"Damien, you're really the talk of the town now, huh?"
The furious voice of a young woman echoed from the end of the hallway, crashing into the room like a storm.
A blonde woman with a sharp bob and a perfectly tailored noble gown stormed in, waving a copy of The Arcane Gazette like a weapon.
"Are you trying to completely disgrace the Thornevale name?!"
Smack!
The newspaper slapped straight across the man's face without mercy.
Damien Thornevale calmly peeled the paper off, his expression unreadable. His sapphire-blue eyes scanned the front page.
A moving magical photograph dominated the layout. The man in the image had striking features and a chiseled jawline—his good looks undiminished even in black and white print.
In the photo, he was smiling charmingly, hand extended toward a young noblewoman in an elegant gown, as if inviting her to dance.
But the girl only offered a polite smile, gently shook her head, and—most damning of all—her eyes held a flicker of unmistakable disdain.
BANG!
A loud slam on the desk snapped Damien out of his thoughts.
Standing in front of him was Selene Thornevale—his sister.
"Have you completely lost your mind? We sent you to that banquet to represent the family, and you thought it was a good idea to confess your love to the duke's daughter—in public?!"
Her voice was loud enough to rattle the ceiling.
"She's not even of age yet! What the hell were you thinking?!"
Damien looked down at the headline sprawled across the front page:
SHOCKING! Viscount Thornevale Publicly Declares Love for Duke's Daughter at Her Birthday Banquet!
He had to admit, the paper knew how to grab attention.
If he were still just a reader, he probably would've tossed a few silver coins at the vendor, bought a copy, and read it over afternoon tea with a smirk.
Too bad this time, he was the headline.
Damien Thornevale.
He glanced at the mirror on his desk. The face staring back at him was identical to the one in the paper—handsome, refined, every inch the nobleman.
But he knew the truth.
The original owner of this face was long gone.
The current Damien was someone else entirely—a soul that had just crossed over into this world.
No memories. No warning. Not even a basic grasp of how this world worked.
All he knew was the name of the place: the Kingdom of Valemont.
And that this world's setting came straight out of the MMORPG he used to be obsessed with.
Back in that game, he was one of the top ten players—actually, all ten of the top-ranked characters were his, just different classes.
And now, he'd been dropped into the body of one of them: Damien Thornevale.
Valemont was a kingdom built on a rigid noble hierarchy, and Damien's title—Viscount—sounded impressive.
But in reality? It wasn't much.
A bit of land, a bit of status, but in the grand scheme of power? He barely registered.
Especially now that he'd pissed off a duke's daughter.
The gap between a viscount and a duke was like a housecat trying to pick a fight with a full-grown lion.
"Figures. Leave it to the devs to throw me into the game as the villain and crank the difficulty to hell right from the start," Damien muttered under his breath.
"What did you just say?" Selene's voice shot up an octave, her brows knitting tighter. She was clearly even more pissed at his nonchalant attitude.
Damien looked up and met her eyes.
Selene Thornevale.
In the game, she was Damien's younger sister.
And one of the most beloved female characters among players.
Not just because of her flawless, doll-like beauty, but because she was always on the side of justice—smart, decisive, and cool under pressure. The kind of woman who could hold her own even in the cutthroat world of nobility.
Her popularity, ironically, was partly thanks to her infamous older brother.
Damien Thornevale—the main antagonist of the game's early and mid-story arcs.
His schemes and ambition eventually plunged the Valemont Kingdom into chaos, prompting the Queen herself to issue a royal decree for his capture—dead or alive.
Players swarmed to take him down, treating him as the ultimate challenge on the path to rare loot and massive XP.
He earned a slew of ridiculous nicknames in the process: Glass Cannon Boss, Ridiculously Handsome, Heartbreaker Mage… the list went on.
Honestly, waking up in the world of your favorite game, inside the body of a character you know inside and out, should've been a dream come true.
But Damien wasn't thrilled.
Because he knew just how many enemies this character had.
Maybe it was because he was too good-looking. Maybe the writers just had it out for pretty boys.
But in this world, Damien Thornevale was practically public enemy number one.
No exaggeration—almost every NPC who could hold a conversation with him had a reason to hate his guts.
Could be a grumpy professor at the magic academy. Could be the sweet old apothecary in town.
Hell, even the fat orange cat that lounged on the corner might've been kicked by Damien in some obscure side quest.
And that's not even counting the major characters in the main storyline…
His fiancée.
His sister.
And the duke's daughter he just "confessed" to at the banquet.
Every single one of them would love nothing more than to see him swinging from the gallows.
That's how he earned the infamous title: Heartbreaker Mage.
In a world of swords and sorcery, where beauty and power often go hand in hand, it took a special kind of bastard to make so many high-ranking, high-status women absolutely loathe him.
