Dawn had barely broken over the Dreiss estate when the knock came—three sharp raps against the heavy oak door that seemed to echo through my bones. I'd been awake for hours already, staring at the ceiling and trying to process the impossibility of my situation, but the sound still made me flinch.
"Your Grace." The voice that filtered through the door was carefully modulated, each syllable clipped with the precision that came only from years of serving someone dangerous. "The ducal council awaits your presence in the main hall."
I sat up slowly, running fingers through hair that still felt foreign against my scalp. Sebastian, if I remembered correctly from the game's background lore. Alaric's personal attendant—a man who'd served the Dreiss family for two decades and had perfected the art of speaking with enough deference to avoid a beating while maintaining just enough dignity to keep his sanity intact.
The fear in his voice was unmistakable, though. In the original timeline, Duke Alaric von Dreiss had built his reputation on swift, brutal punishments for anyone who dared inconvenience him. Servants who spilled wine found themselves dismissed without references. Ministers who disagreed too vocally with his policies discovered their family businesses mysteriously struggling with new regulations.
It was exactly the kind of petty tyranny that made players of "Hearts of the Academy" cheer when he finally met his downfall.
"I'll be down shortly," I called back, surprised by how naturally the aristocratic accent flowed from my lips now. Even my voice had adapted to this new reality with unsettling ease.
The wardrobe that greeted me was a testament to wealth and intimidation. Row after row of perfectly tailored clothing hung like silent soldiers—deep blues, rich burgundies, and that signature black that Alaric favored for council meetings. Each piece was embroidered with golden thread that caught the morning light and threw it back like tiny flames.
I selected the black ensemble almost without thinking. The game had trained me well; this was Alaric's power outfit, designed to remind everyone in the room exactly who held authority here. The jacket fit like it had been crafted specifically for my shoulders, which, I supposed, it had been.
When I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror, that familiar wicked smile seemed to curve my lips of its own accord. The expression was so natural on this face that it was almost disturbing. Everything about Alaric von Dreiss had been designed to look like the perfect villain, down to the way shadows fell across his sharp cheekbones.
"Fine," I muttered to my reflection. "If this world wants me to look the part, I might as well use it to my advantage."
The walk to the council chamber felt longer than it should have, my footsteps echoing off marble floors that gleamed like mirrors. Portraits of previous Dreiss dukes glared down from their gilded frames, each one radiating the same aura of cold authority that their descendant was supposed to embody. I wondered if any of them had ever questioned the role fate had assigned them, or if they'd all simply accepted their place in the grand design.
The massive double doors to the council chamber swung open at my approach, revealing a scene that could have been lifted directly from the game's political intrigue scenes. A long table dominated the room, surrounded by high-backed chairs occupied by men whose faces I recognized from countless cutscenes and background events.
Minister Aldrich, with his nervous habit of adjusting his spectacles whenever he delivered bad news. Lord Commander Valdris, whose military bearing couldn't quite hide the contempt he felt for his young duke. Treasury Minister Blackwood, whose calculating eyes missed nothing and forgave even less.
All of them rose as I entered, bowing with the synchronized precision of a well-rehearsed dance. But even as their heads dipped in deference, I could feel the weight of their judgment. These weren't loyal advisors; they were political survivors who'd learned to navigate the dangerous waters of serving a temperamental young noble.
In the game, this particular council meeting had been a crucial plot point. Alaric's decision here would set in motion a chain of events that would later be used to paint him as a heartless tyrant when the heroine finally arrived to judge his character.
"Your Grace," Minister Aldrich began, his voice carefully neutral as he gestured to a stack of documents on the table. "We've prepared the final draft of the northern provinces taxation adjustment as you requested. The implementation would increase revenue by forty percent, which should help offset the costs of your recent... acquisitions."
Ah, yes. The art collection. In the original timeline, Alaric had been spending fortunes on rare paintings and sculptures while his people struggled to pay increasingly burdensome taxes. It was the kind of tone-deaf excess that made players hate him long before he ever crossed paths with the heroine.
