The victory from the dungeon was sweet, but it was a public kind of power. People respected me, feared me a little, but it was all on the surface. I needed something deeper. I needed to reach into a person's mind and pull out their secrets, willingly or not.
My Corruption was now a perfect, terrible 100. The coldness inside me was complete. I didn't fight it anymore. I embraced it. This was who I was. Null. Klaus. It didn't matter. I was survival.
And survival required absolute control.
There was an item in the game, a relic from a long-forgotten quest line. The Amulet of Compelled Truth. It was a simple-looking silver locket, but its power was profound. Once per day, you could ask the wearer one question, and they would be forced to answer it truthfully. They would know they were being compelled, they would hate it, but they could not lie.
It was the ultimate tool for a manipulator. And I knew exactly where it was.
In the game, it was hidden in the tomb of a saint beneath the main cathedral. A place no one would ever think to look for a dark artifact. Getting it wouldn't be about fighting monsters. It would be about silence, stealth, and sin.
I waited for the Night of Reflection, a holy night when the cathedral was open for private prayer until dawn. The vast, echoing space was shadowy and still, lit only by the red glow of vigil candles. A few figures knelt in pews, lost in their thoughts. The air smelled of old stone and incense.
I wore a plain, dark cloak, my face hidden in the hood. I moved like a ghost past the praying figures, down a side aisle toward a small, forgotten chapel dedicated to a minor saint named Theron. According to the game lore, he was a monk known for his honesty.
His tomb was a simple stone slab set into the floor. The game's solution was absurdly simple, a developer's joke. You had to confess a truth aloud to the saint to open the tomb.
I knelt before the slab, pretending to pray. I glanced around. The chapel was empty. This was it.
The game had a specific phrase. I leaned forward, my voice a bare whisper in the holy silence.
"I feel no remorse for the lives I have broken," I murmured.
It was the truth. The most honest prayer I had ever uttered. The coldness in me resonated with the words. I felt nothing for Isabella's spirit, for Lyra's shattered oath. They were tools. Their suffering was the cost of my victory.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft, grinding sound that seemed deafening in the quiet, the stone slab slid sideways, revealing a dark, narrow staircase leading down.
A chill, drier air wafted up. I slipped inside, pulling the stone closed behind me. The darkness was absolute. I lit a small lantern. The stairs led down to a tiny, circular crypt. There were no grand treasures, no skeletons. In the center of the room, on a plain pedestal, sat a tarnished silver locket on a thin chain.
It was here. It was real.
I reached out and picked it up. It was cold, even through my gloves. My interface flickered, the text a steady, unwavering white, as if the item's power was too strong to glitch.
[Amulet of Compelled Truth: Active]
[Charges: 1/1]
[Effect: Forces the wearer to answer one question truthfully. Resets at dawn.]
I clasped the chain around my own neck, tucking the locket beneath my tunic. It lay against my skin, a cold, dead weight. A key to every locked secret in the kingdom.
I didn't go back to the dormitory. I went to the gardens. I needed a test. A small one. I saw a young guardsman, barely more than a boy, patrolling alone. He looked bored. Favor: 5. Corruption: 15.
I stepped into his path. He jumped, his hand going to his sword. "Halt! Who goes— Oh. Viscount Herrmann. My apologies."
"A cold night for a patrol," I said, my voice friendly.
"Yes, my lord," he said, relaxing slightly.
I focused on the amulet under my clothes. I felt a slight pull, a drain of energy. "Tell me, guardsman," I said, my tone still light. "What is your greatest fear?"
His eyes widened. He tried to look away, but he couldn't. His mouth opened and closed. A struggle played out on his face—confusion, then panic, then a horrible, compelled honesty.
"F-failure, my lord," he blurted out, his voice shaking. "I'm afraid I'll freeze in a real fight. That I'll let my comrades down and they'll die because of me."
The words hung in the air, raw and painful. He looked horrified, his face pale. He had just revealed his deepest shame to a noble he barely knew.
I gave him a thin smile. "A honest fear. It means you care. Keep up your patrol."
I walked away, leaving him standing there, confused and exposed. The amulet worked. Perfectly.
The next day, I planned my first real use. I needed to know how much Prince Cedric truly suspected me. I couldn't ask him directly; he'd never wear the amulet. But I knew someone who was always near him, someone whose loyalty was absolute, and whose position made him vulnerable.
Bernard, my family's butler. He heard everything. Saw everything. And his Favor was a loyal 67. He was the perfect, unwilling spy.
I called him to my study that afternoon. "Bernard, I have a gift for you," I said, holding out the locket. "A family heirloom. I'd like you to have it. For your… unwavering service."
Bernard's eyes widened with surprise and touched emotion. "Young Master… this is too much."
"Nonsense," I said, my voice warm with false sincerity. "Please. Wear it. I insist."
His hands trembled as he took it. He fumbled with the clasp and put it on. The silver looked out of place against his simple butler's attire. His Favor ticked up to 68. The guilt was a distant, frozen echo in my chest.
I waited until the locket was secure. Then I leaned forward, my expression turning serious.
"Bernard," I said, the compulsion flowing from me through the amulet. "Tell me the truth. What has Prince Cedric been asking about me?"
Bernard's kind, weary face went slack. His eyes lost their focus. A look of profound distress twisted his features as he fought the magic and lost.
"He… he has asked the other servants, my lord," Bernard mumbled, his voice not his own. "He asks if you have had any strange visitors. If you spend large amounts of gold. He is especially interested in your… your character. He asks if you are still cruel, or if your quietness is a new kind of deception."
The words were a confirmation of my worst fears. Cedric wasn't just wary; he was actively investigating me.
Bernard blinked, the compulsion fading. He looked down at the locket in confusion, then back at me, a deep, unsettled fear in his eyes. He didn't understand what had just happened, but he knew he had been violated. He had betrayed a confidence without wanting to.
"You may go, Bernard," I said softly.
He left quickly, without another word. His Favor stat didn't drop. The amulet didn't cause anger, just a deep, unsettled shame. He would blame himself for his loose tongue, not me.
I had my answer. Cedric was closing in. But now, I had the perfect weapon. Every day, I could pluck one truth from anyone I could convince to wear this silver chain.
I touched the cold metal through my shirt. It was the ultimate corruption. I wasn't just breaking wills and spirits anymore. I was dismantling the very truth itself, turning it into just another resource to be mined.
The path ahead was clear. I would use this power to find every weakness, every secret. I would learn what Cedric feared. I would learn what Violet truly desired. I would weave a web of absolute knowledge from which no one could escape.
I was no longer just playing the game. I was rewriting the rules. And for the first time since I woke up in this body, I felt completely, terribly in control.