Abby

Anxious_Waffle meandered through Silversky Town, drinking in the foreign scenery.

The buildings were old, their red-brick facades faded and mottled by time. The architecture was vaguely Gothic, with sharp spires clawing at the sky. Seen from a distance, the town was a sea of fiery crimson nestled against the deep green of the surrounding forest, creating an unexpected feeling of warmth.

The streets were not crowded. She saw the occasional group of dust-covered adventurers hurrying past, a woman in a headscarf walking with her child, and small-time merchants hawking fruits and vegetables from pushcarts. In a dark alley, a drunk snoozed peacefully, sharing his space with a stray cat. Every detail was new and exhilarating.

"Kill her! Kill her!"

"Beat the beastkin filth to death! Hahaha!"

"Go cry for your brother, you little mongrel!"

The jeering shouts of children cut through the air, snagging her attention.

In an otherwise unremarkable alley, a group of kids was surrounding a small, trembling girl who was curled into a ball on the ground. They kicked and punched at her tiny frame, some stooping to hurl rocks at her.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing? Stop it, now!"

Anxious_Waffle was about to intervene, but a booming roar of fury erupted from beside her.

She looked up to see a man with tousled golden hair and a handsome face set in an expression of stern authority. He was tall and powerfully built, radiating an intimidating pressure. He wore a suit of magnificent armor, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the centerpiece of his breastplate: a polished, golden gem the size of a basketball embedded in the center of his breastplate, right over the heart.

The man gave her a brief nod before striding toward the cornered girl. The young bullies, seeing the approaching giant, scattered in an instant.

On pure instinct, Anxious_Waffle cast an inspection skill.

[Name: Alistair Goldenlion]

[Identity: Lord of Frostfell, Count]

[Power Level: ???]

[Skills: ???]

[Equipment: ???]

[Reputation: ???]

[Threat Level: Nightmare]

Anxious_Waffle's jaw dropped. Look what I've stumbled upon. The Lord of Frostfell himself!

Staring at the stark red letters of the 'Nightmare' threat level, she swore that if his name hadn't been displayed in the yellow of a neutral party, she would have turned and fled without a second thought.

Nightmare! That had to be the highest threat level in the game. The town guards had only been 'Normal.'

She stared at the ground, her mind racing. When she looked up again, the Lord of Frostfell was gone, and so was the little girl.

"Dammit, I forgot to take a screenshot!" she groaned, slapping her forehead in frustration.

In the public channel, players were excitedly sharing their discoveries. Suddenly, a message exploded onto the feed, trailing a string of exclamation points.

HOLY SHIT GUYS I FOUND THE Lord of Frostfell!!!

Where??? Screenshot or it didn't happen!

Is he a quest giver? What's his level?

His threat level is NIGHTMARE!!! He's just standing here!

Anxious_Waffle rolled her eyes at that last message and began to type.

Anxious_Waffle: He was here a moment ago. He saved a little beastkin girl from some bullies.

The object of the players' fevered discussion had already returned to the mayor's manor.

Alistair had grown impatient waiting and decided to take a stroll to see if he could spot any players. He hadn't taken two steps out the door before he came across the pack of brats bullying the little beastkin girl. As a modern young man with a decent moral compass, he'd stepped in, saving her and coincidentally running into Anxious_Waffle.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. He remembered Anxious_Waffle from his past life. She was a famous Explorer-type player, one of those who cared little for combat and derived their joy from discovering new maps and piecing together the world's lore.

To Alistair, these players were among the few who might not be immediately hostile to him—provided, of course, he didn't try to abduct their precious Saintess.

The players were in town now, which meant the main plot was starting. He could stop wandering around and just wait.

"Ngh…"

A velvety whimper came from the bed.

Alistair saw that the little girl he'd placed on the vast, velvet-covered mattress was waking up. She looked to be about thirteen or fourteen. Her body was filthy and her clothes were in tatters, barely covering her. Patches of purple and blue bruised her face and exposed skin, but even they couldn't fully hide her delicate, lovely features.

She had long, slightly curly chestnut hair. Her ears were a pair of downy, triangular brown ears, shaped like almond leaves and larger than a cat's, with tiny tufts of fur at the tips. Behind her lay a bushy tail so large it was almost the size of her entire body.

A squirrel, if I'm not mistaken. He noted her twitching ears. That tail must feel amazing to touch.

No wonder the scumbag lords of the past were always capturing beastkin girls, he thought with a wry internal sigh. My God, a man could get arrested for his thoughts alone.

The awakened girl looked around, dazed and confused. As she registered the unfamiliar, opulent surroundings, her initial surprise was quickly replaced by panic. When she finally looked up and saw Alistair, all the complex emotions in her eyes boiled down to a single, primal one: fear.

She stumbled out of the bed and fell to her knees with a soft thud.

"M-my lord, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to dirty your sheets! I don't know how I got here, I'm so sorry… Please don't kill Abby."

Her small body trembled violently. As she spoke, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and splashed onto the floor. She didn't recognize the noble-looking man before her, but her mother had taught her that men like him were human lords, powerful and dangerous. The rule was simple: see a noble, run. If you couldn't run, if you accidentally offended one, you get on your knees and beg.

Otherwise, you die.

Her mother was dead. Her father was dead. They died on the end of a knight's lance.

Her brother had brought her here to Silversky Town, where they'd been taken in by a farmer. She did chores for the farmer, and her brother became a stable hand at the mayor's residence. Life was hard, but they were no longer homeless. She had thought, perhaps, things could continue like that. But yesterday, her beloved brother had died, too.

His crime? The fodder he'd fed the mayor's horse hadn't been fresh enough.

Abby remembered it with chilling clarity: the farmer bringing her brother's mangled body home. He had been tied to the back of a galloping horse and dragged for miles until he was little more than a ruined heap of flesh and bone.

