I Am The Game's Villain

I fished out my phone again and typed a quick message to Rodolf.

[Iʼm late. On my way to the castle.]

Short and direct. That should be enough.

Now, I just had to figure out how to actually get there.

I scanned the area, looking for a carriage, a mana-taxi, a rideshare —anything. But this city… it was different.

People here walked. Ran. Jumped rooftops. Some zipped past on sleek mana-bikes or enchantment-gliders, but there wasnʼt anything like a taxi stand or ride crystal around. No easy transport. It gave the city a kind of raw energy—but also, damn, it was inconvenient.

I debated whether to flag down one of the passing vehicles and flex my royal status a bit, just enough to get a ride. It wouldʼve worked. Probably.

But I stopped myself.

Given my current reputation—as the backstabber of Sancta Vedelia, public enemy number one in some circles—and the fact that Fangoria was set to officially banish me at the end of the month, doing something flashy or entitled right now would be... monumentally stupid.

Knowing my luck, it would backfire spectacularly. Someone would record it, twist the story, and boom—Iʼd be kicked out of the kingdom today instead of next week. And I couldnʼt afford that. Not until Behemoth was dealt with. Not until it was safe.

So yeah. For now, Iʼd play it low-key.

With no other real options, I wandered the streets of the capital at a casual pace—well, as casual as I could manage given the circumstances.

Unsurprisingly, I started attracting attention.

People didnʼt exactly rush up to greet me, but they definitely noticed. Some turned to stare for a few seconds too long before quickly looking away. Others began whispering behind cupped hands. It wasnʼt hard to guess why—my face had been plastered all over enough propaganda boards that anyone with half a brain could recognize me. Not everyone knew the full story, of course, but just enough to cast judgment.

But oddly enough, none of them said a word. They didnʼt confront me, shout slurs, or throw things. No, they simply gave me a wide berth as if I carried some kind of disease. Not hostility—just distance.

And then there was the other reason for the stares.

I stood out.

A lone Human in the capital of Fangoria—tall, white hair and wearing clothes that didnʼt exactly scream ʼlocalʼ. Even if no one knew who I was, I was clearly foreign. And here, that was enough to draw attention.

”Hey, Human.”

Ah. There it is.

A voice—gruff, cocky, and dripping with false confidence—called behind me. I stopped walking, already knowing where this was going before I even turned around.

Emerging from a shadowy side alley to my left came a tall, burly man. His thick arms were folded over a battered leather vest, and his sharp canines gleamed even in the weak sunlight. Three others flanked him—less imposing, but clearly part of the same crew. Typical pack behavior.

I let out a long breath. Right. I forgot.

Fangoria had the highest delinquency rate of all the major Kingdoms of Sancta Vedelia. It wasnʼt exactly a tourist-friendly trait, but it kind of made sense. They were raised to be warriors, bred to be the strongest race in the known world. Their culture valued strength, dominance, and pride—things that, when left unchecked, gave birth to gangs like this.

Still didnʼt excuse it.

”Looks like you found a nice little target, Raken,” one of the thugs chuckled with a grin that didnʼt reach his eyes.

”Yeah, check out his ring,” another added, nodding at my hand. ”That Spatial Ringʼs gotta be top-tier. Probably loaded with goodies.”

”I donʼt like Humans,” the third growled with open disdain.

”Well, good news then,” I said with a forced smile, raising both hands as I took a step back. ”Iʼm only half Human. So maybe youʼll only hate me fifty percent and let me go?”

I turned slightly, making a move to leave. But before I could take another step, the big guy—Raken, I assumed—planted his hand firmly on my chest.

”No,” he growled. ”Youʼre coming with us. Walk. Or youʼll never walk again.”

He tried to add a threatening glare to punctuate the statement, but his twitching wolf ears kind of ruined the whole effect.

Sorry, Rodolf—I still canʼt take male werewolves seriously.

I glanced around, noting the growing number of curious eyes from passersby. No one seemed eager to intervene, but at least a few looked genuinely concerned. Some even seemed ready to step forward—before quickly thinking better of it.

I sighed.