The all-knowing Player (Solo Leveling)

S-rank

Warning! Long chapter

A little vocab before you start the chapter:

Himation — Large cloak draped over the body over a tunic, worn by officials in Ancient Greece.

Peplos — Heavy garment worn by priestesses in some cults (notably in Athens)

Corresponding episodes: 76, 77, 78

Jin-Woo marches through a hallway in solemn silence. The robe draped around his shoulders like a himation flutters at each of his steps. Marble columns rise to the sky, as white as the cobbles paving his path to a stage upon which awaits a throne. Standing next to the seat waits a priestess, wearing a white peplos embroidered with purple and silver threads. She holds a velvet cushion upon which rests an olive wreath. A veil covers her head, forbidding me to see her face, yet I know her gaze is set on Jin-Woo as he strides forward with the assurance of a king.

He climbs the few stairs leading to the stage before placing one knee on the ground, bending with deference in front of the priestess. She casts the cushion aside to hold the wreath delicately between her fingers. Upon her touch, the green leaves turn silver, and the branches solidify into what seems to become a forged crown in the shape of a wreath. With motions of a ceremonial slowness, she places the crown on his head.

No crowd applauds. No words are spoken. He simply rises back up, and, as the priestess steps back with a bow, I know that he has become king. He turns toward me—since when have I been there? I don't recall. All I know is that I have been waiting for him. His gaze softens upon finally meeting mine. He walks toward me with a smile, and, at each step he takes in my direction, my heart beats increasingly louder in my chest.

"Hee-Jin," he calls upon halting in front of me, so close I can feel his breath fan my cheeks.

I don't hear his voice. All I see are his lips moving to pronounce a word I know by heart, a word he has already pronounced countless times—but never with such tenderness. His hand rises to caress my cheek, a gentle stroke speaking louder than a hundred words of affection or promises of love.

This time, I give in to his warmth. I lean against his palm and close my eyes upon feeling him bend closer. His nose brushes against mine, and his entrancing scent wraps around me like a cloak—so entrancing that I barely register his hand slipping down until his fingers curl around my throat.

His grip hardens on my neck with such force it drives my last breath out. I thrash against his grasp, only to realize that my movements have been restrained. Shackles around my wrists and my ankles tie me to the ground, the stinging cold of the metal biting into my vulnerable skin. Deep wounds mar my body, scarlet blood gushing over dark crusts of dried blood as the gashes reopen at each of my movements. Sheer agony overcomes me. But the worst isn't the pain: it's his eyes.

Cold. Indifferent. Not a single spark of mana glints in his irises as he watches me hopelessly struggle against his iron grip.

"A-ah... Ji... Jin... Woo..." I plea.

But he doesn't answer. His grip tightens, compressing my trachea mercilessly. I try to gasp for air, to call out to him, but to no avail. Each passing second is an endless torture that robs away any strength I had left. And, when my body finally goes limp, he lets go.

I crash to the ground. The collision opens another wound on my head, and the scarlet liquid immediately pools on the marbled floor. My mouth instinctively opens, taking in deep breaths as I writhe in my own blood.

"Wh... Why?" I mutter, the pain forbidding me to lift my head.

All I see are his feet as he turns around to leave without a word. My gaze rises laboriously to watch the priestess stare back at me beneath her veil. She lifts the fabric, revealing a face I know too well.