1-Second Invincible Player in the Game - Chapter 7

1-Second Invincible Player In The Game 7

7. The Fake Immortal (1)

It’s been two days since the young master hid himself away in his room.

The servants of the mansion, itching for action, thought to themselves.

Selly, who had sided with him, must have told him everything about the festival.

Therefore, there’s no way Hershel would come out unless he’s gone mad.

For those who had been preparing for the festival, this was a truly troublesome situation.

But just when there was talk of changing the plan to a locked-room murder, something no one expected happened.

He had stepped out of his fortress on his own two feet.

“Is everyone ready?”

A maid asked in the main hall, three stories high, usually reserved for entertaining VIPs. The butler mopping the floor and the maids sweeping all nodded in unison.

“He’ll be here soon.”

By now, they would have thrown the bait at Hershel, and he would have bitten it instantly.

Of course, that bait was the exquisite liquor brought into the main hall.

And Hershel was a drunkard so infamous that even the three-year-old children of the domain knew him.

“But will he really come? Considering he’s been holed up in his room until now, he might have sensed something······.”

“A sparrow wouldn’t just pass by the mill, would it?”

No more voices of denial emerged.

They recalled the madness of the alcoholic whenever he was involved with liquor, shaking their heads, but the servants’ lips were blooming with smiles.

As if on cue, they all looked up at the ceiling.

It was the chandelier, sparkling with crystals.

“We’ve agreed to split the prize money, right?”

“That’s right. Fair and square.”

Their laughter didn’t last long, for the door opened just then.

“Shh. Here he comes. Act normal.”

Creak-

The sound of neat footsteps echoed.

The maid approached the man exuding noble dignity with a bright smile.

“Master. What brings you to the main hall?”

As expected.

From noble mtl dot come

Despite his dignity, his remarks were as light as air.

“Have you heard that Balam’s liquor has arrived?”

“Yes, it just came in last evening.”

“Then bring it over, will you?”

“I’ll bring it right away. Please wait a moment, Master.”

The maid turned her back and blinked one eye.

The butler, receiving the signal, approached Hershel with a chair reserved for VIPs.

“Master. Please, take a seat here.”

“Thank you.”

The butler felt a slight daze at the unfamiliar gratitude coming from his lips.

“What? Oh, yes… You’re welcome.”

Hershel sat down in the chair without any suspicion.

The butler quickly regained his composure and, fearing he might be noticed, changed the subject with his characteristic eloquence.

“How do you find it? Even without a theater, there’s much to see, isn’t there?”

The butler’s hand pointed towards the famous sculptor’s statues on display in the main hall and the paintings of great artists hanging on the walls, guiding Hershel’s gaze. Hershel followed his gesture with his eyes.

“Indeed?”

Suddenly, Hershel looked up.

“Especially that chandelier, it’s truly beautiful.”

At his pointed remark, the servants swallowed their saliva in a chain reaction.

Worried they might have been discovered, but Hershel soon lowered his gaze to look only at the paintings.

The butler entertaining in front had a feigned smile as he began to subtly back away.

“Ha-ha. There are many new pieces I’d like to explain, but unfortunately, I have a task entrusted to me by the lady of the house.”

This was the signal.

The maid, who had been repeatedly cleaning the already spotless third-floor railing, glanced down furtively. As the butler moved to a safe distance, she tightly pulled on a thin, thin thread.

Click-

The metallic sound of the latch from the ceiling faded, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling began to fall. The densely packed crystals made it seem as though a shower was pouring down only where Hershel was.

With a diameter of 5 meters.

Weighing as much as two sacks of flour.

The ceiling alone was higher than three stories.

Beneath that siege weapon-like monstrosity, even a bull would be reduced to mush.

And for a mere, insignificant human, their form wouldn’t even be recognizable.

Bang!

A heavy boom resonated. Accordingly, dust rose in a haze, not a drop of blood in sight. But one thing was certain.

Hershel had been looking at the painting, oblivious to the chandelier falling.

Without reaction, nor the chance to dodge, he would have burst and died.

But then, an unexpected anomaly reached his ears.

