If there was one thing Xerxes hated more than death, it was poverty.
And right now, the man standing in front of him—the so-called "Protagonist" of this world—was radiating enough poverty to bankrupt a small nation.
Xerxes Blackwood sat on his velvet chair, nursing a headache that felt like a goblin was mining for gold inside his skull. It wasn't just a migraine; it was the side effect of a soul being forcibly shoved into a new body.
Just ten minutes ago, he wasn't "Xerxes Blackwood." He was a burnt-out corporate analyst named Ren, living in a shoebox apartment in Tokyo, surviving on instant noodles and discount energy drinks. He had spent his entire life grinding for a promotion that never came, saving pennies, and dreaming of a retirement he would never reach.
And how did that life end? Not with a bang, but with a heart attack at his desk at 3 AM, clutching a spreadsheet.
'I died for a paycheck I didn't even get to cash,' Xerxes thought bitterly, the memory of his pathetic death fueling a cold fire in his chest. 'I swore that if I ever got a second chance, I wouldn't work. I wouldn't struggle. I would be rich, lazy, and alive.'
Fate, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor.
It had granted his wish—sort of. He had transmigrated. He was now the heir to the Blackwood Dukedom, the wealthiest family in the Iron Kingdom. He had money. He had status. He had a face that could launch a thousand ships (and sink them with a sneer).
There was just one tiny, catastrophic problem.
He was in a novel. Specifically, "The Eternal Sword God," a third-rate webnovel he had hate-read right before dying.
And he wasn't the hero.
Xerxes rubbed his temples as the memories of the original "Xerxes" merged with his own. The setting was the Grand Banquet Hall of the Royal Academy. The crystal chandeliers overhead hummed with magical energy, casting a golden glow on the hundreds of nobles watching the drama unfold.
The Engagement Annulment Ceremony.
The arrogant Young Master (him).
The humiliated Hero (Alistair).
And a death flag so big it needed its own postal code.
"Xerxes! Are you even listening to me?"
The shrill voice cut through his migraine. Xerxes blinked, the blurry world sharpening into focus.
Standing in the center of the hall was Alistair—a handsome youth with messy brown hair and eyes that burned with the stubborn determination of a Shonen protagonist. He wore a tunic that had clearly lost a war against a washing machine and armor that looked like it was made of scrap metal and hope.
Clinging to Alistair's arm was a crying girl with silver hair—Lena, the "Saintess of Dawn" and the reason for this entire mess.
In the original plot, this was the catalyst. The original Xerxes, jealous of Alistair's talent and close relationship with Lena, used his wealth to pressure Lena's family into an engagement. Today was the day Alistair stormed in to stop it.
In the book, Xerxes is supposed to laugh, call Alistair a "filthy commoner," and demand he crawl between his legs.
And in 50 chapters? Alistair returns from the "Abyssal Dungeon" with a legendary sword and decapitates Xerxes in front of his burning mansion.
Xerxes looked at Alistair. The Hero's hand was trembling over the hilt of his rusty iron sword. His knuckles were white. His eyes were burning with a desperate, cornered fury.
'He's about to snap,' Xerxes realized, his heart skipping a beat.
He knew the lore. Alistair possessed the [Wrath of the Underdog] trait. The more humiliated he felt, the faster his hidden power awakened. In the novel, he draws his sword in the next paragraph.
'I have maybe ten seconds before this turns into a bloodbath,' Xerxes thought frantically. 'I just got rich. I haven't even eaten a steak yet. I refuse to die because some teenager has an inferiority complex.'
He stood up. The sound of his silk robes rustling was deafening in the silent hall.
The crowd of nobles leaned in, smirking behind their fans. They were vultures, waiting for the show. They expected Xerxes to deliver the classic villain line about "toads lusting after swan meat." They wanted blood.
Xerxes reached into his robes. His hand brushed against something heavy. A coin purse. A very heavy coin purse made of wyvern leather.
A brilliant, capitalist idea formed in his mind.
