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[ Veinhelm Drakan | LV 33 | HP: ???/??? ]
[ Traits:
- Destined death : Attracts dangerous enemies, making
death always loom over you.
- Egoistic: belief of superiority and power above all.
- Tyrant's presence: you exude an aura of a fearsome tyrant, everyone around you will feel subtle fear of you.
- Unbreakable Will: Immune to mind-control or morale-breaking.
- ???: ]
[ Current Effects:
- Mild vertigo (Temporary)
- Soul Synchronization: 92%… ]
It was basically a player sheet with the numbers sanded off. I innovated this system. It wasn't meant to show stats, just flavor—an immersive "mystery" vibe for boss-level characters, keeping the
player guessing. Now it was me sitting on the wrong side of all my own dirty tricks.
The bearded man cleared his throat, politely, as I scrubbed my palms over the high-gloss armor plating my chest.
"Alexander?"
" Yes, my lord "
The only faithful servant to Veinhelm…
At least he talked exactly as written. The accent, the posture, the default humility hard-coded into every line of dialog.
"What happened? "
He knelt and replied in a respectful manner
"The grand council awaits your command, lord. The house members are gathered, and the traitors have been bound as ordered."
The fillers to Veinhelm's questline . Alan's favorite set piece of main NPCs background. It was supposed to show the player how cold-blooded Veinhelm could be, how cruel and absolute the villain's world was. Starting from the moment he rises as a lord.
If this was my hell, at least it was familiar one.
I took inventory—the armor was lighter than it looked, the body moved with satisfying fluidity.
I caught my reflection in the obsidian window glass: a face like an oil portrait of wrath, angular and sharp-jawed, eyes radiant with the game's telltale violet haze. There was an aura, too; a ripple
at the edge of vision, as though the air itself bent to the will of this body.
Of course all of this presence was a mere bravado, with no strength backing it up…
I could feel Alexander watching for a command. Something stiff and ceremonial hung in the silence between us.
"Have them brought in," I said, and it felt less like a performance than I wanted to admit. It seems the traits took over my speech.
"At once, High Lord." Alexander moved with the choreography of the perfectly-scripted lackey.
I walked after him, my new stride echoing down the marble hall. The throne room was a black cathedral, every surface buffed to a mirror. I recognized the well crafted architecture, but it still took my breath away to see it in real person.
At least Alexander was the only loyal man to veinhelm. Having just recently been enthroned as a lord after his father's death, and following veinhelm command, he immediately plucked out the traitors and offered them to his new master.
Three prisoners were assembled in front of the dais, each in a different state of disgrace.
One kept his head low, staring at the floor. The next was out cold, blood streak dried at the temple. The third, a woman, glared straight ahead.
"Read the charges," I said, and let the words pour out with more venom than I'd planned.
Alexander produced a scroll with theatrical solemnity. "For sedition, conspiracy, and the attempted assassination of High Lord Veinhelm Drakan; for collusion with outsiders; for unauthorized access to the Arcane Vault. Prescribed penalty: Expunction from the body."
Expunction. That was Alan's word. A touch more brutal than 'execution,' designed to let the players know obliteration would not even spare a chance at being resurrected by rare items.
The woman scoffed, the sound razor-sharp against the hush. She had a scar I remembered carving pixel-by-pixel on her cheek, a white dash that made her fury more beautiful.
"Coward," she spat. "Your entire dominion is a sandcastle. It won't be long till you will bury you with it."
I knew her, after all I designed her for the sole purpose of dying by Veinhelm's command…
This was the part in the script where Veinhelm delivered a cartoonishly evil monologue then called in the Spectral Blades to finish the job.
But I wasn't just a script. I was the ghost in the machine, a new lease on life, and I had not the faintest urge to play my role as intended.
Instead, I stepped down from the dais. The boots made a faint echo on stone.
Alexander stiffened, uncertain. The traitors flinched. The unconscious one stirred, eyelids fluttering, maybe catching the change in atmosphere.
I stopped before the scarred woman. She didn't blink, didn't flinch, holding my stare like a challenge to the death.
