The scent of polished wood and aged parchment hung heavy in the air as Rudelion navigated the labyrinthine corridors of Aethelred Royal Academy. His first Arcana Theory class was a blur of complex diagrams and esoteric terms, yet his Mana Sensing skill hummed, absorbing every subtle ripple of magical energy. He noted the varied Mana signatures of his classmates—some faint and barely perceptible, others vibrant and volatile. His own Mana felt like a vast, dark ocean within him, immense but untrained, yearning for control. It was a potent fuel, tied inextricably to the Demon God's essence that was now a part of his very being, but it was his to command, thanks to the System. This new power system, based purely on Mana and Blood Imprint, felt exhilarating in its potential, unburdened by the painful qi deviations of his past.
During a brief break between lectures, as students spilled into the sun-drenched courtyard, Rudelion found himself an unexpected focal point. He leaned casually against a marble column, observing, but it quickly became apparent that he was also being observed. Whispers drifted on the breeze, like scattered rose petals.
"Is that… Young Master Rudelion?" "He looks so much better! The blonde hair is stunning!" "And his eyes… they're captivating, aren't they?" "They say he's fully recovered. He even attended orientation."
Rudelion's internal composure, honed through a lifetime of Murim politicking and brutal warfare, remained unblemished. Yet, a peculiar sensation blossomed in his chest – a mix of surprise, a hint of unease, and a strange, almost flattering, recognition. He was accustomed to being feared, respected for his power, or hated for his ruthlessness. Admiration, especially for his looks, was a new variable.
He remembered the endless hours Maximilian had spent on gaming forums, dissecting every aspect of GoldenFrisk2. He'd scoffed at the "gooner" aspects of the game, the blatant fan service aimed at male players. The heroines were all designed with exaggerated features, their 'costumes' often bordering on scandalous, their dialogue saccharine and overly accommodating. It was a game saturated with male gaze, from the character designs to the explicit 'affection scenes' that players could unlock. Maximilian had dismissed it as low-quality trash, only paying attention to the strategic combat and the hidden lore surrounding the Demon God.
But then, a specific memory surfaced, sharp and undeniable, like a perfectly rendered cutscene. Forum discussions, hundreds of pages long, deviating from the usual "waifu wars" or "build guides." These threads were dedicated solely to one character: Rudelion Von Thaumiel.
"Okay, honestly, who else is only playing GF2 for Rudelion?"
"He's the only male character with actual depth, and good lord, that design! The blonde hair, the heterochromia, the tragic backstory… I'm simping hard."
"I usually only play these games for the girls, but Rudelion… he's different. Peak male character design."
"I'm a straight guy, but I'm not gonna lie, I almost went for the Evil Path just to keep him around. He's just… handsome. Objectively."
"The devs clearly knew what they were doing with Rudelion. He's the real male fanservice in a game full of female fanservice. And it works!"
Maximilian, even then, had conceded the point. Rudelion was undeniably handsome. His design, a deliberate contrast to the often generic, clean-cut protagonists, was striking. The pale skin, the aristocratic features, the unique eye colors, the flowing golden hair – it all coalesced into an aesthetic of dark beauty that appealed to both male and female players alike. He was the exception in a game designed for a specific demographic, inadvertently becoming a crush-worthy character for everyone.
And now, he was that character.
Rudelion, the Neck-Slashing Demonic Emperor, felt a strange, almost alien, sense of satisfaction. It was a bizarre kind of victory. He, who had always been a figure of terror, a symbol of ultimate defiance, was now seen as "captivating" and "stunning." This wasn't about power or fear; it was about inherent charisma, an aesthetic appeal that transcended his former identity. It was a useful asset. A very useful asset.
A group of female students, giggling softly, walked past him. One, a petite girl with twin braids and a shy demeanor, stumbled slightly, her gaze fixed on him. She quickly averted her eyes, a blush creeping up her neck. He observed her Mana signature; it was small, hesitant, a delicate spark. Not a threat. Merely… admiring.
This was a new form of power. Not brute force, not terrifying qi, but influence. Subtlety. If players, across the gender spectrum, were drawn to Rudelion for his looks, then perhaps he could leverage this to his advantage. Avoiding his own death flags meant not just becoming strong, but becoming irreplaceable or unassailable in ways the game hadn't intended. If he could cultivate a widespread 'admiration' (or even obsession) that made the idea of his 'predetermined defeat' unpalatable to the world itself, that would be a potent shield.
His goal remained survival and redemption for himself. To achieve that, he needed to navigate this narrative carefully. The game's protagonist was likely a charming, charismatic type, designed to gather allies. What if Rudelion, the supposed 'final boss,' could also attract supporters? Not through force or fear, but through… appeal? The idea felt absurd, yet compelling.
He pulled up the System, his thoughts racing. The [PROFILE] tab. He tapped it.
[Host Profile: Rudelion Von Thaumiel]Status: Alive (Vessel of Incipient Demon God)Level: 1Mana Capacity: 50/100 (Unrefined)Blood Imprint Affinity: Thaumiel (Abyssal/Void)Base Stats:
Strength: 8
Dexterity: 9
Vitality: 10
Intelligence: 15 (Override: Host Cognitive Framework)
Wisdom: 12
Charisma: 18
Rudelion's eyes narrowed slightly at the stats. Intelligence: 15 (Override: Host Cognitive Framework). The System's earlier failure to 'adjust' his cognitive parameters meant his base intelligence was naturally high, independent of the System's influence. But Charisma: 18? That was exceptionally high for a starting stat. It confirmed the players' assessments. This vessel, his new body, possessed an inherent magnetism.
