Alistair took a deep breath, reining in the fury that threatened to erupt. It's not that I can't do the quests, he thought, his mental voice strained. But you need to tell me why I must follow a path that leads to certain death.
[Even if this System did not compel the Host, the currents of destiny would push you into these situations regardless. Through a series of coincidences and misunderstandings, your fate would inevitably intertwine with that of the beastkin, leading to your guaranteed demise.]
He understood. The World-Line correction, plain and simple. Alistair had learned that lesson the hard way twenty years ago; even when he did everything in his power to avoid death, a cascade of accidents would conspire to bring it about.
Before he could respond, the System continued its chipper broadcast.
[Alert! Announcing Daily Villain Quests.]
[Quest One: Thrash one of your subjects. Only the cold-blooded and cruel survive!]
[Quest Two: Steal candy from ten children. Only the thick-skinned can withstand the blows of destiny!]
[Quest Three: Trample a subject's vegetable patch. Only the shameless have a flexible bottom line!]
[Note: Completing one daily quest grants a lottery ticket. Completing all three grants a chance for a critical success, which yields exceptional rewards. It is recommended the Host completes all quests before drawing rewards.]
Alistair's fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. Was this the Ultimate Villain System or the Ultimate Hooligan System? He was the lord of a great domain. How could he possibly engage in such petty thuggery? Both his modern education and his noble upbringing screamed in protest.
In his mind, a true villain possessed grand ambitions and principles. He was a tireless striver, an ascetic devoted to his own path, a transcendent being misunderstood by the masses. That was a villain he was willing to become. But according to these daily quests, the System wanted him to be a common scoundrel.
As if sensing his revulsion, the System chimed in.
[This daily quest set is the novice version, designed to shatter the Host's moral compass. Be advised: the enemies the Host faces are immeasurably powerful, and the path to changing destiny is fraught with peril. Moral rigidity will be fatal.]
A flexible bottom line. Alistair was truly impressed. What kind of system could describe shamelessness with such elegance? It was enough to make him choke with rage.
The enemies he faced were indeed immeasurably powerful. They were the Murderhobos who would kill a god if it had a health bar—the players. Their numbers were terrifying, and most importantly, they could resurrect.
System, can you manifest as a voluptuous elf? Say, with 36D breasts?
[Does the Host require a cold shower?]
Can your quests be a little more sensible, then?
[This is a novice bonus quest set. It is a one-time-only event. There will be no tasks this simple or easy in the future. The Host should be grateful!]
Can I exploit your loopholes, then?
[The System has no loopholes.]
Alistair felt an overwhelming urge to beat the System to a pulp, a shame it had no physical form.
Calm down. Don't give in to despair, he told himself. At least the previous lord didn't have a system to help him. And this System... while sentient, it doesn't seem particularly bright. It can likely be manipulated.
If I can leverage this System as a variable, I might just be able to alter the World-Line, defy fate, and escape my destiny of being slaughtered by the players!
With that thought, Alistair provisionally accepted the "reasonableness" of the quests. First, the investiture ceremony.
…
The ceremony concluded swiftly under the tolling bells of Frostcrest. Proclamations of the new Count's investiture were tacked to notice boards by knights, and riders were dispatched to carry the news throughout all of Frostfell. As it was a border territory, few high-ranking nobles attended, a fact for which Alistair was grateful. He preferred the peace and quiet.
As he led his warhorse by the reins, intending to take a tour of Frostcrest, his mind drifted to the information he recalled from the game. He hadn't participated in the initial closed beta, so his knowledge of the early-game plot was hazy. He knew, however, that it began with the beastkin.
The beastkin had animal ears and tails. They were a nomadic race, caught between the human kingdoms and the orc empires. Possessing no innate talent for magic or aura, they were at the very bottom of the continent's power hierarchy. How such a race had ever established a kingdom was a mystery.
Humans discriminated against them; orcs preyed upon them as food. Beautiful beastkin girls were often abducted by slavers, while the males were typically forced into the most demeaning forms of slavery. Only in the remote borderlands, in small towns with simple folk, could one still find free-roaming beastkin.
The original Lord of Frostfell had been a lecherous count with a particular fondness for their animal ears and tails. Shortly after taking power, the maniacal lord had begun a fanatical campaign to capture beastkin girls. He even instituted a "Beastkin Slave Pact," officially degrading a free people into a race of slaves.
Recalling the depraved acts of his predecessor, Alistair felt a wave of helplessness. The man had truly done everything in his power to speedrun his own death. That series of bizarre policies had instantly forged a blood feud between him, the players, and the beastkin.
…
Now, in order to gain the System's rewards, increase his own strength, and change his fated death, Alistair had to figure out how to complete these shameless quests without his conscience dying of grief.
His first thought was damage control.
First, let's see if I can cheese the System…
He already had a general strategy in mind. A little experimentation would prove if it was viable.
Clip-clop. Clip-clop.
Amidst the rhythmic sound of hooves, the newly appointed lord set his handsome face into a cold mask. His eyes, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and resolve, stared into the distance. With a flick of his riding crop, he spurred his warhorse onward, riding out from the towering gates of Snowmantle Citadel, flanked by his retinue of knights.