Rgd
# Re:Birth of a Bored God – Viyrim Walks Lugnica
## Prologue: Divine Ennui
In the vast emptiness between two collapsing galaxies, a figure reclined on what appeared to be a floating chaise of solidified starlight. The cosmic pressure from the dual celestial implosions would have obliterated entire solar systems, yet to Viyrim, it was merely a pleasant background sensation—like the gentle caress of ocean waves on a summer's evening.
His obsidian-black hair, streaked with cosmic silver, floated gently around his face as if suspended in water. His gold-rimmed obsidian eyes were half-closed, watching with detached interest as stars winked out of existence one by one. His tall, lean frame was draped in loose, regal-black robes with auric trim that seemed to absorb and reflect the light of dying stars simultaneously.
The death of billions of solar systems generated a spectacular light show that painted Viyrim's relaxed features in ever-shifting colors of cosmic fire. He sighed deeply, causing a nearby asteroid field to pulverize itself into cosmic dust.
"Vados," he murmured without opening his eyes fully, "I'm bored."
A slender figure materialized beside him, her blue skin luminescent against the darkness of space. Vados, the angelic attendant to the God of Infinite Destruction, bowed slightly, her staff glowing with contained power. Her white hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, her expression serene but attentive.
"You've been saying that for the past three centuries, my lord," she replied, a hint of fondness in her melodious voice.
Viyrim opened one eye fully to regard her. "Has it been that long? Time is so tedious when there's nothing interesting happening."
"Perhaps a change of scenery would alleviate your ennui?" Vados suggested, her voice maintaining its melodious calm despite the apocalyptic backdrop surrounding them.
"What did you have in mind?" Viyrim asked, stretching languidly. The motion sent ripples through the fabric of space-time, causing distant stars to flicker momentarily.
Without hesitation, Vados tapped her staff twice against the nothingness. Reality split open before them, revealing a swirling portal of blues and purples. Through it, Viyrim could glimpse fragments of a world—dense forests, towering mountains, cities built with primitive technology that spoke of a civilization barely past its medieval phase.
"This one caught my attention during my recent explorations," Vados explained, gesturing toward the portal with an elegant sweep of her hand. "A fragile world full of death, magic, and trauma. The locals call it 'Lugnica.' It operates on rather unusual principles—a loop of tragedy and rebirth for certain individuals."
Viyrim sat up slightly, genuine curiosity flickering in his depthless eyes. "Loops, you say? As in time loops? Temporal anomalies?" He raised an elegant eyebrow. "That could be... diverting."
"From what I've observed, a specific individual in this world possesses the ability to restart time upon their death, retaining memories of previous iterations," Vados elaborated. "The locals call it 'Return by Death.' It's tied to one of their deities—a being they refer to as the Witch of Envy."
"Witches? Gods? Time manipulation?" Viyrim's lips curved into a smile that could have frozen suns. "Sounds delightfully chaotic."
"The world also operates on a magical system they call 'blessings' and 'authorities,' derived from these witch entities," Vados continued. "Quite primitive compared to our understanding of cosmic energy, but intriguing in its own way."
Viyrim swung his legs off his cosmic chaise and stood, causing the space around him to bend subtly, as if reality itself struggled to contain his presence. "Is this 'Witch of Envy' the strongest being in that realm?"
"By their standards, yes," Vados confirmed. "Though to you, my lord, she would be less threatening than a house cat."
"Perfect." Viyrim's smile widened slightly. "I do enjoy watching the local apex predators realize they're actually quite small in the grand scheme of things."
"Shall we interfere, my lord?" Vados asked, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She had been with Viyrim long enough to recognize when something had captured his interest.
Viyrim stretched again, causing several nearby comets to change course. "Yes, let's pay this Lugnica a visit." He glanced down at his bare feet, wiggling his toes experimentally. "But I'm not walking." He raised an expectant eyebrow at Vados. "Carry me."