And Damien Thornevale? He was that bastard.
Or more accurately—he'd become him.
The original Damien was gone. In his place was a soul from another world—a former top-tier player who once ruled the leaderboards of this very game.
But even with all his knowledge of the world's mechanics, lore, and character arcs, there was one thing he couldn't change:
The sheer amount of aggro the original Damien had racked up was enough to wipe a raid party at spawn.
What point in the timeline is this, exactly? he wondered.
This time, he kept the question to himself instead of muttering it aloud.
But his silence only seemed to piss Selene off more.
Her fury spiked like a fireball mid-cast.
"Enough, Damien! Do you even realize how deep in shit you are right now?!"
She yanked a thick roll of parchment from her handbag and slammed it down on the desk with a loud thwack.
"If I hadn't pulled every string I had to get you a temporary teaching position at Arcanis Royal Academy, the duke's private guards would've already surrounded this place and dragged you out in chains!"
"And you? You're just sitting here, sipping coffee and reading like it's a lazy Sunday? You can't even say 'thank you'?!"
"…Thank you."
Selene blinked. Her rant cut off mid-sentence.
She stared at him, momentarily stunned, like she'd forgotten how to keep being angry.
Damien remained seated, flipping through the parchment—some kind of contract—his voice calm and even. "Thanks for handling it. I'll be more careful in public from now on."
Selene's fingers instinctively twirled a strand of her hair, her expression shifting into something more complicated.
She clearly hadn't expected her arrogant, self-absorbed, impossible-to-deal-with brother to actually say thank you—let alone sound like he meant it.
"I only did it to keep the family name from being dragged through the mud," she said, her tone cooling but her eyes still sharp. "And this is just buying you time. You'll have to go apologize to the duke yourself."
She paused, then added, "And it's not just me you owe. You'd better think about how you're going to face Lady Gwenna."
Damien's brow lifted slightly. "Gwenna Stormveil?"
"That's right." Selene's voice turned icy again. "My recommendation alone wasn't enough to get the Academy to agree. I had to ask Lady Gwenna to step in. She's the one who convinced them to give you the position."
Her gaze could've frozen lava.
"You've got a fiancée, and yet you're out here making a scene at a noble girl's birthday party? Honestly, Damien… classic you."
Damien chose to ignore the jab. "I'm not sure what you think happened, but I'll thank her personally."
The name echoed in his mind.
Gwenna Stormveil.
Second daughter of the Stormveil family, guardians of the northern frontier. One of the youngest knight commanders in the kingdom.
In the game, she was Damien's fiancée—but the engagement was purely political. There was no love between them. Barely even civility.
In the main storyline, Gwenna was always on the side of justice. Damien? He was the villain she was destined to bring down.
In the final chapter of the game, it was Gwenna who struck the killing blow—ending Damien's ambitions and his life.
Players had long speculated whether there was ever any real emotion between them, but the devs never confirmed anything.
Great, Damien thought grimly. Another walking death flag.
Gwenna wasn't just any NPC.
She was the kind of character who could go toe-to-toe with gods and demons in the late game and still come out on top.
Her combat stats were the stuff of nightmares.
In fact, she was one of the game's optional endgame bosses—an absolute monster in battle.
Her name alone had made countless players break into a cold sweat.
Damien knew one thing for sure—this was not a woman you wanted to piss off.
Because if you did, you wouldn't just lose a fight.
You'd die.
And right now, he didn't have a single cheat code or overpowered item to fall back on.
Selene seemed to notice the shift in his mood. Her lips curled into a smug little smile, clearly enjoying the rare sight of her brother looking genuinely rattled.
"Hmph. I've got matters to attend to back at the estate. I won't waste any more time babysitting you."
She gave a sharp huff, grabbed her handbag, and turned to leave.
But just as she reached the door, she paused.
She glanced back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable—half mockery, half… was that pity?
"Oh, and by the way," she added with a sneer, "you seriously adopted a raven? And not just any raven—a one-eyed raven?"
"Your taste is as terrible as ever."
BANG!
The door slammed shut behind her.
Outside, a maid's voice called out, "Miss Selene, shall I prepare the carriage?"
Damien didn't answer.
His attention had shifted to the shadow perched in the corner of his desk.
A raven—or something that only looked like one.
It was larger than any normal bird, its feathers so black they seemed to absorb the light around them.
But the most striking feature was its single eye.
That eye glowed with an eerie, unnatural light—like a window into something ancient and unknowable.
It was staring at him.
No—meeting his gaze.
And then, it smiled.
Not a bird's smile. A human one. Clever. Knowing. Sinister.
"Greetings," it rasped in a voice like gravel and smoke. "I am the Evil God—Vibricar."
…