I took my seat at the head of the table, noting how every man in the room tensed slightly as I did so. They were expecting the same Alaric who had dismissed their concerns with a wave of his hand, who had signed death warrants as casually as dinner invitations.
They weren't prepared for what came next.
"We're not implementing the tax increase," I said, my voice carrying the same authoritative tone Alaric had always used, but with completely different intent. "In fact, we're reducing the current tax burden on the northern provinces by fifteen percent."
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Minister Aldrich's mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish suddenly finding itself on dry land.
Lord Commander Valdris was the first to recover. "Your Grace, with respect, the northern provinces are already among the most lightly taxed in the duchy. A reduction would significantly impact—"
"Furthermore," I continued, cutting him off with the kind of casual authority that made lesser men shrink back, "I want emergency grain shipments prepared for the northern villages before the first snow. Double rations for families with children under ten."
Minister Blackwood's face had gone pale. "Your Grace, the cost alone would require us to liquidate several investments, and the precedent—"
"The precedent," I said, allowing just a hint of danger to creep into my voice, "is that the Dreiss family takes care of its people. Or have you forgotten that our wealth comes from their labor?"
It was a masterful performance, if I did say so myself. I was giving them the same imperious tone and unwillingness to brook opposition that they expected from Alaric, but using it to push policies that would actually help people rather than harm them.
The confusion in the room was palpable. These men had spent years learning to navigate Alaric's cruelty and selfishness, and now I was forcing them to recalibrate their entire understanding of their duke.
"Of course, Your Grace," Minister Aldrich finally managed, though his voice carried a note of bewilderment that he couldn't quite hide. "We'll... we'll begin preparations immediately."
I nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Good. I also want detailed reports on the condition of roads, bridges, and public buildings in all our territories. If our people are going to prosper, they need infrastructure that supports commerce and travel."
By the time I dismissed the council an hour later, every man in the room was looking at me like I'd grown a second head. They bowed with the same mechanical precision as always, but I could see the questions burning behind their eyes.
What had happened to their predictably cruel young duke? When had he started caring about peasants and public works? Was this some elaborate scheme they couldn't yet fathom, or had something fundamental shifted in the heir to the Dreiss legacy?
Let them wonder. In the original game, Alaric's downfall had been guaranteed by his inability to inspire genuine loyalty. His servants obeyed out of fear, his ministers supported him for personal gain, and his subjects endured him because they had no choice.
But loyalty freely given was a far more powerful tool than obedience extracted through threats.
As I walked back through the marble halls toward my chambers, I caught sight of Sebastian hovering near the stairs. The older man's expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"Sebastian," I called, and he immediately straightened to attention.
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"I want you to personally oversee the grain shipments to the north. Make sure every family receives what they need, and let me know if any local officials try to skim from the supplies."
For a moment, Sebastian's composure slipped entirely. In all his years of service, Alaric had never entrusted him with anything more significant than managing his wardrobe. Now he was being asked to handle a major relief operation.
"I... yes, Your Grace. Of course. I'll see it done."
"I know you will," I said, offering him something that might have been a smile. Not Alaric's usual predatory grin, but something warmer. "You've served this family faithfully for twenty years. It's time that service was properly recognized."
I left him standing there, staring after me with an expression of complete bewilderment.
Back in my chambers, I moved to the window that overlooked the estate's sprawling grounds. In the distance, I could see the road that wound north toward the villages that would soon receive unexpected relief from their struggling duke.
The heroine wouldn't arrive for nearly two years, but when she did, she'd find a very different world than the one the game had programmed her to expect. Instead of a tyrant whose oppression had driven his people to desperation, she'd encounter a duke who had mysteriously transformed into a protector of the common folk.
It would be fascinating to see how her predetermined character development would adapt to circumstances that had never been coded into her original story.
I was rewriting the script one scene at a time, and this was just the opening act.
The villain was supposed to be predictable, cruel, and ultimately disposable. But this villain knew the ending, and he had no intention of playing his assigned role.