Click-clack, click-clack—

The sound of footsteps and a restrained cough that shouldn’t be there.

“Ahem!”

The servants doubted their ears, rubbing their eyes as if they had seen a ghost.

The man emerged through the dust, as if no commotion had happened at all, brushing off the fragments on his body as he walked.

He arrived in front of a maid trembling as if she would collapse at any moment, holding the silk to be sprinkled over the corpse for the festival’s finale.

“But you know,”

As Hershel snatched the drink, the servants snapped back to reality with a shiver.

The unbelievable was not over yet.

“I’ve recently quit drinking, you see.”

The drink, which should have smoothly gone down the throat, only dripped drop by drop, staining the floor until it was soaked.

“What am I to do if you talk to me about alcohol? Not even offering help.”

The empty bottle rolled on the ground.

Only then did Hershel begin to survey the faces of the servants in the hall.

“Why such long faces?”

Hershel smirked, a light laugh to him but to others, it might recall the visage of a demon king.

“Why. Is there a law that forbids me from abstaining?”

With that playful remark, Hershel left his seat.

The servants, gripped by an unknown fear and an impossible anomaly, remained silent for a while.

After a few seconds, only the maid’s soft muttering wandered the silent hall.

“How could this possibly…”

* * *

The middle-aged man escorted Hershel to the riding ground.

His position was that of a horse trainer.

The bait that had lured Hershel was a warhorse that no man could refuse.

And not just any warhorse, but one of the famous steeds from the north.

A treasure too precious for even the sons of wealthy families to ride recklessly, yet Hershel’s reaction was one of dissatisfaction, prompting the trainer to scratch his head.

‘A warhorse used to make him jump for joy, what’s with that expression?’

Regardless.

The momentarily puzzled trainer fixed his gaze forward and smiled slyly.

‘Well, he’s going to die soon anyway, so it hardly matters.’

The moment he put his foot in the stirrup, he trained the warhorse to go wild.

Moreover, he repeated the process so that its muscular hind legs could strike as high as the chest.

True to its fine breed, a single kick was powerful enough to dent even armor.

Eventually, the two men arrived at the riding ground, and the trainer brought out the muscular horse, stopping it in front of Hershel.

“Go ahead, take it for a ride. Its stamina may be lacking, but its burst of speed is truly tremendous.”

“Hmm, will you give me a demonstration?”

“Excuse me?”

“I seem to have forgotten how to ride.”

A predicament had arisen.

Had he noticed something?

In the trainer’s memory, Hershel was skilled enough to ride even when drunk to oblivion.

“Ha, what a funny joke. Please, go ahead and mount. If you have any difficulties, I’ll be right beside you to offer advice.”

The trainer deftly avoided the crisis with his eloquence.

Hershel, watching him, opened his lips with a meaningful expression.

“Well, since you’re prepared, it would only be polite to take a look.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pretending you don’t know.”

The trainer broke into a cold sweat at the chilling thought, but Hershel ignored it and placed his foot in the stirrup.

In that instant, the warhorse snorted loudly and lifted its front hooves.

Before he could mount, Hershel was thrown to the ground.

The warhorse’s front hooves struck the ground, followed by its muscular hind legs.

Even the walls seemed like they would crumble from the force of the two powerful kicks that struck Hershel’s chest.

Crack-!

The trainer smiled triumphantly at the crisp sound of breaking bones. Surely, the broken ribs must have pierced the lungs.

That’s what he thought.

“Puhahaha!”

“What, what on earth is this!”

Hershel, whom everyone thought would die, was perfectly fine.

Instead, it was the warhorse, screaming in pain with its hind leg bent at an odd angle.

As the trainer shuddered at the bizarre occurrence, Hershel dusted himself off and rose.

“Why? Did you think I’d die from just this?”

Having grasped the situation, the trainer quickly prostrated himself on the ground.

Even if he couldn’t be implicated in an attempted murder, there would be no forgiveness from the reckless Hershel.

He would surely take his head, using the excuse of improper training.

“I’m sorry, my lord! It was my mistake, I didn’t train the horse properly! Please, spare my life!”

