"We would like to vote again," the lazy man declared.
A flicker of surprise crossed Arthur's face. His confusion was evident, but there was nothing he could do if the figure accepted Bernard's request.
"Are you certain?" the figure inquired, its voice laced with intrigue.
"Yes."
Bernard's logic was simple: if the girl hadn't been the captain, then it had to be Arthur. His thoughts were clear, but the woman's mind was a storm of confusion and regret.
Regret that she now fully understood.
She had killed an innocent girl.
Without hesitation, she turned to the lazy man, rage and anguish contorting her features. She lunged forward, grabbing his collar violently. Her tear-streaked face twisted with pain as she choked out her words.
"Why did you make me do this?"
Bernard met her gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, a small, knowing smile played on his lips.
"Was I the catalyst?" he asked, his voice calm and unwavering. "Was I the one who made you doubt her?"
His eyes flicked toward Arthur.
"No."
The single word cut through the air like a blade.
"He's the one who preyed on her insecurities. He's the one who made you question her sanity. And he was the first to cast his vote against her. Arthur is the real enemy."
Arthur's breath hitched. His face twisted with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could see it now—Bernard was twisting the truth, warping reality, manipulating the woman in her fragile state.
And worst of all?
It was working.
Arthur's fists clenched as the horrifying realization set in: everything had gone according to the lazy man's plan.
Bernard had aligned himself with Arthur only because he had been the most outspoken among them, ensuring that should anyone turn against him, Arthur would instinctively defend him. Though Bernard hadn't directly orchestrated the man with glasses' elimination, he had undoubtedly been the driving force behind the girl's death.
The woman loosened her grip on Bernard's collar. Her head dipped forward, hair masking her expression.
"You're right," she whispered.
Arthur's eyes widened in disbelief. "Wait—you actually believe him?"
A sound bubbled from the woman's throat—soft at first, then growing into a maniacal laugh. She flicked her hair back, revealing a twisted, tear-streaked smile.
"It's all your fault," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Everyone died because of you. You played the saint, but you were just a wolf in sheep's clothing. And the moment things didn't go your way… your true nature showed itself."
Bernard remained silent as the woman tore into Arthur, his expression eerily neutral.
The cloaked figure let out a pleased chuckle. "Are you ready to vote?"
Neither spoke. But, as if rehearsed, they simultaneously lifted their fingers—both aimed at Arthur.
Arthur's breath came in shallow gasps. He stared at them, his voice barely above a whisper.
"How?" he asked, his eyes locked onto Bernard. "How did you do this?"
For the first time since the game began, Bernard laughed—a deep, cruel sound that echoed in the silent void.
"You all made it easy," he admitted. "Panic makes people weak. All I had to do was exploit your fear."
Arthur's mind reeled as Bernard continued.
"The girl with pigtails revealed her vulnerabilities to everyone, then blamed you for forcing her hand. That moment of weakness was all I needed. She cast the first vote against you—not because I told her to, but because I let her believe it was her own choice. From there, it was only a matter of time before the rest of you fell in line."
Arthur's hands trembled. "What… are you?"
Bernard's smirk widened. "Let me put it simply—I manipulated all of you using an ability granted only to captains. A skill called 'Truthful Liar.' With it, I twist reality through deception, but it only works when my targets are vulnerable."
Arthur's stomach turned. "No… that means…"
His thoughts crashed into one another.
From the moment the game began, Bernard had been in control. He had done nothing but sit back, waiting for the group to collapse under the weight of their own paranoia.
He was the captain.
Bernard's gaze sharpened. "Now, let me ask you something." He leaned forward slightly, his tone almost casual. "You've played this game before, haven't you?"
Arthur's breath hitched. His lips parted, but no words came.
Bernard chuckled. "That reaction says it all."
A sharp metallic sound rang through the air as the scythe materialized behind Arthur.
He didn't even have time to scream.
The blade sliced clean through his neck, sending his head tumbling to the ground.
Blood pooled at Bernard's feet, but he barely reacted.
"Since no one identified you as the captain," the figure announced, "you have won the game."
Bernard let out a slow breath, his eyes trailing to the woman.
"And her?" he asked, tilting his head.
Before the figure could respond, another scythe appeared—this time before the woman.
Her eyes widened in shock. "Wait, but I—"
Her sentence was never finished.
The blade sliced through her throat with ease.
Her body collapsed, lifeless.
The figure clapped its bony hands together. "Astounding! Well done!"
Bernard didn't react. His gaze remained hollow, his expression unreadable.
"There's no need to congratulate someone as vile as me," he muttered, regret heavy in his tone.
The figure's applause ceased.
Without another word, the world around Bernard collapsed.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He was falling—spiraling into an abyss of nothingness. But there was no fear. Only the weight of what he had done.
"They were probably the kindest people I'd ever met," he thought, his voice eerily calm. "But that doesn't mean much when everyone I've met has been a piece of shit."
A notification flashed before his eyes.
[You have completed Death's Game and have been granted a blessing.]
[Blessing: Necromancer.]
[An additional skill has been bestowed upon you.]
[Necromancer Skill: Necromancer's Mimicry.]
[Captaincy Skill Retained: Truthful Liar.]
The notification faded.
And then, through the suffocating darkness, a single point of light appeared.
Bernard closed his eyes.
And fell straight through it.