The room was circular, cloaked in half-shadow. At its center stood a round table.
Surrounding it were twelve statues—hooded figures, eyes blindfolded, holding either scales or hourglasses.
But these were no mere works of art. One could feel their vigilance.
Dante stepped forward. His jaw tightened. He didn't like this place. He didn't like games of chance.
— "So this is your palace? Looks like a demon's toilet."
— "Charming way to speak to a lady," replied a sultry voice.
From the far side of the room, a woman descended a spiral staircase.
Lady Baccarat.
A slit red dress riding high on her thigh, black lace, and dice-shaped jewelry.
A cigarette between her lips—never lit, yet it smoked nonetheless.
Her skin was pale, her hair tied back in a chignon, and her eyes… gold, like two minted coins.
Between her fingers, she held a Joker card.
— "The game has rules. No cheating. No bluffing the statues. And no leaving the room without leaving something behind."
She placed the card on the table. Dante stared at it.
— "A tarot card ?"
— "An Oracle," she corrected. "The Pact Game. Three cards. Three revelations. The winner claims what they desire. The loser... leaves behind a fragment of themselves. And sometimes, that fragment is all they have left."
Lexie approached a chair but didn't dare sit. The atmosphere was too heavy—even for her.
— "What is it you want, exactly?" Dante asked.
— "A piece of you," she answered without pause. "Your oldest memory. The one you refuse to face. The one you protect even from yourself. I want to taste it. Chew it. Steal it."
Dante scoffed.
— "You've got guts. Usually, I'm the one playing that role. You're betting against me, Lady ?"
— "I don't bet. I provoke fate."
She held out her hand.
— "Pact ?"
Dante shook it. Her grip was ice-cold. The moment their fingers touched, a crimson circle flared beneath their feet.
The statues stirred. Scales trembled. Hourglasses turned in reverse.
Lexie took a step back. She whispered into Dante's comm:
— "You sure about this? She feels… dangerous."
— "I've seen worse," he replied. "I am worse."
Lady Baccarat opened the box. The cards flew out on their own, circling the room before forming a fresh deck.
The back of each card was alive. Some stared. Some whispered. Others grimaced.
— "You draw first."
Dante reached out.
He felt the card watching him, probing down to his bones. This wasn't just a game.
He drew.
The card burned at his touch—not with heat, but with the fire of a memory long buried.
He turned it over.
[DRAWN CARD: THE FALLEN SANCTUARY]
The room shifted entirely—not through illusion, but by the layering of realities.
One moment, Dante stood in the circular chamber of the Black Mirage… the next, he was somewhere else entirely—a ruined sanctuary overgrown with thorns, incense, and the murmurs of the dead.
Rain fell in this world. Statues of forgotten gods collapsed under their own weight, eyes streaming with black tears.
At the center of the sanctuary… a thin boy, kneeling. His back trembled. His face unseen.
Lexie and Lady Baccarat watched from the fringe of this unreal world.
Lady Baccarat whispered:
— "The Fallen Sanctuary. A Major Arcana. It reveals a fracture point—a moment where choice was stolen, and identity splintered."
Dante walked toward the boy, each step leaving behind a glowing red footprint on the wet stone.
His heart grew heavier the closer he got. He already knew what he was going to see.
The boy turned his head.
It was him—Kang Soo Jin, long before the transmigration.
And in his arms… a body, wrapped in a blood-soaked white cloth.
The boy's hands were trembling, covered in scratches and bite marks. He was breathing hard.
Dante recoiled.
— "I never forgot this."
— "No," said the voice of young Jin, though his lips didn't move. "But you refuse to carry it. No matter how strong you become, you never managed to bring her back. You keep killing, thinking you're the hope of the hopeless."
A long silence.
Then, like a mirror shattering, the vision collapsed, and they were back in the Black Mirage chamber.
Dante still held the card. Its glow had faded—it was now dull and gray.
Lady Baccarat watched him, a smile on her lips—gentler than mocking.
— "That memory's already costing you. But you faced it. That's rare. And dangerous."
Dante placed the card on the table. His hand barely trembled, but Lexie saw cold sweat trickling down his neck.
— "Your turn, witch."
But Lady Baccarat did not draw.
She laughed.
