I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 469: [Event] [Elven Utopian War] [11] Freya Ruvelion

The carriage was unlike anything else on the road. Its pure white exterior gleamed under the sunlight, adorned with golden embellishment.

The bypassers, who had been watching our quarrel with awe and amusement, now shifted their focus entirely. ”Itʼs the Princessʼs carriage!” ”Itʼs Her Royal Highness!”

I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach as I recognized the emblem emblazoned on the carriage door: the Ruvelion Royal crest.

Youʼve got to be kidding me.

The carriage came to a smooth, inevitable halt. The coachman, with a slight turn of his body, spoke through the narrow window behind him. After a brief exchange, he fixed his gaze on the growing crowd around the vehicle. His eyes lingered for a moment, and then, with a resigned sigh, he disembarked from the carriage.

The dozen or so royal elf guards followed suit descending from their horses. One of the guards moved toward the carriage door. He swung open the door with a quiet grace, and immediately, he knelt before it, lowering his head in a gesture of reverence. His companions mirrored his actions, kneeling in perfect unison.

There was a small pause until a delicate, alabaster hand emerged from the shadows of the carriage, resting lightly upon the door.

As if in slow motion, the figure who accompanied the hand revealed herself-a vision of otherworldly beauty. She stepped down from the carriage, her gown shimmering in the twilight. It was white, pure and resplendent, adorned with golden ornaments that jingled softly with her every movement. As she descended the small staircase, the soft sound of her white knee-length sandals tapping on the stone steps was the only sound that filled the air. The moment she emerged, time seemed to hold its breath. The entire crowd, elves both male and female, stood in awed silence, their gazes locked on her utterly enthralled.

She appeared to be in her late teens. Her golden hair cascaded in a flawless wave, its length reaching down to her waist in a way that looked almost too perfect to be real. It wasnʼt bound in any way, flowing freely, but what caught the eye was the delicate crown resting on her brow —a woven masterpiece of gold and white petals, gracefully perched like a crown of nature itself.

Her eyes golden swept across the scene, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. She held herself with such poise and dignity that it felt as if she were gazing upon her subjects. And it wasnʼt wrong. For this was no mere beauty-this was Freya Ruvelion, the High Elf Princess, and Twin Soul of the Goddess Freyja herself.

Even I, a person accustomed to seeing extraordinary things, was taken aback by her beauty. I had to admit, she was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on-though, to be fair, I kept the Goddesses in a category of their own, just ahead of Alvara. But, if I were to be entirely honest with myself, my heart would always belong to Ephera, whose beauty could never be rivaled by anyone.

Yet, despite this, I found my gaze drawn back to Freya. As my eyes traced the features of her face, I noticed something unusual-a strange, glowing mark in the center of her forehead. It wasnʼt a mere tattoo, though it resembled one in shape. Rather, it was more akin to the Olphean amber marks that Christina and I shared beneath our eyes, though Freyaʼs mark was far more pronounced, etched into her skin in the shape of a golden tree. The symbol glowed faintly that seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as if it were not just an ornament, but a living, breathing part of her very being. ”Princess Freya!” ”Your Highness!” ”Hail the Princess!”

The voices erupted in a chorus as the elves around me, still recovering from the awe that had overtaken them, swiftly knelt before her. Their devotion was immediate, almost instinctive, as if they had been waiting their whole lives for this moment.

Freya stood there and smiled softly as she raised her hand. ”My dear people. Please rise.”

The response was almost overwhelming. The elves, some of whom had tears in their eyes, obeyed immediately, rising to their feet. A few even hesitated, unwilling to break the bond that seemed to exist between them and their princess, as if standing in her presence was a privilege too great to relinquish.

I grimaced at the scene. It was hard not to feel disgusted at the sight of these... simps, as I couldnʼt think of a better word to describe their fawning adoration.

Freyaʼs gaze shifted then, her eyes glimmering as they landed on the drunken elf I had tossed to the ground earlier. A slight frown touched her face, but it was fleeting, replaced by the calm, composed demeanor she had shown before. Her gaze then drifted across the crowd, and it was at that moment when the whispers began. ”Itʼs her!” ”I saw her, Princess!” ”Your Highness! Itʼs the white-haired weirdo!”

The murmurs spread like wildfire, and before I could react, the crowd parted in a swift movement, creating a wide circle around me. They were so quick to distance themselves, almost as if they couldnʼt get far enough from me fast enough. And then, without hesitation, they pointed fingers, offering me up as the object of their judgment.

I could hardly believe what I was seeing.

Elves from Sancta Vedelia-whom I had once thought to be utterly bastards-seemed like angels in comparison to these ones. These elves, so quick to cast me aside and label me as some sort of outcast, made my skin crawl.

I couldnʼt understand what they meant by ʼher,ʼ though. Was this some sort of collective misunderstanding?

There was an awkward silence until an irritated guard stepped forward. His brow furrowed as The glared at me with disdain. ”Kneel down! Impudent!” He barked his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. It was clear he expected me to obey immediately, but I simply didnʼt-no, I wouldnʼt-react. Not to them.

Rather was he going to kill me because I didnʼt kneel?

What the hell?

At that moment, Freyaʼs gaze fell upon me, then.

This woman... I could now clearly see it. There was an undeniable connection between her and Alvara. I had suspected it, but seeing it now with my own eyes, it was like confirming it but she was different in some way...

She studied me with those piercing golden eyes of hers, her expression softening as she spoke again. ”You are so beautiful. May we know your name?”

Beautiful?

I raised an eyebrow in confusion. Was she really talking to me?

Did she think I was a softie?

She wanted my name, but what was I supposed to say? There was no way in hell I could give her my real name.

I needed something quick-something plausible. []

At that moment, Cleenah suggested. ʼLoki? Why would I say that? The Norse god?ʼ [] ”L-Loki,” I stuttered, the name slipping from my lips almost against my will, a direct consequence of Cleenahʼs insistence.

Freyaʼs gaze never wavered, though, and a silence lingered between us. Her smile remained, but there was something different about it now, a chill creeping down my spine despite her gentle expression. She didnʼt speak immediately, but her eyes lingered on me for a moment. ”Thatʼs a nice name,” she said finally. ”But... a bit unfitting for a beauty like you, wouldnʼt you think?”

She giggled softly making everyone around blush but it didnʼt reach me the way it was meant to. ”Eh?” I couldnʼt help the confusion that crossed my face.

Beauty?

Did she just... misinterpret me as a woman? []

I was speechless. ʼWhy?!ʼ [