The air in the noble's hunting lodge was thick with smoke and boasting. Lord Brayton, the gambler I'd identified weeks ago, was holding court, telling a exaggerated story about killing a giant boar. His cronies laughed on cue. I stood near the fireplace, sipping a glass of wine I had no intention of finishing.
I was there for a reason. My influence was growing, but it was a fragile, shadowy thing. I had a broken lady and a blackmailed knight. I needed something more. I needed a public victory. Something that would make the other nobles see me as more than just a troublesome third son. I needed to change the story.
My target was Lord Brayton. His stats flashed in my vision. Favor: 25. Corruption: 70. Debt: 1,500 Crowns. He was desperate, and desperate men are easy to lead.
I waited for a lull in the conversation. "A boar is impressive, my lord," I said, my voice cutting through the noise. "But it's a beast of flesh and blood. Any man with a strong arm can kill one."
Brayton turned, his face flushed with drink and irritation. "Oh? And what would you hunt, Herrmann? Butterflies?"
A few of his friends snickered.
I gave a slow, cold smile. "I hunt things with more value than meat. There's a ruin, a day's ride from here. An old watchtower in the Whispering Woods. They say it's haunted." I paused, letting the suspense build. "They also say the ghost is the spirit of a forgotten mage, guarding a piece of his power."
The room went quiet. Greed glittered in their eyes. Cursed artifacts were dangerous, but they were also priceless.
"That's just a children's story," Brayton scoffed, but he couldn't hide his interest.
"Is it?" I leaned forward. "I've seen a map. I know the way past the old wards. I'm putting together a party to retrieve it. I need men who aren't afraid of a little… ghost story." I looked directly at Brayton. "I hear you're a man who appreciates a good gamble, my lord. The stakes don't get higher than this."
It was a perfect lure. A chance for adventure, treasure, and to prove his courage. His Debt stat seemed to pulse in my vision. He couldn't say no.
"I'm in," he said, puffing out his chest. A few others, eager for glory, quickly joined.
Two days later, our party of six nobles on horseback approached the Whispering Woods. The trees were old and twisted, their branches seeming to clutch at the grey sky. The air grew cold. The men's brave chatter died down.
I led them with a confidence I didn't feel. This was a location from my past life. A minor dungeon for low-level players. The "cursed artifact" was a ring that slowly drained the user's health while giving a small boost to magic. It was useless to me, but it was a real, magical object. That was all that mattered.
"The entrance is hidden behind that waterfall," I said, pointing to a thin cascade of water over a rocky outcrop.
We dismounted. Behind the water was a crack in the rock, just wide enough for a man to squeeze through. The air inside was damp and smelled of earth and decay.
"Light the torches," I ordered.
The flickering flames revealed a narrow, descending tunnel. The walls were covered in faded, creepy carvings. The game had made this seem exciting. In real life, it was claustrophobic and terrifying. I could hear the nervous breathing of the men behind me.
"Remember," I said, my voice echoing. "Don't touch anything. The old magic here is… unstable."
We crept forward. The first trap was a simple pressure plate. I remembered its location perfectly. I stopped the group and pointed it out, making a show of carefully examining the floor. "There. See the slight discoloration? A trap. Step over it."
The men looked at me with new respect. I wasn't just a guide; I was an expert.
We encountered a few more simple traps—a swinging log, a pit covered with weak boards. I "spotted" them all, my knowledge from a hundred playthroughs making me look like a brilliant adventurer. With each avoided danger, their trust in me grew. Their Favor stats, which had started in the 20s and 30s, crept into the 40s.
Finally, we reached the main chamber. It was a circular room with a stone altar in the center. On the altar sat a small, wooden box. The air hummed with a faint, malevolent energy.
"The artifact," Brayton whispered, his eyes wide.
"Wait," I commanded. I pointed to the floor around the altar. It was a mosaic of colored tiles. "A puzzle. Step on the wrong tile, and… well, you don't want to know."
In the game, it was a simple color-matching game a child could solve. Here, I made a show of studying it, muttering to myself, tracing patterns in the air. After a suitably dramatic pause, I walked a specific path across the tiles, stepping only on the black ones. Nothing happened.
I reached the altar and opened the box. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, was a silver ring with a dark, pulsing gem. It was cold to the touch. My interface identified it instantly.
[Ring of the Leech: Minor HP Drain / Minor MP Boost - Cursed]
I held it up. It gleamed in the torchlight.
A wave of relief and triumph went through the party. They cheered, slapping each other on the back. They had done it. I had done it.
But the dungeon wasn't quite finished. As I turned, a section of the wall rumbled and slid open. Two shambling, humanoid figures made of earth and rock stumbled out. Stone Golems. The dungeon's final, trivial guardians.
In the game, they were easy to defeat. Here, they were seven feet tall and looked very, very solid.
"To arms!" Brayton yelled, drawing his sword.
The fight was short but brutal. Swords clanged against stone. One of the nobles was knocked off his feet. I didn't join the fray directly. Instead, I shouted instructions. "Aim for the cracks in their joints! Their weakness is in the knees!"
My guidance turned their panicked flailing into a coordinated attack. Brayton, following my call, drove his sword into a golem's knee. It crumbled to dust. The other was quickly dispatched.
The chamber fell silent, the only sound our heavy breathing.
Brayton looked from the pile of rubble to the ring in my hand, and then to me. His face was full of something I hadn't seen from a noble before: genuine admiration. "By the gods, Herrmann. You were magnificent."
I handed him the ring. "A trophy for the party leader. You earned it."
It was a worthless, cursed thing. But to him, it was a symbol of victory. He took it like it was the crown itself. His Favor shot up to 65.
The ride back was a celebration. I was no longer just Klaus von Herrmann, the arrogant viscount. I was Klaus, the daring adventurer, the brilliant strategist. The story would spread.
Back in my room, exhausted and covered in grime, I checked my interface.
[Reputation Increased: 'The Cunning Viscount']
[Noble Faction Favor: +15]
[Influence: +10]
[Corruption: 99 -> 100]
I stared at the number. One hundred.
A coldness, final and absolute, settled in my soul. The last shred of resistance was gone. The ghost of Null wasn't a ghost anymore. He was me. I had used my knowledge to manipulate these men, to lead them into danger for my own gain, and I had felt nothing but satisfaction.
I had entered the dungeon hoping for a public victory. I had emerged with exactly what I wanted. And in the process, I had completed my transformation. I was the villain again. Not by fate, but by choice.