I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 489: [Event] [Elven Utopian War] [28] Durathielʼs Revenge

In the depths of a dark, murky hall, the sound of footsteps echoed.

The figure moved, his expensive white boots gleaming incongruously against the grimy, uneven floor. The royal elven dress he wore, elegant and immaculate, seemed entirely out of place in such surroundings. Yet, despite the discomfort evident in his expression, he voiced no complaint, his demeanor disciplined.

Durathiel walked with his arms clasped behind his back. His path led him to the mouth of a cave. Without hesitation, he stepped inside.

He reached the center of the cave and stopped, standing tall as he waited. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity. Then, at last, a vibrant mana circle burst into existence beneath him, its marks pulsing with mana. In an instant, his form was engulfed by a blinding light, and the cavern faded from view.

When Durathiel reopened his eyes, he stood in a familiar place.

The hall was grand and circular, its towering walls constructed of dark stone that absorbed the light but did not suffocate it. Candles hung from an ornate chandelier above, their golden flames casting a warm glow over the space. The ceiling was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, adorned with carvings that seemed to tell stories of ancient battles.

Durathielʼs gaze shifted forward, landing on a rectangular table positioned in the center of the hall. Seated there were three figures.

At one end of the table lounged a man with unkempt gray hair, his posture casual as he stretched his legs across the polished surface. A sly smile lingering on his lips. ”Durathiel, finally,” he greeted. It was Kleines Falkrona.

Durathielʼs eyes narrowed slightly. ”Is there a reason I was summoned?” He asked, a bit upset. ”My people are in the midst of war. I should be with them.” ”We care little-if anything for your war or your people, Durathiel.”

The speaker was the lone woman among the trio, her beauty was quite striking. Her long black hair framed a face that held no warmth, and her tangerine eyes pierced him with a frosty glare.

Durathiel did not reply. ”Now, now, Olivia,” a voice chuckled from the shadows, rich with amusement. The last figure, seated beside Olivia, leaned forward slightly. His face remained hidden, obscured by a veil of darkness, and his voice was subtly altered, as though filtered through an unseen mechanism. ”You shouldnʼt treat one of our ʼchildrenʼ so harshly,” he added with a hint of playfulness. Oliviaʼs eyes flickered with disdain, but she leaned back in her chair.

The veiled manʼs chuckle grew softer as he turned his attention to Durathiel. ”Durathiel Ruvelion. You would do well to remember what we have done for you.” ”I have forgotten nothing,” Durathiel replied.

The man raised a gloved hand, wagging a single finger. ”Then allow me to remind you. Thirteen years ago, when your father came to us, desperate to save your life, we took no payment. We did so freely, without hesitation. You were a dying young prince, the victim of your fatherʼs recklessness. And that recklessness? It was none other than a trap laid by Lord Kleines Falkrona himself.”

Durathielʼs cold gaze drifted unconsciously toward Kleines. The memories of that day clawed at his mind, vividly. He would never forget.

Kleines caught the look and shrugged. ”Donʼt glare at me like that. At the time, I was convinced your family was behind Amaelʼs poisoning. Do you have any idea—any idea-how much I, Alea, and my children suffered because of Amaelʼs absence? Alive but unreachable!” His voice cracked as his fist slammed onto the table, the sound reverberating in the hall. ”Enough, Kleines.” The hooded man sighed, shaking his head with an air of wearied patience. ”Youʼve already admitted you were wrong, havenʼt you? Your rash ambush cost him his mother. Shouldnʼt you at least show some sympathy?”

Kleines blinked and nodded. ”Right,” he muttered, his tone softer now. He turned back to Durathiel, his gaze uncharacteristically sober. ”I... apologize for your mother. It was an accident.” ”See?” The hooded man leaned back in his chair, gesturing casually. ”Even Kleines apologized. Itʼs time to turn the page, Durathiel. Your mother and father may have died, but in their place, we gave you life. And not just that we entrusted you with the Sin of Sloth.” Olivia snorted, her tangerine eyes flickering with disdain. ”And yet, heʼs done nothing to prove himself worthy of it.” ”Now, now, Olivia, dear.” The hooded man chuckled, his veiled face tilting toward her. ”Durathiel is the only one who survived the Trial of the Sin of Sloth. That alone is no small feat. Look at him now-strong and in perfect control.” ”I know my task. I will claim the Seed and the one with Freyjaʼs bloodline. In return, youʼll have the Prophetess and the Sin of Wrath.”

The hooded man regarded him silently for a moment before letting out a long, disappointed sigh. ”Forgive us, Durathiel, for our wariness. But so far, youʼve secured nothing. Not the Seed, not the one with Freyjaʼs bloodline... or the Prophetess.” ”And you failed miserably to deliver the Sin of Wrath,” Kleines added, a bit irritated. ”I wasnʼt aware ʼheʼ was the sin of Wrath until the very end. And by then, a Goddess stood in my way. If I tried again she would have killed me.” ”Dying for the task you were given shouldnʼt be that unbearable,” Kleines said, his voice dripping with exaggerated annoyance. ”Now, Kleines, donʼt be so harsh toward Durathiel,” the hooded figure smiled softly.