Knowing full well it wouldn’t work, the trainer wept, hoping for a sliver of a miracle.

Internally, he had already resigned himself to the coffin.

As expected, a chilling statement came from Hershel’s lips.

“The leg is broken, should I put it down?”

The trainer knew all too well the kind of people nobles were, speaking in circles.

Hershel, who loved to stir up trouble, took pleasure in tormenting others, and this was no exception.

So, the mention of euthanasia was undoubtedly a veiled reference to his own life.

“No, no, it can be saved with treatment. Please, anything but euthanasia…”

As he begged for his life, promising to change, his trembling palms rubbed together.

It was then that Hershel, glancing at the horse, uttered something unbelievable.

“It’s pitiful to see. If it can be saved, then treat it well.”

There was a god after all.

That day, the trainer tasted a miracle.

* * *

He opened the notebook he carried.

The contents were information based on rumors of those who had been preparing for assassination since long ago.

The chandelier was said to have fallen, and the horse trainer had been preparing to kill me for some time.

“It’s helpful to have it around.”

Information provider Celly, in the same boat as me, meant no more recent updates with communication cut off, but for now, there shouldn’t be any trouble.

Suddenly, my body began to feel heavy.

This act is quite tiring.

It was when I stepped into the mansion for a brief rest.

As if someone had buttered the floor, my foot slipped out from under me.

“Huh?”

The ceiling came into view, and from the back of my head, I felt my hair touch the ground. Normally, you’d expect to hear the sound of a skull shattering, but not for me.

What I heard was the crushing sound of stone on the floor.

Thud-!

[Impact detected.]

[1-second invincibility cooldown: 59 seconds]

“…What are these?”

But how should I take this?

It’s definitely dangerous, but it’s a bit ambiguous for an assassination attempt.

After all, there are quite a few cases of death by slipping in a bathtub.

I struggled to regain my balance and stood up.

Just then, a maid carrying a duster came to clean the nearby window.

“Wait a moment.”

“Yes, yes?”

“Could you straighten out my clothes?”

The maid hesitated, then approached me. But her path was unnatural.

She took extra steps to avoid the spot where I had slipped.

Clearly, she was the culprit.

Look at that. Her hands are even trembling.

“The floor is slippery.”

“Yes, yes? What do you mean by that…?”

I narrowed my eyes at her feigned ignorance. Startled, the maid stepped on the slippery floor and fell. As expected, she knew, managing only to bruise her buttocks.

“Right?”

“I’m sorry, young master! Please, just spare my life!”

…Look at them jumping to conclusions.

Anyone would think I’m about to devour them.

I had no such intentions. They huddle together like frightened mice, inflating their imaginations, which ultimately plays right into my hands.

That’s why I didn’t punish the previous attempts.

“Just make sure no one else gets hurt and clean up well.”

With those words, I left the place behind.

Click-clack-

I walked down the corridor without a particular destination in mind, simply waiting for the next assassination attempt, reminding myself that this is how it should be done.

Even if I fell off a sheer cliff,

Even if a sharp blade slit my throat,

Even if I was crushed under a chandelier from three stories high,

Even if I was kicked by the hind legs of a horse that seemed to weigh over a ton,

Even if I slipped on the road… Ah, is that a bit too mundane?

Nevertheless, I did not die through all those attempts.

Once or twice might be dismissed as coincidence. But what if it continues like this?

Will they understand me, who does not die no matter how many times I’m killed, this situation?

Humans fear what they cannot comprehend.

It’s a well-known tale that ancient people regarded thunder, now known to be a natural phenomenon, as the wrath of the gods.

Surviving assassination attempts right before their eyes, becoming a legend, and eventually making them give up on the attempts altogether.

That was the survival strategy I chose.

Click-

It was about when I reached the end of the staircase.

A neat-looking butler seemed to have been waiting and greeted me.

“You don’t look well. I have some skill in medicine; may I have the opportunity to serve you?”

I smiled at him.

Their attempts will become my sustenance, and I will tear them apart, breaking free from the ropes that bind me.

“Very well.”

There was no reason to refuse.