I Am The Game's Villain

The Tower of Utopia was always a place of activity, but with the current state of war, it thrummed with an almost feverish energy. Utopian Knights came and went at a brisk pace, their armor clinking in rhythm with hurried steps as streams of information flowed in and out. Reports of battles in Sancta Vedelia, movements across the seas, and developments in Elyen Kiora and the other Utopian countries filled the air like an unending buzz.

But today, that buzz had escalated into an irritating discord of noise. Alvara could feel it—more precisely, she could hear it.

She sat in her armchair, a leather-bound book resting in her hands, her golden eyes scanning its pages. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to focus on the neatly printed words, her thoughts wandered. Restlessness coursed through her, bubbling just beneath her calm face.

The reason was simple: Amael.

It had been six days since she last saw him—six days since she had treated her. In all that time, there hadn’t been a single update, not even a whisper of news about his condition.

Her slender fingers tightened around the edges of the book as she attempted, yet again, to immerse herself in its contents. But the endless clatter of boots outside her room and the occasional loud exchanges grated on her nerves, shattering any semblance of concentration.

Finally, she’d had enough. With a sharp motion, she snapped the book shut and rose from her chair. Her gown swished softly around her legs as she strode toward the door. She flung it open with enough force to make the two guards stationed outside flinch.

"What are they? Dogs?" She asked coldly

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, one of them speaking hesitantly. "Your Highness?"

Alvara’s lips curved into a smile—a sweet expression that didn’t quite reach her piercing golden eyes. "Clear the entire floor," she ordered. "If I hear even a single irritating voice reaching my room again, I’ll impale this thick book through your rectum." She held up the hefty tome for emphasis.

The guards paled. Despite her lack of mana and diminished standing, they didn’t doubt for a moment that she was capable of following through.

"Understood, Your Highness!" One of them stammered.

Her gaze shifted past them to the group of knights further down the corridor, who had been talking and laughing until they saw her. Their conversation died instantly, their eyes widening as they met her glare.

"I have hundreds of books in my room," she added pointedly.

That was all it took. The remaining ones gulped audibly, scrambled to their feet, and began clearing the floor with uncharacteristic speed, darting toward the elevators.

"That’s better," Alvara muttered, the smile vanishing from her lips. She turned to retreat into her quarters but hesitated, one hand lingering on the doorframe.

"Where is she?" She asked abruptly. @@novelbin@@

"Pardon, Your Highness? Who do you mean?" One of the guards asked.

"The one who used to come see him under Freya’s order," Alvara asked, a bit annoyed.

"Oh, Lady Loki. We haven’t heard from her in nearly a week, have we?" one guard said, glancing at his companion, who nodded in agreement.

"You’re right. Since she’s Princess Freya’s guard, I’d assume she returned to lead the army against the Alliance forces at the shores. She is quite good at humiliating the bastards of Sancta Vedelia every day."

"You bet! And she is hot! Do you think if I pay enough she will accept to accompany me for a night?"

"Do you want to die? She’s Princess Freya’s guard." Stay connected with NovelBin.Côm

"A man can dream."

"..."

Alvara stood silently, listening to their exchange. Her golden eyes betrayed no emotion, but her mind worked.

"Any message from her?" Alvara asked.

The guards exchanged a glance before shaking their heads.

"No, Your Highness. Nothing."

Alvara’s brows furrowed ever so slightly.

’Is he dead?’

The thought surfaced. It would explain his disappearance, why he had stopped coming. She couldn’t imagine him simply vanishing without saying a word, not after everything. He had promised her—promised he would treat her again within a week.

"Do you want us to perhaps—"

-Thud!

The guard’s words were cut off as Alvara slammed the door shut, the edge catching his nose with enough force to elicit a muffled grunt of pain. Ignoring him entirely, she turned and walked back into her quarters her expression darkening.

"How dare he…" She muttered under her breath quite angrily.

Without breaking stride, she hurled the book she had been reading at the glass window. It struck with a dull thud, falling uselessly to the floor. The glass didn’t even crack.

It didn’t matter. Broken or intact, the gesture was the same. Dead or alive, it all led to one inescapable conclusion: he had abandoned her.

And she despised it.

She hated that the feeling of abandonment gnawed at her, hated that he of all people had made her feel this way.

But perhaps it was inevitable. He had promised her something, given her hope, and then vanished. How could she not hate him for it?

’He couldn’t have died.’

No, he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be dead. She refused to believe it.

Arms crossed, she glanced around her room, taking in the chaotic disarray. Over the past few days, she had destroyed countless objects in a futile attempt to vent her frustration, shattering vases and upending furniture in childish rebellion. None of it brought her satisfaction, least of all because she’d done it to provoke him—to make him furious for daring to make her wait.