Kleines shot him a glare, disgust flickering across his face. ”Donʼt dare to order me as if I was with you,” he snapped. ”Iʼm only tolerating this charade for my family. You promised to bring Amael back-truly as he was.” ”Yes, yes, of course,” the hooded man replied with a smile. ”Your son will be freed from the... interference currently plaguing him. Those unnecessary memories-the ones belonging to that man from another world who also holds the Sin of Wrath-will be erased. Our goals align perfectly, Kleines. Weʼll rid Amael of that stranger, and youʼll have your pure son back.” Kleinesʼs lips curled in disdain, his narrowed eyes glinting with hatred. ”I donʼt care how you do it—just get rid of him. His memories, his existence, and that cursed Sin of Wrath. Bring me back the Amael I raised. That thing-Nyrel Loyster-is not my son.” ”I said not to worry, didnʼt I? Once we extract the Sin of Wrath, the filth that merged with your beloved Amael will die. Weʼll have our sin, and youʼll have your son. Itʼs a win-win,” he finished with a cold laugh. ”See that you keep your word for me as well,” Olivia said, her tangerine eyes fixed on the hooded man. ”Of course, of course,” the hooded figure replied, raising his hands. ”But first, letʼs focus on reclaiming the Sin of Wrath and the Prophetess. Durathiel,” he turned his veiled face toward him, ”do you understand how much weʼre relying on you?”

Durathiel stood stiffly, his hands clasped behind his back, fingers clenched strongly around his arm.

He despised this place the stifling air of manipulation and greed. He despised these people, each one more twisted than the last. And above all, he despised the Iris Project.

His survival in the Trial of the Sin of Sloth wasnʼt born of talent or divine favor. It was rage- pure rage. Rage toward Sancta Vedelia, toward the people who had destroyed his family. The image of his dying mother and father fueled his every step.

The only reason he endured this charade was to protect his people and exact his revenge.

Yes, he would deliver the Prophetess and the Sin of Wrath as promised. But after that, he would leave these degenerates behind. And Kleines Falkrona?

He would kill him. Without hesitation. Without mercy. ”I will do it. You have my word.” ”Good, good! Thatʼs the spirit!” The hooded man clapped his hands together happily. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he added, ”If only Myrcella and Emilia were like you. What a shame.”

Kleinesʼs expression darkened instantly. ”Hey, keep Myrcellaʼs name out of your mouth. ”Of course, Lord Kleines.” The hooded man raised his hands in surrender, though his smirk remained intact. ”Weʼve already agreed-sheʼs off-limits. You can rebuild your adorable little family, just as youʼve dreamed. Honestly, Iʼm jealous,” he said, wiping away imaginary tears with the sleeve of his robe. ”Good,” Kleines replied. ”But!” The hooded manʼs head snapped up, his smile vanishing. ”Emilia...my sweet Emilia...” He placed a hand dramatically over his chest, his expression darkening. ”She was so good to me. I even had a little crush on her. And then she broke my heart...” His voice cracked in despair before he buried his face in his sleeve, sniffing loudly like a petulant child.

Olivia, watching the display, grimaced in pure disgust.

Why?

Why was she even here? ”Eh?” ʼWhy?ʼ

Olivia glanced around her gaze unfocused. The faces blurred-the hooded man, Kleines, Durathiel-all of them nothing more than distorted silhouettes in her mind. The memories clawed at her consciousness. ʼDraven... Miranda...ʼ

She muttered softly under her breath, the words trembling. ”Miranda... itʼs for her...”

The hooded manʼs head tilted, and he observed her, then his lips twisted up eerily. ”Oh dear. Itʼs starting already.” Without hesitation, he reached for a syringe from his belt and strode toward her. ”W-What-” Oliviaʼs body jerked instinctively, but before she could react, he plunged the syringe into the side of her neck.

The sharp sting registered briefly before her vision swirled. Her limbs trembled, her knees buckled, and she collapsed. ”Sheʼs out,” the hooded man noted, almost cheerfully, as he knelt over her slumped figure. ”Tch, her Angelic Bloodline is such a nuisance. Always resisting. Iʼll have to use a stronger dose next time.” He let out an exaggerated sigh, waving his hand dismissively. ”Kleines, give me a hand with this.”

Kleines groaned but moved to comply. ”Youʼre lucky I still need you,” he muttered under his breath, lifting Olivia by the arm.

Durathiel watching this emotionlessly left.

He had seen worse than this done by the Iris Project.