Several days drift by in the quiet luxury of the Imperial palace, settling into a rhythm of deceptive peace. In the dim, ambient light of Mikhail's private chamber, the air is thick with the warmth of shared intimacy. Mikhail lies awake, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the gold-leafed ceiling, while beside him, naked beneath the high-thread-count silk sheets, Miyako breathes in a slow, rhythmic slumber. Her body, usually a coil of lethal tension, is completely relaxed against him, her head resting trustingly on his chest, her dark hair splayed like ink across his skin. But while his arm holds her close, Mikhail's mind is miles away, dissecting the timeline of the world he now inhabits. If my calculations are right, he muses, the gears of his memory turning, that specific event from the game is about to start. The looming threat is the Skullhide Clan, a massive, organized force of Orcs destined to launch a catastrophic invasion of the Kingdom of Eldrath.
He frowns at the ceiling, analyzing the threat levels. In the generic RPGs of his old world, Orcs were often fodder—mindless brutes meant to be farmed for experience. But in this game, the reality is terrifyingly different. The Orcs of Clavaria are apex predators: physically imposing, terrifyingly fast, and possessed of a grim, strategic intelligence. They don't just charge; they utilize formations, sieges, and ambushes. It will take about ten normal soldiers to kill a single Orc, he calculates grimly. Warriors like Hilowat, Miyako, and I can manage a single Orc by ourselves, certainly. But the problem isn't the individual strength; it's the numbers. The Skullhide Clan isn't a raiding party; it's a migration, a horde ranging up to 100,000 strong. The sheer logistical weight of such an army is enough to crush a kingdom.
Mikhail replays the original game lore in his mind, dissecting the tragedy that was supposed to unfold. In the original storyline, the Hero Ren and Miyako had valiantly led the charge to defend Eldrath. Desperate and overwhelmed, Queen Yuehua had sent urgent pleas to the Great Empire for reinforcements. However, in that timeline, the Empire, still seething from the humiliation Mikhail had suffered at the hands of the Hero and the Princess, had coldly refused to help. The result was a pyrrhic victory of the worst kind. Although Ren and Miyako eventually repelled the horde, Eldrath suffered a staggering 400,000 casualties. The kingdom was left in ruins, a graveyard of its former self. Overcome by the crushing guilt of her failure to protect her people, Queen Yuehua committed suicide, plunging the remnants of the nation into chaos. The kingdom dissolved, forcing Ren, the Princess, and Miyako to flee south to the Lands of the Swamp. It was there, in their exile, that they discovered legendary treasures that powered them up for the endgame. A dark, greedy smirk curls Mikhail's lips in the darkness. I want those treasures for myself. He doesn't care about saving the Queen or the Kingdom for moral reasons; he wants the legendary loot that lies at the end of that narrative thread, and he intends to rewrite the war to ensure he's the one to claim it.
His strategic reverie is abruptly shattered by the sound of the heavy chamber doors creaking open. Maria, the Head Maid, steps into the room. Despite the late hour and the intimate scene before her, she maintains her professional composure, though her voice carries a distinct note of urgency. She stops a respectful distance from the bed, bowing low. "Young lord, forgive me for intruding at such an hour. But it is the Emperor. He wishes to see you immediately."
The sound of the voice stirs Miyako. She shifts, waking from her deep sleep, her eyes blinking open, though she doesn't immediately rise, remaining sheltered under the sheets.
Mikhail sits up, the silk sheet pooling at his waist, his expression sharpening from contemplation to alertness. "What is this about, Maria?" he asks, his voice steady.
Maria keeps her head lowered. "I am not well informed on the details, My Lord, but the Emperor stated it is regarding an urgent request letter from Eldrath."
The effect of the name is instantaneous. Miyako, who'd been drowsy a second before, bolts upright, the sheet falling away from her shoulders as her attention snaps to the Head Maid. Her home is calling.
Mikhail, observing her reaction and Maria's report, allows that small, knowing smirk to return to his face. The timeline is precise. The pieces are moving exactly as he remembers, but this time, he is holding the reins. The show, he thinks with a thrill of anticipation, is about to begin.