Every day, she questioned different guards, asking to know where he was, how he was. Every day, the answer was the same: they knew nothing.

Eventually, she made her way to her bed. The room fell silent as she sat down, staring absently at the empty space beside it.

"..."

It was the spot Amael used to occupy—not on the bed but on the cold, hard floor. She could still picture him there, legs stretched out as he grumbled about his day, recounting petty frustrations and annoyances.

Her gaze lingered for a moment too long, and she quickly turned away.

No, it wasn’t that she missed him.

She wasn’t missing him.

She was furious because he had broken his promise.

That was all.

Ironically, Amael, a Half High Human-Half Human, was her only ally in this entire forsaken place.

The most trustworthy man here, and he wasn’t even an Elf.

-Thud

The sound of the door opening and closing abruptly snapped her from her thoughts. Alvara shot to her feet, her golden eyes glinting coldly.

She was going to make sure to insult him of every words possible until he snaps just like the other day.

"You dare to—!"

She stormed out of her room, already entertaining thoughts of using her heavy books for…creative punishment.

But the words died on her lips.

Alvara froze at the doorway as she realized the visitor was not Amael.

"Good to see you after so many days, Alvara," Lykhor greeted her with a wide smile.

Alvara’s expression darkened immediately.

"What are you doing in my room? Get out," she said coldly.

"I’m here to see you, of course," Lykhor replied, stepping closer. His gaze lingered on her with a familiarity that made her skin crawl in disgust. "You’re still as beautiful as ever."

"Get. Out." Her voice dropped lower.

"Why must you be so cold to me?" He asked, feigning hurt, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "After all I’ve done for you. You know—you’ve always known—how much I love you."

"Disgusting."

The single word left her lips.

"Disgusting?" Lykhor raised a brow. "My love is disgusting to you?"

"You heard me," she sneered. "Now disappear. I don’t want to see your face ever again."

She turned her back to him, intending to end the conversation there, but a faint voice stopped her cold.

["E–Elder sister?"]

"...!"

Alvara spun around, her golden eyes wide in shock. Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked onto the projection Lykhor was holding—a live call on his phone.

Bryelle.

Her younger sister was tied up, her fragile form trembling on the screen.

"B-Bryelle?" Alvara’s voice cracked, her composure shattered as she reached out instinctively.

["Elder sister… don’t worry about me."]

"Bryelle!" Alvara stepped forward, her hand outstretched, but Lykhor moved swiftly, cutting off the projection and stepping just out of her reach.

Alvara froze, her outstretched hand trembling before she lowered it slowly. Her golden eyes burned with unrestrained killing intent, her entire body trembling with barely suppressed rage. If she still had her mana, Lykhor wouldn’t have left this room alive.

"How dare you…" Her voice trembled with the kind of contempt she had never showed anyone in years.

Lykhor merely smirked, as though savoring her reaction.

"Well, since you keep refusing me, I had to take matters into my own hands," he said casually, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve. "Your dumb little brother led me straight to her, and well… your sister wasn’t much harder to handle."

Alvara clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood.

"As expected, though, you are the best in your family, Alvara," Lykhor continued. "The only one worth anything."

"Release her," Alvara ignored his compliments that only made more disgusted.

Lykhor tilted his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "That depends… on you."

"..."

Lykhor stepped closer and reached out a hand toward Alvara’s face.

-Slap!

The sound echoed through the room as Alvara struck his hand away with all the force she could muster. Her golden eyes burned with pure hatred as she glared at him.

"Don’t touch me."

Lykhor flexed his hand, the sting of her slap quite there, but his twisted grin soon returned. His expression darkened slightly, a flicker of irritation passing before it was replaced by feigned calm.

"Are you really so bold to act tough in front of me," he asked. "When I have your precious sister in my grasp?"

Alvara stiffened, her body tense as Lykhor showed his phone once more. He held it up, taunting her with a cruel smirk.

"Poor little Bryelle," he mused, his thumb hovering over the screen. "She’s tied up and at the mercy of my men. A single call, and they’ll do anything I order."

"No!" Alvara’s voice cracked as her eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn’t dare! She is a Royal Princess!"

"A Princess?" Lykhor sneered, chuckling darkly. "Who cares about that? I am with Utopia, and Durathiel himself has no intention of keeping your precious Teraquin family around. He needs you, Alvara. And he’s given me full rights over you."

Alvara’s hands clenched into trembling fists as her nails dug into her palms. "I am not your belonging, you filth!"

"Oh?" Lykhor raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing more twisted. With a slow motion, he swiped his finger across his phone.

["Aye?"]

The voice on the other end was gruff.

"Do you have Bryelle in your sights?"

["Right here."]

Lykhor’s lips curled into a grin. "Tear her clothes."

"No! Stop! "I—I will kill you for that!"