He felt a faint smile touch his lips. This was a gift. A tool. He could use this. Instead of being the reclusive, sickly villain of the game's early lore, he could become… something else. A charming, perhaps mysterious, figure. Someone who drew people in, making them less likely to perceive him as a threat, and more likely to protect or assist him. It was a subtle form of manipulation, far more insidious than brute force. It aligned perfectly with his past life's mastery of manipulating individuals and factions. He just had to pivot his methods.
He checked his [SKILLS] tab again. Mana Sensing (Passive, Common). Still his only skill. He needed more. More Mana and Blood Imprint abilities. More ways to understand and interact with this world without resorting to brute force that would immediately trigger death flags.
His thoughts turned to the academy itself. It was a crucible of future heroes. The protagonists. The heroines. The sub-villains. He needed to identify them, and then… disarm them. Not by killing them, but by changing their narrative trajectory. How could he prevent the protagonist from triggering the 'Demon God's Awakening' route? Perhaps by making himself an ally? Or by subtly guiding them towards another 'Evil God' as a target?
He decided his immediate strategy was two-fold:
Mana and Blood Imprint Cultivation: Focus on learning and mastering this world's power system. The academy was perfect for this. He needed to unlock more powerful abilities through his personal gacha and by understanding his Blood Imprint.
Social Infiltration/Manipulation: Utilize his high Charisma to build favorable perceptions, gather information, and subtly influence key figures. Avoid overt actions that would paint him as a villain or draw unwanted attention from the game's 'hero' forces. This meant embracing his new role as 'Rudelion Von Thaumiel, the recovering noble.'
The bell for the next class rang, jolting him from his tactical musings. 'Combat Application.' This should be interesting. His new body, while possessing innate Mana and Blood Imprint potential, was still unfamiliar. He longed for the instinctual grace of his qi-infused Murim body, but he was no stranger to adapting. He would learn to move, to fight, to wield Mana as naturally as he once wielded Bloodreaver.
He made his way to the training grounds, a vast expanse of enchanted ground where Mana flowed freely, designed to absorb the shock of spells and practice combat. Students were already sparring, bursts of elemental Mana flashing across the field. Fireballs erupted, ice shards flew, and gusts of wind rippled through the air. This was the raw reality of this world's combat.
He approached one of the training dummies, a sturdy construct of magically reinforced wood. He extended his hand, trying to replicate the simple Mana flow he'd achieved in his dorm room. This time, with the free-flowing Mana of the training ground and his improved Mana Sensing, it was slightly easier. A faint purple spark, barely visible, flickered at his fingertips. It was pathetic, but it was a start. He felt the immense power of the Demon God's vessel within him, a vast, untapped reservoir of Mana. It was like owning an ocean but only being able to draw a single drop with a straw. He needed to learn how to open the floodgates safely, how to control that immense power through Mana and Blood Imprint.
He closed his eyes, remembering the flow of qi, the precise movements of the Thousand Demonic Arts. He tried to translate that muscle memory, that feeling of channeling energy, into the context of Mana. Mana was less about internal channels and more about external manipulation, drawing from the ambient energy of the world. It was like learning a new language. His mind, thanks to its 'override,' processed the information with astonishing speed, making connections, forming hypotheses.
He spent the rest of the class observing, not just the Mana flows, but the stances, the common spell structures, the fighting styles of his peers. He noticed the inherent advantages of certain Blood Imprints—some students could manifest small rock formations, others had enhanced speed, a few could even glimpse faint echoes of the future. His own Thaumiel Blood Imprint felt dormant, a deep, silent power waiting to be awakened. The 'Abyssal/Void' affinity mentioned in his profile hinted at dark, manipulative powers, not unlike some of the more subtle Demonic Arts, but powered by Mana, not qi. This was promising. This felt like a natural fit for his strategic and manipulative inclinations, far more so than brute strength alone.
As the day drew to a close, and the academy lights began to glow with soft Mana, Rudelion returned to his dorm. His mind was alight with plans. He had a formidable task ahead: preventing his own narrative demise, accumulating personal power, and navigating a world where his appearance alone was a source of widespread admiration.
He sat on his bed, pulling up the System again. He tapped the [GACHA] tab, then the [PULL] button. He had no tickets yet, but he needed to check if there were any daily free pulls or other hidden mechanisms. There weren't. Just the ticket counter.
"Alright, System," he murmured, a faint smile playing on his lips. "You want me to avoid death flags and seek redemption? Then provide me with the tools." He would focus on quests. He needed more Gacha Tickets, more Mana Core Fragments, more ways to level up his own stats and abilities.
He knew the protagonist would be enrolling soon. That was the primary death flag he needed to circumvent. He had to make himself indispensable, or at least, non-antagonistic, to the 'hero's journey.' His high Charisma would be key. He could use it to build superficial bonds, to appear helpful, to guide the protagonist's attention elsewhere. If the player base admired Rudelion, perhaps the in-game characters could too. This was his chance at true self-preservation, not by fleeing, but by rewriting the script from within.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling was white, plain, utterly unlike the ornate, menacing frescoes of the Demonic Cult's grand halls. But he felt a strange, quiet contentment. He was here. He was alive. He had a chance. And he had a System that supported him, a gacha that only served his personal growth. He was the secret final boss, yes, but he was also the handsome character everyone had a crush on. He was the ultimate wild card. And for the first time in a long time, Rudelion felt a genuine flicker of hope for his own future. A hope that stemmed not from fear, but from the exciting potential of a new game to master, a new life to build, a new destiny to forge for himself.
"Let the game begin," he whispered into the quiet room, his purple and black eyes gleaming in the dim light.