I Am The Game's Villain

"It's over, Princess."

Toran's voice rang out just as I reached the entrance.

I skidded to a stop.

Inside the room, Toran stood, his back to me.

Seated behind her desk was Freyja.

"You certainly took your time, Loki."

Instead of answering Toran, Freyja's gaze flicked past him and landed on me. Her voice was calm, almost amused, as she addressed me directly.

Toran turned, his expression darkening the moment his eyes met mine. "I had hoped you wouldn't return so soon."

I stepped forward. "You've been keeping yourself busy, haven't you?" I said as I closed the distance between us, slowly making my way toward Freyja.

Toran let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Naïve. That's all you are. Did you really think I'd lose that many ships to Karl Dolphis?"

Understanding dawned on me, and my lips curled into a smile. "So that was it. You orchestrated this whole mess to find a convenient excuse to linger in Elyen Kiora—close to the city but tell me, Toran, how many lives did you sacrifice just to sell that performance?"

Toran scoffed, his eyes glinting with arrogance. "It doesn't matter, as long as we achieve our goal."

Freyja leaned back in her chair, one leg casually draped over the other. She studied him with mild curiosity, as if he were nothing more than an interesting specimen. "And what exactly is your objective?"

"You and your brother have underestimated us." Toran said disdainfully. "Did you really think we'd just sit back and blindly trust Durathiel's words?"

Freyja tilted her head slightly. "Ah, I see," she mused. "So your grand plan is to use me as leverage against him?"

Toran didn't bother hiding his smirk. "That's right. If you surrender now, we might just treat you with some dignity."

I chuckled, stepping between them. "You sure are full of yourself, Toran." I tightened my grip on my sword. "I'll admit, capturing Freyja and using her as a bargaining chip to keep Durathiel in check is a solid strategy. But tell me… did Kendel ever warn you about one tiny flaw in your plan? That I'd be here, ready to beat the hell out of you before you even got the chance?"

Freyja let out a quiet giggle behind me, settling in as if she were about to watch an entertaining play.

Toran's eyes narrowed. "I've seen how you fight—"

-BOOM!

Before he could finish, I brought my sword down in arc, sending a roaring wave of purple flames straight at him.

Toran barely had time to react. He raised his blade in defense, but the sheer force of my attack sent him flying backward. His body crashed through the guardrail, shattering the wooden beams as he tumbled down.

I didn't give him a moment to recover. Kicking off the ground, I closed the distance in an instant, my blade glowing with Ruah and mana.

"Anathemas Fire."

Five burning rings coiled around my sword, burning hotter by second. The simple steel couldn't handle the strain—it started to melt almost immediately—but the attack had already been unleashed.

-BOOOOM!

"AGH!" Toran's mouth opened wide in a silent howl, crimson splattering from his lips as my slash tore through his armor. The metal sizzled and melted against his skin, the force sending him hurtling toward the ground floor. The impact shattered the tiles beneath him, dust and debris rising in a thick cloud.

He wasn't dead. Not yet. But he wasn't getting up anytime soon.

I lowered my blade, watching him writhe in agony.

Killing Toran off depends on what role you want him to play in the future. If he's a significant antagonist with more to offer in terms of conflict, keeping him alive—wounded and humiliated—could be more useful than just killing him outright. But if he's already served his narrative purpose and eliminating him would make a stronger impact, then finishing him off might be the better option.

I stood over Toran's body, my expression unreadable as I pointed my bladeless sword at him. His blood pooled beneath him, his breath ragged and uneven. I could end it right here. A single strike, and he'd never trouble me again.

But instead, I let my grip slacken. The useless hilt slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the broken floor. Without another glance at him, I turned away.

Leaping back onto the top floor, I moved toward Freyja's quarters.

She was waiting.

"That was quick." A smile curved her lips.

"It was," I replied as I approached.

'Cleenah.'

[<When you are ready.>]

Freyja scanned me. "Did you save the people you wanted to save? Do everything you needed to do?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"Good." Her smile remained, but I could feel the restrained anger behind it. "Then it's time for you to take responsibility as Commander. Get rid of these miserable intruders and cleanse my city of their filth, would you?"

It wasn't a request. It was an order. Find your next read on My Virtual Library Empire

Blood had been spilled here, staining her beloved city, and she wasn't pleased.

I met her gaze, my expression giving away nothing. "I will. But before that, I need something in return."

Freyja arched a brow, slowly rising from her seat. "Something in return?" Her steps were unhurried as she approached. "What could that be, Loki?"

She reached out, her fingers brushing my cheek.

A familiar shiver ran down my spine, but I was used to it by now. I had learned how to resist her presence, her touch.

Without warning, I caught her wrist in my grasp.

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Now."

At my signal, Cleenah moved.

For a brief moment, Freyja simply stared at me, confused. But then—

Her entire body tensed.

Her smile vanished.

Her pupils dilated, and a flicker of realization dawned in her eyes.

"...!"

The change was immediate—frighteningly so.

I released her wrist and stepped behind her, ignoring the guilt.

"Sorry for this…" My voice was quiet, but I didn't hesitate.

