Chapter 348: The Luckiest or the Unluckiest Human

’Why...?’

The only question that rang through Jasmine’s mind was that—why?

Why would he do that? Why would Azriel reveal himself as the Son of Death? Why admit that the gods were watching?

Jasmine was already starting to regret asking him that stupid question.

But it was too late for regrets. What was done was done, and the consequences of Azriel’s choice didn’t wait.

"...!"

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in utter horror.]

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in utter shock.]

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in utter fear.]

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in amazement.]

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in respect.]

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in utter horror once again.]

[Why...?]

Weird panels flashed into existence in front of Jasmine’s eyes, startling her; her heart began to speed up.

’Son of Death? The Fourth Authority... don’t tell me—is that some alien?’

She was already thinking fast. Whatever this alien presence was, it had the same question she did.

Why? Why would Azriel reveal himself?

Suddenly she felt the gravity deepen, pressing her downward. It wasn’t much, but it was constant and uncomfortable.

Azriel seemed to be studying the panels as well. He only shrugged.

"You are not even capable of controlling your own scenario anymore, so if I’m going out, I’d rather do it in a way that leaves me a sliver of free will—and screws all of you in the process."

’What is he talking about...?’

Jasmine kept her expression hard and her gaze moving. The feeling of being watched crawled over her skin. She was ready to fight at any moment, yet Azriel stood there leisurely, smiling at the panels, speaking to them as if he were familiar with the so-called ’Fourth Authority.’

[’The Heavenly Stream of the Judged’ has been temporarily paused for this scenario. Severe penalties will be placed upon you, Son of Death, very soon. Be prepared.]

At that, Jasmine tensed, but Azriel’s smile curved into something cruel.

"What? You aren’t going to punish me now?"

’W-why is he provoking it...?’

His smile only widened.

"Let me answer that myself. It’s because you’re about to erase the memories of those watching this scenario, aren’t you? Don’t bother—it’s a waste."

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in confusion.]

"Remember what you said back when you were considering ending the scenario because of Pollux? The viewer count was so high—this trial so inexplicably popular—that you couldn’t bring yourself to end it. You risked every participant’s life by creating a copy of a being you can’t even control. Now, why would you do that?"

[’The Fourth Authority’ looks at the Son of Death in confusion.]

The same panel flashed again. Jasmine glanced at Azriel, her worry mounting with the weight of that invisible gaze, the pressure gnawing at her shoulders, and her racing pulse.

"If you’re still going to act confused, I’ll spell it out. When some random, boring TV show suddenly becomes a hit, why is that? Because a celebrity—someone well known—has said they like it or are watching it, and the masses follow. The same applies here. Sure, this scenario has had interesting fights. I’m sure the story’s been unfolding through the other participants’ perspectives—details I don’t know much about, thanks to your incompetence and Pollux. And yet, somewhere on your grand TVs there are other scenarios running right now that are certainly more exciting: better plots, better fights, better romance, more drama, more tragedy. So I wonder which god is making this one so popular... and how powerful they are."

Jasmine stared at him in shock.

’No way. Is he... inviting a god here? No—how does he even know all this? What is all of this?’

Questions piled up, but one thing was clear: they were in danger. For Azriel to be this reckless, the situation had to be really, really bad.

’Don’t tell me he’s been dealing with the God of Death... or another god this time. How does he keep ending up in situations somehow crazier than mine?’

It was baffling.

Silence stretched. The pressure and the gaze lingered, but no new panels appeared for a while.

Then, finally, one came.

[Unfortunately, Son of Death, your gamble was wrong. There is no god watching this scenario right now who is powerful enough to oppose me, for I have just erased all their memories.]

’This... this fast? Wait, no—how many gods are there? Isn’t it ten? Are they talking about the ten gods, or what? It’s like they’re hinting there are far more... If the scenario works like a TV show, and the gods are watching us—and there are other scenarios—then just how many gods are there exactly?’

Jasmine felt her heart sink.

That was certainly not good.

Azriel’s lips twitched, yet he kept that maddening smile as he stared boldly at the panel, unwilling to give ground.