Abby feared death, but she feared humans more. She was too weak, so weak she had no courage to resist, not even when surrounded by children smaller than her. All she could do was curl up, protect her head, and endure.

Am I really that scary?

Alistair watched the beastkin girl shake like a leaf and began to question his own appearance, of which he'd always been rather confident. He reached out, intending to help her up.

The instant his hand drew near, she flinched violently, pulling back and curling into an even tighter ball, as if that could offer her some measure of safety.

Alistair awkwardly retracted his hand.

"Get up. I'm the one who saved you. Why would I kill you?"

Abby timidly peeked up at him, her large, tear-filled eyes brimming with confusion.

"Think back," he said gently. "You were being bullied by a group of kids. I shouted at them, and they ran away. Then I brought you here."

Abby's memory flickered. A man's voice, the same as this one, had indeed stopped the children. She didn't know what happened after that; she had passed out. Not from the beating, but from hunger.

"See? You remember, don't you? If I wanted you dead, what would be the point of saving you first?" Alistair said, smiling as warmly as he could, practically willing a sign that read 'I'M A GOOD GUY' to appear over his head.

"Abby… Abby remembers. Thank you, my noble lord. Abby will repay your kindness."

The girl's fear had lessened, but she still didn't dare to get up from the floor, let alone return to the soft bed.

GUUURGLE—

The sound echoed in the quiet room. Abby hastily clapped her hands over her stomach, her head bowing low as she stared at her toes. A deep blush bloomed on her face, threatening to spread across her entire body.

Alistair looked at her small belly, and a wide grin split his face.

...

Ten minutes later.

At the grand dining table of the mayor's manor, Abby was nibbling on a piece of white bread, both hands holding it as if it were a precious treasure. Her little mouth was stuffed full, her cheeks trembling with each chew, making her look uncannily like a chipmunk.

She swore she had never eaten bread so soft and sweet. In her memory, bread was a rock-hard, dry affair that threatened to choke you if you didn't wash it down with water. And the beef… she couldn't even remember the last time she'd tasted meat.

It turned out that the fastest way to dissolve awkwardness and fear was a good meal. Alistair didn't know who first said it, but at this moment, he believed it wholeheartedly.

He sat elegantly across from her, his chin resting on his hand as he watched her adorable table manners. He reckoned she had finally let her guard down.

"My… my noble lord," Abby mumbled, blushing as she forced herself to swallow a large mouthful. "Abby doesn't know how she can possibly repay your kindness."

"My name isn't 'Noble Lord,'" Alistair said with a faint smile. "I am the Count of Frostfell. Alistair Goldenlion. As for repayment… I find myself in need of a personal maid. If you have no objections, you can start today."

He was quite pleased with himself. His keep, Snowmantle Citadel, was currently empty of servants. It was time to recruit one. And then more. Ideally, I'll eventually have an entire beastkin maid corps. What a delightful sight that would be. Even just looking at them would lift my spirits.

[Ding! Host's actions detected to be inconsistent with established villainous behavior patterns! Cease immediately or face punishment.]

There it is, Alistair thought with an inward sigh. I was beginning to think the system was dead.

Now, now, System, he argued in his mind, you have to be impartial. While I may have saved this beastkin girl, it is only so I can raise her to be my pawn, my personal sleeper agent. At a critical moment, she will deliver a righteous backstab to the players and the protagonist!

He delivered the argument with such conviction that he almost believed it himself.

[Ding! Analyzing feasibility of Host's stated intention... Analysis complete. Feasibility: Confirmed. Updating Host's villain behavior protocols. Similar situations will no longer trigger a warning.]

Heh. Gullible system.

Alistair's smile widened. He had already found the system's fatal flaw. The shoe was on the other foot now.

[Ding! Daily Villain Quests have been updated:]

[Villain Quest 1: Leave a lasting psychological scar on ten or more players.]

[Villain Quest 2: Force Abby to sleep with you.]

[Villain Quest 3: Humiliate the protagonist, Riven.]

[Completing daily quests will grant rewards. Completing multiple quests increases the chance of a critical reward bonus. New daily quests will be generated periodically after rewards are claimed. Please continue your villainous efforts.]

What the hell are these quests?

Alistair froze for a second, then let out a silent, dark chuckle. This system was truly something else.

While Alistair was busy recruiting his first personal maid, the players were embroiled in a brutal, chaotic battle with the town guard.

It had started when a squad of players discovered a single slaver who was holding seven or eight beastkin captive. Seeing their quest objectives right there, the lawless players didn't give a second thought to alerting the guards. They swarmed the slaver's house, cut him down in seconds, and were in the middle of a haphazard escape with the freed beastkin when all hell broke loose.

The town guard, though usually lazy, were not blind. And with their ultimate superior officer currently residing in the mayor's manor, each and every one of them was fighting as if possessed, throwing themselves at the players with suicidal ferocity.

For the players, most of whom were still level one, the nearly one hundred guards were more than a minor inconvenience. They were quickly bogged down in a desperate, ugly melee.

"Push forward, push forward!"

"Protect the mages! Warriors to the front!"

"Hey! Where the hell are you aiming that fireball? You hit my ass!"

"If you're dead, do the corpse run! Don't just stand there watching!"

"Ugh… this game is so realistic. They don't censor any of this gore?"

Just as the battle reached a fever pitch of desperation, a grating, nasally voice suddenly bellowed from the edge of the fray.

"I am Merriweather, Mayor of Silversky Town! You rabble who dare attack my town, kneel and surrender now!"

On the outskirts of the main battle, the demoted mayor roared, leading two more squads—at least a dozen more guards—straight into the chaotic scrum.

For the players, who were already struggling to hold their ground, it was like having oil thrown onto a raging fire.