Without a word, Vados scooped him up in her arms as if he weighed nothing—which, considering his true nature, was both true and paradoxically false. The God of Infinite Destruction nestled comfortably in her arms, looking for all the world like a spoiled prince rather than a being who could erase galaxies with a thought.
She stepped through the portal, and the dying galaxies disappeared behind them, continuing their collapse unwitnessed. The cosmic cataclysm would go on for millennia, but Viyrim's attention had already moved elsewhere.
They arrived on a grassy hill overlooking a medieval-looking city surrounded by towering walls. The capital of Lugnica sprawled before them, unaware that a god had just arrived on its doorstep.
Viyrim took a deep breath, sampling the air of this new world. "It smells like... desperation and bad choices," he commented, still comfortably nestled in Vados' arms. "How delightful."
Vados' eyes scanned the horizon with analytical precision. "Shall I provide you with more detailed information about this world's political structure and key figures?"
"No," Viyrim replied, waving away the offer lazily. "I prefer to discover things as I go. Spoilers ruin the experience." He pointed toward the walled city. "Take me there. Let's see what this primitive little world has to offer a bored god."
## Act I: The Thugs and the Thief
The sun was setting over Lugnica's capital as Viyrim and Vados made their way toward the city gates. The massive stone walls loomed ahead, tinged orange by the dying light of day. Vados continued to carry her master, who showed no interest in walking despite being perfectly capable.
Guards stationed at the gate stared in bewilderment at the odd pair approaching—a blue-skinned woman carrying a regal-looking man as if he were a child. They exchanged confused glances, hands instinctively moving to rest on their weapon hilts.
"Halt!" called the senior guard as they approached. "State your business in the capital!"
Viyrim lazily opened one eye to regard the man. "My business," he replied with casual indifference, "is alleviating my boredom. Does that satisfy your inquiry?"
The guard frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the response. "I'll need more than that, stranger. Where do you hail from? What's your purpose here? And why is she carrying you like that?"
Viyrim sighed, causing the air around them to vibrate subtly. "Vados, these people are tedious. Make them let us pass."
Vados nodded almost imperceptibly. She didn't speak, didn't move, didn't even shift her gaze. But suddenly, the guards' expressions went blank. Their eyes glazed over, and without another word, they stepped aside, opening the gate for the strange visitors.
"Much better," Viyrim murmured as they passed through. "I detest bureaucracy."
Once inside the city walls, they found themselves in a bustling marketplace that was beginning to wind down for the evening. Vendors were packing away their wares, while taverns and inns were lighting their lanterns, preparing for the night's business. The cobblestone streets were crowded with people heading home or seeking evening entertainment.
The citizens of Lugnica gave the strange pair curious glances but quickly averted their eyes when they met Viyrim's gaze—something in those depthless obsidian orbs triggered a primal instinct to avoid drawing attention.
"The humans here seem particularly skittish," Viyrim observed, watching as another passerby hastily crossed to the other side of the street to avoid them.
"Their world is fraught with danger," Vados explained. "Magical beasts, political intrigue, criminal elements... They've developed a strong sense for threats."
"And they sense that in us." Viyrim seemed pleased by this. "At least their survival instincts function properly."
They had barely entered the lower district when three rough-looking men stepped out from an alley, blocking their path. The largest one, a burly fellow with a nasty scar running across his left cheek, grinned menacingly, revealing several missing teeth.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" the thug named Ton drawled, his eyes traveling from Vados to Viyrim with predatory assessment. "A fancy lady carrying her boyfriend? How pathetic."
His companions, Chin and Kan, snickered on cue, brandishing crude knives. Chin was short and wiry with a perpetual sneer, while Kan was heavyset with small, pig-like eyes.
"He can't even walk on his own?" Kan jeered. "What kind of man lets a woman carry him around?"
"The kind who doesn't waste energy on pointless activities," Viyrim replied, his voice calm but somehow filling the entire street. "Walking is so pedestrian, don't you think?"
The pun was delivered so dryly that it took the thugs a moment to register it. Ton's face darkened with anger at what he perceived as mockery.
