"Huh?" I frowned, gazing toward the carriage. A lone young man stood there, dagger drawn. He held the wrist of a girl behind him protectively.
Did I misread the situation? But… something's wrong… Where are the others? This guy… a commoner? He's pitifully weak, he thought.
"What? Why were you screaming?" A voice.
He tilted his head as Anna landed gently beside him.
"What are they—?"
"Kill him."
"What?"
"You heard me."
BOOM.
The man's head exploded in a violent spray of blood and brain.
He never even screamed.
"I didn't say do it so disgustingly," he muttered, voice sharp and cold. "Now go. Lick up the blood."
Anna froze. Her breath hitched.
"Please… no…"
"Then clean it. And go stir the horses."
She nodded quickly, swallowing her revulsion, then cast a spell. A shimmering gust swept through, erasing all trace of blood. Without another word, she disappeared from view.
He let out a long, tired sigh before stepping into the carriage.
Inside, the girl trembled. A visible shiver ran down her spine.
But he didn't speak right away. He simply watched her.
He wasn't like the others.
No, he wasn't some fool swayed by a pretty face or the façade she wore like a second skin.
He knew who she was.
Most wouldn't. They'd fall for the act. They'd buy the innocent routine, the tears, the illusion of helplessness.
But not him.
Not anymore.
At this point in his life, he was no longer moved by emotion. Sentimentality had been burned out of him long ago. All that remained were goals—clear, sharp, merciless.
Her name was Vivian.
One of the most dangerous villainesses in the entire game.
What made her a threat wasn't merely her charm or cunning.
It was what hid beneath them.
The other side of her so-called blessing—a power capable of manipulating emotions themselves.
That was why he'd sent Anna away.
Vivian's power wasn't something you resisted with logic. It burrowed under your skin and rewrote you.
But not him.
He was immune.
Not because he was strong—
But because he felt nothing.
She looked at him now, wide-eyed.
"What… are you?" she asked, voice trembling.
For the first time in her life, the girl who could twist hearts with a smile felt something new.
Uncertainty.
It was like staring into the void. A man without a presence. A blank slate. A soulless machine following instructions etched in iron.
"Human," he answered simply, taking the seat across from her.
"No… that can't be," she whispered, inching back.
"Drop the act. I want to talk to the real you. You can't fool me," he said flatly.
She stared at him for a while in silence. Then her eyes turned cold.
"What do you want? Who are you?" she asked, the earlier fear completely gone.
"Good." He smiled faintly. "I know your little plan. You're trying to start a war."
Her eyes widened.
"Yes, I know. Even though I don't know you personally."
He leaned forward.
"You made that idiot fall for you to the point of obsession, then practically handed yourself to him. Right at Ezram's border, of course Albion would suspect something. Conflict would brew. And when it reached a critical stage, you'd reveal you'd been taken by Morntellia… thus dragging them into war with—wait."
Then he paused.
A realization clicked into place.
"No…" he muttered.
"You're trying to pit Ezram and Morntellia against each other."
If Ezram found out that Morntellia had taken her, they'd assume Morntellia staged the entire thing to frame them.
An alliance built over decades would crumble in weeks.
And Albion?
They'd sweep in to 'restore peace'—after everyone else had bled themselves dry.
"Is Albion really that insecure?" he mused aloud.
Vivian's mask cracked. Her lips twitched. She clenched her fists.
The plan was unraveling.
"What do you want?" she hissed. "If you kill me, nothing changes. The plan moves forward."
"Who said anything about killing you?"
She frowned. "What?"
"I don't give two flying fucks about the kingdoms. I just need something from you."
She blinked, caught off guard.
No emotions. No rhythm to sense. No signal to read.
He was a dead zone. She couldn't manipulate what wasn't there.
"W-What is it? If it's… my body—"
"God, no." His voice dropped into open disgust. "Why do you people always think that's worth anything?"
That stung.
She felt it—pure, searing rage. No one had ever spoken to her like that before.
"All I want," he said, "is the location of the Legacy. The one outside Albion."
She froze.
Her eyes widened. Two shocks hit her like a slap.
One: the insult had genuinely enraged her.
Two: how the hell did he know about the Legacy?
The information hadn't even reached the king yet. The scouts barely sensed its existence on the road to Albidon, and she'd killed them all to keep it secret.
"Who… are you?" she whispered.
He leaned in, his eyes unblinking.
"Someone you should obey… before things get ugly."