— "I don't play from the same deck. I draw when it hurts the most."
She snapped her fingers. The magic circle flared brighter.
— "Round two. Stakes are rising. This time, I name the wager."
She pulled out a black token, engraved with a blinking red eye.
— "A password. An access key to the Caledron Company's secure servers. Enough to crash their entire financial system."
Dante stepped forward.
— "And in return?"
Lady Baccarat drew close, locking her golden eyes on his.
— "In return… you draw again. And if the card breaks you… I keep your breath. Not the one now. The last one. The one you'll exhale when you die. I want it. I'll wear it like a jewel."
Lexie clenched her fists. She was about to act, but Dante raised a hand.
— "Deal."
Dante reached for a second card from the deck. His stance was steady, his gaze sharp—but his hands betrayed a faint tremor.
Cold sweat trickled from his temple to his tensed jaw.
This was no longer a game. Hadn't been for some time.
Lexie, off to the side, bit her lip, eyes locked on Dante's hand. Behind her, Nash whispered through the comm :
— "Hurry up... Caledron Security is picking up anomaly spikes. If they detect us now, we're neck-deep in shit."
But in this room, seconds stretched like hours.
Dante drew the card.
[DRAWNCARD : THESPLIT MIRROR]
A shockwave pulsed through the chamber. The walls turned to liquid, their reflections fracturing into hundreds of suspended mirrors.
The card was unstable, its power greater. This time, the entire room was drawn into the reading—Lexie included.
They found themselves in a white void—no floor, no ceiling. Only mirrors, slowly spinning in the air.
Each one reflected an alternate version of Dante.
Jin the King.
Jin the Loner.
Jin the Prisoner.
Jin the Madman.
And finally: Kang Soo Jin, Wrath Incarnate.
Each frozen in a symbolic pose.
At the vortex's center floated a shattered mirror—one that held no image.
It rejected every reflection. A void of identity.
Lady Baccarat stood behind Dante.
— "The Fractured Mirror reveals the identity you deny—and forces you to choose one. If you don't… it chooses for you. And trust me, its taste is terrible."
Lexie tried to approach, but a reflection of herself struck her head-on.
A pale Lexie, with a cracked smile, wielding two organic blades.
— "You play too now," Baccarat said, snapping her fingers. "The mirror craves doubles. Face your own mask."
Dante walked among the mirrors. He examined each one, reading their stories through their eyes.
One Jin executed in an electric chair. Another screaming in a wasteland. A third laughing as he strangled a man in a priest's robe.
He stopped before a particular reflection.
A calm Jin. Older, his hair tied back, his eyes empty of feeling.
Behind him, corpses lined up like trophies.
Lady Baccarat let out a low whistle:
— "That one… you're already wearing it a little, aren't you? The man who doesn't want to feel anymore. Who stacks the dead to forget the first. Interesting choice."
But Dante turned on his heels.
— "Not him."
He walked toward the shattered mirror.
Meanwhile, Lexie fought her own reflection, dodging swift blows, trading parries in this gravity-less space.
— "You claim to avenge your sister's memory," hissed the reflection. "And then what?"
Lexie screamed and drove her blade into her double's throat, which exploded in shards of black light.
Panting, she straightened — just in time to see Dante place both hands on the broken mirror.
A ragged breath escaped from the glass.
An inner voice. His own.
— "You've started over completely. Dante, huh? Funny new identity. Just another miserable soul in a sick world. If you choose me… you forget your childhood. You forget your tears. You become a tool. A heartless weapon."
Dante clenched his jaw. The mirror began to bleed thin lines of ink.
Then he shouted :
— "I REFUSE."
And with a punch, he shattered what was left of the mirror. The scream the reflection let out tore through the void. All the other mirrors imploded.
And in a rain of glass, reality returned.
Dante was gasping. Lexie's lip was bleeding. For the first time, Lady Baccarat had lost her smile.
She stepped forward cautiously.
— "You… you didn't choose a reflection. You broke the Split Mirror. That's…"
She didn't finish.
A third card slipped from the deck on its own.
An automatic draw.
Lady Baccarat instinctively stepped back.
— "The game's owner has noticed you. He wants to test you."
Dante looked down.
The card glowed a deep, blood-red.