I Am The Game's Villain

Leaning against the wall outside the room, I folded my arms and let my gaze drift aimlessly down the corridor. The muffled voices beyond the door were indistinct, an irritating barrier to my curiosity. My frown deepened as I pressed my ear to the door, hoping to catch even a hint of the conversation inside.

But no luck.

The sounds were faint—almost nonexistent.

Was this room soundproofed?

Frustrated, I tried again, leaning closer this time, straining to pick up something, anything, when suddenly the door creaked open. A jolt of surprise shot through me as the door pushed against my weight, resisting slightly before I stepped back.

Shuria stood there, framed by the doorway. Her sharp eyes immediately locked onto me, and her lips curled into a barely concealed scowl. She didn't speak, but the silent accusation in her gaze spoke volumes.

Caught so close to the door, I froze for a moment, unsure of how to explain myself. Before I could say anything, she closed the door behind her with an audible click and stepped away, keeping her distance.

Damn, this was embarrassing.

She stood there, just a few steps away.

An awkward silence stretched between us, growing heavier with each passing second. My nerves prickled under her stare. This was unbearable.

I turned on my heel and walked away, unwilling to stay under the scrutiny of her gaze any longer. Even as I moved down the hall, I could feel her eyes boring into my back, cold and distrustful.

She doesn't trust me. Not one bit.

And yet, I'd be spending the next few days around her. Wonderful. This was going to be a minefield, and I would need to tread carefully. One wrong step could spell disaster.

I reached the elevator and stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor.

Let's just wait outside. Freyja will leave eventually.

The thought offered little comfort. Without Freyja's presence, her status wouldn't shield me from suspicion. I'd be completely exposed, every move scrutinized. If anyone realized I was getting this close to her, they'd whisk her away before I had a chance to act.

My fingers curled into fists as the elevator descended. I had to be careful—meticulous. A single slip could ruin everything.

The elevator jolted to a stop, but not on the ground floor. Someone else was boarding.

I stepped back instinctively, making room as the doors slid open. A figure entered, followed by a really nice scent.

A glance told me it was Alvara. She stepped inside and stood silently.

Whatever.

It didn't matter.

I had more pressing things to—

"..."

"..."

Huh?

My breath hitched, and my eyes snapped back to the figure in front of me.

That hair. That unmistakable shade. And the air of smug superiority that radiated from her as if she was superior to everything.

There was only one person who could exude such an aura of arrogance and disdain, like they had a personal vendetta against the concept of equality itself.

Alvara?

What the hell was she doing here?

The elevator doors were just about to close when I lunged forward, thrusting my hand between them. The sleek metallic panels halted, hissing softly as they slid open once more.

Alvara stood there, a vision of haughty disdain, her golden eyes narrowing at me with an almost venomous disinterest.

Yeah, it was definitely her.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked, shocked.

"Hah?" Alvara raised a perfectly arched brow, her annoyance flaring visibly. "Who do you think you are to question me?"

Right.

I was still disguised.

I couldn't let her see my real face—not here.

Her eyes raked over me from head to toe, a sneer curling her lips. Then, with indifference, she pressed the button to close the elevator doors again.

What was that look?!

Before the doors could seal shut, I thrust my hand forward once more, stopping them.

"Do you want to die, High Elf?"

"Listen me. Look carefully." I yanked Bryelle's pendant from beneath my cloak, letting it catch the light. "I'm disguised, so—ugh!"

Before I could finish, Alvara's hand shot out like a striking snake. Her slender gloved fingers curled around the pendant's chain, yanking me forward with surprising strength. My face smacked against the elevator frame, and the chain dug painfully into my neck.

"Where did you get this?" She asked with a murderous whisper.

"From Bryelle," I choked out, my hands braced against the elevator walls as I struggled for balance. "Now, let me go!"

"From Bryelle?" Her head tilted slightly, a motion that somehow made her even more menacing. "You expect me to believe that? You'd better start explaining what you did to her, or I'll rip your organs out through your rectal orifice and force you to watch as I feed them to you."

Shivers ran down my spine at her words.

Was this how an Elven Princess was supposed to speak?

"You don't care?" Alvara spat, disgust curling her lip. "You must be some sort of masochist to want to die in such a grotesque way."

As she spoke, a golden vine slithered into existence, writhing with thorns that glinted ominously in the dim elevator light. It coiled just inches from my face, radiating a quiet, lethal intent.

"Not that crap again!" I groaned.

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she simply stared at me, her gaze piercing. After a moment, her expression darkened further as realization seemed to dawn on her. Find exclusive content at empire

"Amael Idea Olphean.".

I froze, my blood running cold.

How?

How the hell had she figured it out?

"It's you, isn't it?" Alvara said, her voice dripping with annoyance.

"How…?"

"It wasn't enough for you to stalk me in Ashenor—you had to follow me all the way to Utopia?" Alvara's voice dripped with sarcasm, her golden eyes narrowing as she tightened her grip on the pendant.

"Like hell! What are you doing here to begin with?" I shot back, glaring at her.