I recognized in her the code I'd written; every subroutine demanded she bite, that she spend her blood on a final gesture of defiance. But I saw the artifact of my own design and, for one heartbeat, felt a pulse of guilt. In the waking world, I never let myself feel that.
"Why have you betrayed the house ?" I asked, and my voice was ice, an instrument I barely recognized as my own.
She snorted, then spat a clot of blood that sizzled against the obsidian floor. "You don't even know? you're just a puppet. Ask Alexander."
At the edge of my vision, the old man didn't betray a flicker of guilt, but he did not immediately protest.
I knelt—no, the body did, moving as if that was what this moment needed—and faced her at her own level.
"Pretend I don't know," I said. "Tell me anyway."
She laughed, and it was sharp, almost musical. Then as if the glass cracked she spat with frustration "Why starve the citizens to the bone?! Why raise the taxes when they are
already the highest in the empire?! is the great house of Drakans so busy
polishing their own ass that they don't even know how many died because of
them?!!"
"….."
Veinhelm wasn't just an evil tyrant, his whole bloodline was a continuation of another corrupt government. Being the descendant of such a family now I have to bear all the consequences myself… unlike the previous lords who were strong enough to protect themselves…
Veinhelm had nothing other than a fake aura.
There are many people who wants the fall of Drakans, but as far as I know only two houses hold desperate grudge that they would even break the imperial law to end the Drakans bloodline.
it doesn't matter anyway, not only them but almost everyone in this world despise veinhelm.
Because the face and body I wore now were so completely that of a tyrant. It was almost comical how perfect a villain Veinhelm made: I'd written him to take the heat, I tasted a new flavor of
loneliness, heavier than any office party.
I stood. "What do think? Alexander "
Alexander cleared his throat, as if to remind me of the audience. A quick look up the spiral stair revealed more: servants with bowed heads, a silent scribe, numerous officials and house members. All watching for what I would do. The moment iced over.
All of them were staring at me in horror and slight hidden anger. Looks like even the house members loathed him…
I raised an arm and said,
" Release them "
Alexander's reaction was slightly delayed—as if he was doubting his own ears- he said in a shaken tone
" Release? My lord? "
The first thing that I have to do is fix this damn image. I can't even think about surviving if my own people are after me.
" You heard what I said, release them and exile them from their position. They are never to set foot on any of the Drakans land no more."
"..."
"If a house acts against Imperial law, that's their problem. But my predecessor's politics are not my concern." I riffled my gauntlets, stretching fingers, reminding myself that everything I heard—every bitter hiss and condemnation—was a consequence of my own code.
They aren't the ones who were behind this attempt. I knew since I was the one who designed their betrayal.
"Tell whoever sent you this: Veinhelm Drakan isn't the charred corpse they were hoping for. Your pathetic attempts means nothing… Get out."
"…And if we see you again, it won't be a
mere exaltation "
added Alexander, voice shaky, but he was reading me now, learning the kind of lord I might become. He signaled, and two guards—wearing the same bug-eyed expressions as low-level mooks in every
tutorial zone—practically dragged the prisoners out.
The woman spat another time, but there was something new in her glare: not gratitude, not even understanding, but a blank expression of confusion.
An AI caught between outcomes, unable to process the next line of code.
That was fine for now…
*
*
*
" Just what is he thinking? "
I was told that he was an irredeemable tyrant with a supremacy fanaticism… obviously such betrayal is met with nothing but death.
" His eyes…. They definitely look like he see everyone below him"
Obviously, it was a show. With my 'enchanted eyes' I can see that his aura was a mere facade with no real power behind it.
"…"
But why did he hesitate? Why was he merciful when history dictated only fire and steel?
At the far end of the corridor, Servant Silvia pressed herself against the wall until the prisoners had limped past, then ducked into the side pantry where two kitchen girls already gossiped behind a rack of sugared fruit.
"He should have run them through, like his father would," whispered the taller girl, clutching a tray of candied plums.
"The Drakan way," sneered the other girl, but her voice cracked the tiniest bit.
They listened for the footsteps, waited for the thunder of violence. Instead, there was only the soft, uncertain hush that came with mercy practiced by icy hands.
Even the servants think that today was different than the usual,
" Regardless tonight is the night. This time he isn't surviving what is coming for him "
*
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