Gently, I gathered her silken hair, sweeping it over her shoulder to reveal the delicate curve of her nape.

There it was.

Brísingamen.

The legendary necklace lay clasped around her skin, fitting so perfectly that it almost seemed like a part of her.

I reached out—

"Ugh!"

Pain shot through me, white-hot and searing. My head burned as if molten fire had just been poured into my skull. I pulled my hand back instinctively.

'C–Cleenah?'

She heard my call.

A pale, spectral hand emerged beside me, reaching for Brísingamen. Unlike mine, Cleenah's touch met no resistance. A faint, green glow pulsed from her fingers—

—Click.

With a soft the clasp of Brísingamen unlatched.

"...!"

Freyja's body trembled visibly, her limbs shivering as though struck by an unseen force. She couldn't move—completely bound by the charm's power.

For the first time since I had met her, I saw it.

Fear.

Not the cold amusement she usually wore, nor the playful expression she often used to mask her emotions. No—this was raw, unguarded fear.

Fear of the situation she was trapped in.

It made my stomach twist with guilt, but I steeled myself. There was no turning back now.

Reaching out, I carefully lifted Brísingamen from her. It was heavier than I expected—its surface humming with a quiet, celestial energy reminding me that I was indeed holding something truly divine. Merely touching it sent an almost electric pulse through my fingertips.

I exhaled, tightening my grip.

"Follow me."

Freyja remained still.

"Follow me." I repeated.

Her body twitched, resisting—veins standing out along her arms, her delicate features contorted in pain. Blood dripped from the corner of her lips, staining her chin crimson.

She was fighting against Cleenah's Divinity.

Even though this wasn't her true body, she was still a Goddess.

But seeing her like this—her weakened form, her trembling body—I couldn't let her suffer any further.

Without another word, I bent down and swept her into my arms.

Her frame was lighter than I expected.

Holding her in a princess carry, I leaped down from the platform, ignoring the battle raging around me. Swords clashed, magic erupted in bursts of fire and lightning, but none of it mattered.

I moved out past the bodies. Past the dying flames.

Soon, I reached the hidden room and ran across the corridor.

There, waiting with her arms crossed, was Alvara.

Her golden eyes flicked toward me, then to Freyja, but she said nothing.

I walked toward the barrier.

Beyond it, separated by shimmering energy, was my mother.

I looked down at Freyja, holding Brísingamen in my hand.

"Deactivate the barrier. Release her," I ordered.

Freyja's trembling fingers reached for the artifact, barely able to hold onto it. As soon as her touch met the divine necklace, a glow spread from its center, and a large circular pattern appeared on the barrier.

I stared at it enthralled.

This… wasn't an ordinary mana circle.

The markings twisted and swirled in unique patterns I had never seen before—ancient, divine, something far beyond human comprehension. But I recognized a lot of them from the ones I had seen in the Enigma Red Dungeon.

The symbols pulsed once, twice—

Then, with a soft hum—

The barrier shattered.

As soon as it did, I yanked Brísingamen from her grasp before she could do anything against me.

[<As long as she doesn't have Brísingamen, she won't be a threat to you, Edward.>]

Cleenah reassured me.

[<Without her true body, she can't do much in this form. Brísingamen was crafted for her—it replenished what she had lost. But now that it's gone… she is vulnerable. You don't have to worry.>]

It was reassuring.

But somehow…

It only made me feel even guiltier. I was nearly drowning in guilt.

She had done nothing wrong to me. Even the barrier she had made to imprison my mother was simply her obeying Durathiel's command.

"Keep an eye on her," I said to Alvara as I gently lowered Freyja onto the ground.

The moment her body touched the earth, the charm shattered.

"Y—You…" Freyja's voice trembled with emotions so raw and strong that I couldn't even put them in words.

She gritted her teeth, her golden eyes clouded with something deeper than hatred—betrayal. A profound, aching betrayal that twisted her features. Her lips parted, but no words came, only a slight quiver.

"Don't move," Alvara spoke up. "Or I'll run my sword straight through your back, High Elf."

Freyja's gaze flickered toward her, locking onto those piercing golden eyes a bit different than hers yet familiar.

"The Teraquin Princess," she muttered.

"I'm resisting the urge to carve you into pieces and send your mangled corpse back to that trash you call a brother." Alvara's grip tightened on her sword. "Call me again, and see what happens."

Freyja scoffed. "You wouldn't dare."

She ignored Alvara's darkening gaze and settled hers on me—or, more precisely, on Brísingamen clutched in my hand.

I ignored her. My focus was solely on my mother. I took a step forward—

Then froze.

A silver mana circle flared to life beneath my feet, its patterns illuminating the ground in bright glow. Wisps of greyish particles swirled through the air, gathering, condensing—taking form.

A tall man emerged from the mist, his grey hair cascading over his shoulders.

"I knew placing that last resort spell would come in handy," he chuckled.

"Ah…" My breath caught in my throat.

I knew that voice. I knew that face.

"...!" My eyes widened in shock.

Kleines Falkrona.

My father.