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned on her heel and dragged me forward, the pendant still clenched tightly in her hand.

Who am I?! Your pet?!

"Let go of me!" I groaned, tugging against her grip.

"Unless you want me to tear it apart, you'll keep your hands to yourself," she snapped.

Damn it.

Her iron grip gave me no choice but to stumble along as she hauled me down the hall. Eventually, we reached a door. With a swift, almost lazy kick, Alvara swung it open and stepped inside, pulling me in after her.

Finally, she let go.

I staggered back, rubbing the ache in my neck as I shot her a glare. She ignored it entirely, moving to an armchair in the center of the room. With grace, she sank into the seat, crossed one long leg over the other, and fixed me with a stare, waiting for me to speak.

"I found the pendant on the ground," I said quickly, opting for the simplest explanation. "She probably dropped it."

"Let's say I will believe this pathetic lie of yours. What are you doing here?" Alvara asked.

"My mother is being held in Elyen Kiora," I replied. "I'm infiltrating as Freyja's bodyguard to save her."

Alvara raised a delicate eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of faint amusement. "Interesting. But tell me—why are you cross-dressing? Is that a hobby of yours?"

"Like hell it is!" I groaned. "It's a damn misunderstanding. Everyone here thinks I'm a woman!"

Alvara grimaced, a faint sneer curling her lips. "A woman? You?" She leaned back in her chair, eyeing me with something close to pity. "You reek of a man from miles away."

"What?" I blinked, dumbfounded. "You knew I was a man?"

How?

Even Freyja and Elashor had fallen for the act. Did she have some kind of sixth sense for this?

"Only a blind person—or someone with very peculiar tastes—would mistake you for a woman," Alvara scoffed, her golden eyes flashing with amusement.

"Let's drop this topic," I snapped back, annoyed. "Now, you explain. What are you doing here? I thought after everything I said—and what they did to Bryelle—you'd be busy burning High Elves and Behemoths alive while laughing."

Alvara grimaced. "Who do you take me for?"

"A sadist, racist, supremacist woman with a severe case of megalomania and a hobby of burning people alive," I retorted.

She stared at me, unblinking, for a long, tense moment before leaning back in her chair. "You seem to know quite a bit about me."

"You're not denying it?!" I was speechless.

"Why should I?" Alvara replied, looking at me as if I was the weirdo here.

"Whatever," I muttered, waving it off. "So what are you doing here?"

"I don't owe you that explanation," she replied curtly.

I bit back a childish response about fairness—something about having shared my reason already—and instead scrutinized her in silence. The answer came to me almost immediately.

"You're planning to kill Durathiel."

"Planning to?" Alvara scoffed, leaning forward. "I will kill him."

"You can't kill him," I replied.

Her golden eyes narrowed dangerously, but I met her gaze head-on. "Don't look at me like that. I'm just being honest."

Durathiel was not some ordinary opponent—he was a Sin Holder.

"You'd stand a better chance going back to Vanadias, beating up your dumb older brother, freeing your mother, and hiding somewhere safe with Bryelle."

I laid out the scenario as plainly as I could, hoping to get through to her. Her not taking part in the war might be the best solution to avoid her getting crazy like in the Game.

But my words only seemed to ignite her anger.

Alvara sprang from her chair and glared at me. "Don't treat me like a coward. I will kill that filth for what he's done to Bryelle."

"And if you fail?" I countered, keeping my voice calm despite the heat in her words. "Which is a very real possibility. Who's going to take care of Bryelle then? Your idiot older brother? He'll either be buried or locked up after the war."

"Allen will," she snapped.

"Allen?" I nearly choked on my laughter. "He's probably busy assaulting some poor woman as we speak."

"Shut it."

–Thud!

Our quarrel was cut short as the door swung open with a sharp creak, and someone stormed into the room.

It was Lykhor.

That bootlicking traitor. He was still clinging to Alvara like a leech, always eager to grovel at her feet.

"Who are you?!" Lykhor barked suspiciously.

I raised my badge, the emblem of the Ruvelion House gleaming. "Princess Freya Ruvelion's personal guard."

"What are you doing here?" Lykhor asked still wary.

"I was transmitting a message to Her Highness," I replied. "Which I've done. I'll be taking my leave now."

Without waiting for another interrogation, I turned on my heel and strode toward the door, determined to leave before this exchange attracted more attention than it needed.

I could feel Lykhor's gaze drilling into my back, suspicious and lingering, before he turned to address Alvara.

"Alvara—"

-BAM!

Before he could finish his sentence, a sudden force slammed into him, propelling him backward. I quickly sidestepped and his body crashed against the corridor wall with a deafening thud.

Watching this, I struggled to contain my laughter. The sight of Lykhor crumpled against the wall like a rag doll was simply too satisfying.

But my amusement was short-lived. A sharp glare from inside the room—Alvara's golden eyes burning with irritation—immediately wiped the smirk from my face.

I sneered back at her. "Have a nice day, 'Your Highness'."

-THUD!

The door slammed shut in front of me, the force of it nearly brushing my nose.