Why fight the Hero? Fighting requires effort. Fighting ruins your hair. And most importantly, fighting a Protagonist usually results in your sudden, inexplicable death by a falling meteor.
He was a Villain. He was rich. He should solve problems the way rich villains should solve problems—not with violence, but with liquidity.
Xerxes didn't pull out a wand. He pulled out the bag of gold.
Thud.
He tossed it. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc and landed right at Alistair's muddy boots. The heavy clink of gold coins crashing against the marble floor echoed through the silent hall like a gunshot.
Alistair flinched. The Hero looked down at the bag, then up at Xerxes, his eyes widening in confusion. The righteous fury momentarily stalled.
"What is this?" Alistair hissed, his hand trembling on the hilt of his rusty sword. "Are you trying to insult me, Xerxes?"
Xerxes sighed. He tried to sound bored, channeling every ounce of "Rich Young Master" energy he could muster. He needed to be arrogant enough to maintain his character, but dismissive enough to diffuse the fight.
"Insult you? No, Alistair. I'm trying to help your fashion sense. It's offending my eyes."
Xerxes waved a hand dismissively, sitting back down as if the mere presence of the Hero was exhausting him.
"Take it. There's 500 Gold Coins in there. Buy some soap. Buy a new sword. Buy a house. Just... go away. You're ruining the ambiance."
The crowd gasped. A collective murmur rippled through the room.
"500 Gold?"
"That's enough to buy a small village!"
"Did Lord Xerxes just... tip him?"
Alistair froze. His face turned beet red. His knuckles turned white. To a normal person, this was a life-changing fortune. It was enough to retire to the countryside and live like a king.
But to a Protagonist fueled by pride? To a boy who believed honor was worth more than bread? This was worse than a slap in the face. It was the ultimate dismissal. It said, 'You aren't even worth fighting. You are a charity case.'
'Good,' Xerxes thought, watching Alistair's hand relax slightly from the sword hilt. 'He's not attacking. He's confused. His brain is short-circuiting. Take the money and leave, you shonen-protagonist-wannabe.'
But then, a blue screen—the hallmark of every transmigrator's sanity—shattered his vision.
[Ding!]
[System Activation Requirements Met: Aggressive Philanthropy Detected.]
[The Supreme Philanthropy System has awoken.]
Xerxes blinked. 'Philanthropy? I was just trying to pay him to leave.'
[Target Identified: Alistair (Child of Destiny)]
[Action: Charitable Donation (interpreted as Malicious Humiliation)]
[Calculated Impact: Critical Emotional Damage.]
Xerxes realized the truth instantly. The System didn't care about his intent. It didn't care that he just wanted to avoid a death flag. It only cared about the impact.
[Refund Multiplier: 100x]
[Reward: 50,000 Gold Coins have been deposited into your Spatial Ring.]
[Bonus Reward: Aura of the Wealthy Tyrant (Passive Skill)]
Xerxes froze.
He quickly checked his spatial ring with his mind. Sure enough, a mountain of gold had just materialized next to his spare robes.
He had spent 500 gold.
He had received 50,000 gold.
And Alistair hadn't even drawn his sword.
Xerxes looked at the shaking Hero, and for the first time since waking up in this death-trap of a novel, a genuine smile crept onto his face. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a man who just realized the ATM machine was broken and spitting out cash.
"You..." Alistair's voice shook with rage. "You think you can buy my dignity?! You think money is everything?!"
Xerxes leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. He picked up a grape from the silver platter beside him and popped it into his mouth.
"Alistair, my dear boy," Xerxes said, his voice smooth as silk. "I don't think money is everything."
He reached into his ring again. This time, he pulled out a glowing blue gem—a high-grade Mana Crystal worth a small city. The blue light illuminated the shock on Alistair's face.
He tossed it to Alistair.
"I know it is."
[Ding!]
[Target Confusion Increased. Multiplier: 50x.]
[Refund Received...]
Author's Note:
If you like villains who solve problems with money because they're too lazy to fight, welcome aboard. Add to library so Xerxes can keep bullying destiny with capitalism.