weight. “I’m not here to guilt you. She made her choices. You made yours. I get that.”
Allen’s voice was calm. “Then what are you here for?”
“I guess…” Elio stared out into the lot. A car drove by slowly, headlights casting a passing glare. “I guess I didn’t want this thing between us to rot.”
“What thing?” Allen asked, voice low but steady.
Elio shifted on his feet, frowning at the pavement like it might answer for him. “Since the beginning,” he said slowly, “I heard bad things about you. You know that, right?”
Allen didn’t say anything. Just waited. His silence sharp as glass.
Elio continued. “First were from Darren and Liam. They joined my team just days before the qualifiers. Said you were toxic. Controlling. That you only played to make yourself look good and left your squad behind.”
Allen let out a quiet breath through his nose. Not a laugh. Not disbelief. Just patience. The kind that said, ’And?’
“They told me they ditched you at the last second because you were impossible to work with,” Elio went on. “And I believed them.”
“You didn’t know me,” Allen said.
“No,” Elio agreed. “And then came Sophia.”
Allen’s jaw didn’t move, but something in his expression cooled. Just a little. Like winter crept behind his eyes.
“She talked about you like you broke her,” Elio said. “Made her into someone bitter. Said you manipulated people. Lied. Ghosted. Used her and tossed her aside even though she was sorry. And she cried.”
“She’s a good actress,” Allen said flatly.
“Yeah,” Elio muttered. “She played the victim so well I started hating you before I even knew what your voice sounded like.”
The wind moved through the lot again, tugging at the corner of Elio’s jacket. He adjusted it, then looked back up.
“And we’d never even talked. Not once. All I had was their version of you. Darren. Liam. Sophia. All of them.”
Allen raised an eyebrow. “So what now? You feel bad for misjudging?”
“I feel like an idiot,” Elio said honestly. “And I don’t want it to rot. That version of you. That villain image I had in my head. I don’t want to hold onto that.”
Allen was quiet again. Then tilted his head, studying him.
“You mean your perception of me?” he asked. “This little story in your head? The bad guy who burned everyone just because he could?”
Elio hesitated.
He wasn’t sure. Not really. But the words came anyway.
“…Yeah.”
Allen chuckled. Low and slow. The kind of laugh that rumbled from deep in his chest.
“I won’t blame you,” he said. “But maybe you can take a lesson from it.”
Elio blinked. “What kind of lesson?”
“That you can’t see a problem from one point of view and think you’ve got the truth.”
Elio gave a small nod. “Yeah. I’ll try. I promise.”
Allen didn’t smile, but there was something approving in his eyes. Like a teacher watching a student finally get the math problem right.
Elio scratched the back of his neck, glancing back toward the restaurant.
“That’s not all, though,” he said.
Allen lifted a brow. “Oh?”
“I also wanted to ask something.” Elio’s voice dropped just a bit. He turned back toward Allen fully. “Are you… are you joining the tournament?”
Allen exhaled, short and dry. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m the son of the game’s owner,” Allen said. “Goldborne heir. Me joining would be conflict of interest. PR nightmare. The end of balance. I can’t.”
Elio pursed his lips. “Right…”
Allen could see the thought forming in his eyes. Something stubborn. A spark.
“But,” Elio muttered, his hands curling into fists, “if you can’t join as a player…”
Allen turned toward him slightly, sensing the tone shift.
“…then will you join as the Devil Emperor?”
The silence hit like a thunderclap.
Their eyes locked.
It wasn’t just a question. It was a summon. A challenge. A vow.
Allen didn’t answer immediately.
But the smirk that curled on his lips wasn’t Allen’s.
It was his.
Azazel’s.
The Devil Emperor.
The same smirk he wore when he crushed top guilds without blinking. When he stood alone on a burning battlefield, wings made of shadows behind him, and laughed like nothing could touch him.
“We’ll see that later,” he said, voice lower now. Darker. Older.
Elio’s breath caught for half a second.
“…If I win,” Elio said, almost daring himself to say it out loud, “if I win this tournament… will you do it?”
Allen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just assessing.
“It depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you’re worth it,” Allen said simply. “I don’t fight people who waste my time. If you want to stand in front of me, you better earn it. And not as Elio. Not as some half-formed hero with guilt in his chest.”
Elio’s hands were clenched tight now. His breath louder. His pulse hammering behind his ears.
“Then how?” he asked.
Allen’s smirk widened, slow and lethal.
“You want Azazel?” he said softly. “You beat everyone. Solo. Guild. Finals. You claw your way up that mountain and scream my name so loud the devs can’t ignore it.”
Elio stepped forward. Not in aggression. In resolve.
“And if I do?” he asked.
“Then I’ll come to you,” Allen whispered, voice like steel beneath silk. “Not as Allen. Not as Goldborne. But as the Devil Emperor.”
Elio’s heartbeat surged.
“And if I lose?”
Allen turned fully now, his presence like a shadow stretching across the pavement.
“Then you are not worthy,” he said. “And accept you were never ready.”
There was no hatred in it.
No venom.
Just truth.
Just the kind of raw, unsentimental edge that made legends.
Elio didn’t flinch.
He nodded once.
“Then I’ll win,” he said.
Allen didn’t reply. Just turned and walked back toward the door.
But before he pushed it open, he looked over his shoulder.
“I’ll be watching,” he said.
And then he was gone.