In a flash, she reached for a hidden knife tucked into her clothing. But Lykhor was quicker. He caught her wrist mid-air.

"You want to kill me now?" He mocked, leaning closer. "Go ahead, Alvara. Let’s see how your sister fares after that. Shall I call my men and ask them to defile Bryelle?"

"N–No…!" Alvara’s voice trembled, her strength faltering. Her entire body shook, as helplessness threatened to consume her. "Don’t…"

"Then obey me," Lykhor whispered. He leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to her ear. "If you want Bryelle safe, you’ll do as I say."

["Sister! Don’t!"]

Bryelle’s tearful cry came through the phone.

-Slap!

The sound of a strike followed, silencing Bryelle’s protest. Her muffled yelp of pain tore through Alvara. She tried to summon her mana, Prana, anything desperately but she couldn’t. The Sloth, though weakened greatly, was still there inside her body.

"D—Don’t touch her!!" Alvara screamed, her expression twisting in anguish.

"They won’t," Lykhor replied with a smile. "Not as long as you behave yourself."

He leaned in closer. His nose brushed against Alvara’s neck as he inhaled deeply, a grotesque smile spreading across his face.

"You smell so good…"

"....!!!!" Alvara shoved him with every ounce of strength she had left, her hands trembling as she staggered back.

She turned and bolted into her room, slamming the door shut behind her. She pressed her back against it.

Alvara’s entire body trembled uncontrollably, her breathing turning ragged and shallow. The memories of her past clawed its way back into her mind, dragging her into the suffocating depths of trauma. Dizziness swept over her, nausea curling in her stomach as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Alvara…" Lykhor’s voice slithered through the wooden door like a devil’s whisper. "If you don’t let me in, I’ll make sure you hear my men hurting your sweet little sister."

"Ah…" A strangled, hoarse sound escaped her lips as she struggled for air. Her hands quivered. Rage, fear, and despair swirled within her.

Bryelle. Her sister’s face flashed in her mind.

For several agonizing seconds, Alvara remained frozen, her eyes squeezed shut as she wrestled with the tide of emotions threatening to drown her. Finally, with a trembling hand, she turned and grasped the door handle. Her fingers hesitated for the briefest moment before pulling it open.

"D–Don’t hurt her…" She said trying to keep her composure painfully.

Lykhor stood there, his smirk stretching wider as he ended the call. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a heavy thud.

-Thud!

Alvara flinched at the sound, instinctively retreating a step as Lykhor advanced.

"Finally… after all these years," Lykhor muttered, his lustful gaze narrowing as he closed the distance between them.

Her legs backed into the edge of the bed, and she stumbled, collapsing onto the mattress. She tried to scramble away, but Lykhor surged forward, planting his hands firmly on either side of her, caging her in.

"N–No…!" The words tumbled out, shakily. Her always calm and confident voice now cracked with fragility. The fortress of mental strength she had so carefully constructed over the years was crumbling like sand. Memories she had buried long ago surfaced with cruel clarity, the face of the man who had destroyed her family overlapping with Lykhor’s.

She remembered everything. What had happened after Leena’s death. The days she wasn’t rescued. The man who had kept her captive. For seven days, she had been trapped with him, forced to witness unspeakable horrors, defiling women before her eyes as if to break her even further. She had prayed it was a hallucination. But it wasn’t. And one day, as suddenly as it began, she had found herself back in the forest, as though nothing had happened. But it had.

And now, Lykhor brought those same memories crashing down on her.

"Don’t be scared, Alvara," he whispered, leaning down his face. "I told you, I love you. I won’t hurt you—"

-Slap!

The sharp crack of her palm against his cheek cut him off. His head snapped to the side, his smirk disappearing in an instant. For a moment, silence hung between them.

When he turned back to her, his eyes were darker and colder. "Do you hate me that much?"

Alvara didn’t answer. She tried to crawl away, desperate to put distance between them, but his hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder in a bruising grip. The fabric of her dress tore under the force, baring her skin.

"...!"

She froze. Her entire body went rigid at the unwanted touch, her chest constricting as if an iron bar had been tightened around her lungs. The color drained from her face as her mind screamed, but her body refused to move, her strength failing her completely.

"Don’t move, or I’ll do this the hard way," Lykhor growled. His cold tone sent a shiver down Alvara’s spine, but she could barely respond. Her body felt paralyzed, as though on the brink of collapse, her heart racing so violently it threatened to burst. Every breath came shallow and uneven, as if she were falling on the edge of a cardiac episode.

Seeing that though, Lykhor only seemed pleased. "Good–"

"What do you think you’re doing?"

"...!"

Lykhor stiffened, his expression hardening into an annoyed scowl. He turned sharply toward the entrance of the room.

There, standing in the doorway, was a woman with silver hair and emerald green eyes.