And then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, a sudden voice slipped into the room—a deep, charming, tranquil voice that vaporized all of Jasmine’s anxiety in an instant. It made her feel light, warm... almost safe.

"Unfortunately, the Fourth Authority speaks the truth, oh great and beloved Son of Death. Though, for his own peace of mind, he seems to have ignored and forgotten my presence."

Instantly, both Azriel and Jasmine snapped their heads toward the door. Before she could even react, Azriel was already in front of her, shielding her with his body. His expression was cold, sharper than she’d ever seen, while Jasmine blinked from behind him, stunned by his speed.

And then, with a voice colder still, Azriel demanded—

"Who are you?"

Jasmine’s gaze followed his.

A tall man stood there, dressed in the simple fashion of her own world—black formal shirt, black trousers, the style almost casual business. His hair was jet black, his eyes the same, his skin a warm bronze.

And yet...

Two antler-like horns, black and polished, jutted from his head. From his back spread two wings, vast and breathtaking, woven of black feathers.

’Wow...’

Jasmine couldn’t look away.

’He’s... beautiful...’

She was mesmerized. Looking at him felt like falling into a trance, her will bleeding away. She didn’t want to turn her eyes from him. Her heart pounded—not just from awe, but from something else, something more dangerous. Fear only sharpened the strange allure, making it even harder to resist.

The slightest twitch of his wings, the slow shutter of his eyelids as they closed and opened again—each detail held her captive. She yearned to see more.

It wasn’t until Azriel’s hand gripped her shoulder, his aura enveloping her, that she snapped free.

"Focus!" Azriel barked.

"...!"

Jasmine’s face drained of color. She staggered back a step, her chest tight.

’W-what the—! Don’t tell me I was under some kind of charm spell just from looking at him!? Ridiculous... He didn’t even do anything. Just his presence caused that?’

Make no mistake. Jasmine knew the shape of mental attacks intimately. To have taken her so easily, without effort, meant only one thing—this man’s power was monstrous.

"I said, who are you?" Azriel’s tone cut like frost.

The man’s lips—full, red, impossibly perfect—curved into a gentle, kind smile. That single expression nearly pulled both of them back under, their focus fraying at the edges. In that instant, they understood how overwhelming this being truly was.

"My name is Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar."

"...!"

This time, even Azriel couldn’t hide his surprise. The words slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Luci—what now?"

The man—no, the being—kept smiling softly, his hands clasped behind his back, wings folded with regal ease.

"Lucifer Morningstar."

"...."

"...."

"The devil...?" Azriel muttered.

"That is correct."

"The actual devil?"

"That is correct."

"The Fallen One? Prince of Darkness? King of Hell? The Rebel Angel?

That

Lucifer Morningstar?"

Listing off the titles one by one, Azriel’s voice was disbelieving.

The man smiled brighter, almost boyishly, and nodded with enthusiasm.

"Correct. That is all me. My, am I to think you know me so well, Son of Death?"

Azriel stared at him flatly, suddenly unimpressed, while Jasmine nearly collapsed under the weight of panic flooding her chest.

’The d-devil? The Devil from heaven and hell? Wait—wait, wait! What does that even mean? The Devil... is real?’

No way.

No way... right?

Her eyes darted to the back of Azriel’s head. She hadn’t mentioned it yet, but his hair was shorter. Uneven.

’What happened to the hairband I gave him? No—who the hell cut his hair? Seriously, isn’t he the embodiment of trouble? ...Wait, why am I even thinking about this right now?’

Snapping back, she forced her eyes on the man—Lucifer—and tried to gauge his mana core rank.

She failed miserably. Her throat tightened as she swallowed hard.

’I can’t tell. But... he’s strong. Really, really, really strong...!’

His presence was crushing, overwhelming—so much so she only now noticed how badly her legs were trembling.

And Azriel didn’t seem to be faring much better. Sweat slid down his face as he met Lucifer’s gaze with deadly seriousness.

"To stand in the presence of a god named Lucifer Morningstar..." Azriel muttered,

"I can’t tell if I’m the luckiest or the unluckiest human alive right now."