"Hand over your valuables," Chin demanded, eyeing Vados' staff with greedy interest. "And maybe we'll let you go without too much trouble."
Viyrim sighed deeply. "Put me down for a moment, would you, Vados? It seems I need to give a brief demonstration of manners to the locals."
"Of course, my lord." Vados gently set him on his feet, her movements graceful and precise.
The moment Viyrim's bare feet touched the cobblestones, the atmosphere changed. The air grew heavy, and the ambient sounds of the city—distant conversations, the clatter of cart wheels, the barking of dogs—all seemed to fade into silence. The three thugs' smiles faltered as an inexplicable sense of dread washed over them.
"Humans," Viyrim mused, studying the three men as if they were particularly uninteresting specimens in a collection, "are so predictable. You see something you perceive as weak, and your first instinct is to exploit that perceived weakness." He tilted his head slightly. "Do you know what my first instinct is when I encounter lesser beings?"
The thugs were backing away now, their earlier bravado evaporating like morning dew under a harsh sun. Viyrim raised his index finger and flicked it almost lazily in their direction.
The result was instantaneous and spectacular. All three thugs were launched backward as if hit by an invisible battering ram. They crashed through the wall of the building behind them, then through another, and finally came to rest in what appeared to be someone's dining room, where a family sat frozen in shock around their evening meal, a half-eaten loaf of bread still steaming on the table.
Viyrim examined his fingernail with mild interest. "I barely tapped them. Was that excessive, Vados?"
"Perhaps a touch, my lord," she replied smoothly. "Though I doubt they'll bother anyone else tonight. Or possibly ever again."
Viyrim nodded thoughtfully. "A learning experience, then. For them and for me." He held his arms out expectantly, and Vados dutifully lifted him once more.
The few witnesses to the incident stood paralyzed, their faces masks of disbelief. A woman who had been selling flowers from a small cart made the sign of the dragon with trembling hands—a local religious gesture meant to ward off evil.
"Oh, I'm not evil," Viyrim said to her, though she hadn't spoken aloud. "Evil requires conviction. I merely am."
The woman fainted on the spot.
As they continued their stroll through the increasingly dark streets, a blur of movement caught Viyrim's attention—or rather, his senses detected the approach of a pickpocket before his eyes did. A small blonde girl in tattered clothing darted past them, her hand expertly reaching for a non-existent pocket in Viyrim's flowing robes.
The moment her fingers made contact with the fabric, she froze in place, her red eyes widening in shock. She was young, perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with short golden-blonde hair that framed an impish face now locked in an expression of surprise.
Viyrim turned his head to regard the paralyzed thief, studying her with newfound interest. "That was rude," he commented, his voice soft but carrying an undercurrent of power that made the air vibrate. With a casual yawn, he waved his hand, and suddenly the girl's shoes disappeared, leaving her barefoot on the cold cobblestone street.
"My shoes!" she exclaimed, regaining mobility as suddenly as she had lost it. She looked down at her now-bare feet in confusion and growing anger.
"I relocated them to the center of this world's largest volcano," Viyrim explained casually. "A small price to pay for attempting to steal from a god, don't you think?"
The girl—Felt—stumbled backward, her red eyes darting between Viyrim and Vados, calculating escape routes. "Who the hell are you people?"
"I am Viyrim," he stated simply, as if that explained everything. His gold-rimmed obsidian eyes studied her with the casual interest of someone examining an unusual insect. "And you're mine now."
"Excuse me?" Felt's voice rose in indignation. "I don't belong to anyone, especially not some weirdo who gets carried around like a baby!"
A hint of amusement flickered across Viyrim's impassive features. "Spirited. I like that." He tilted his head slightly. "What's your name, little thief?"
"None of your business," she spat, though her defiance was undercut by the nervous shifting of her bare feet on the cold stone.
"Everything in this realm is my business now," Viyrim replied. "But I'll humor your reluctance. Would you prefer I call you 'little thief,' or perhaps 'shoeless one'?"
Felt glared at him, her red eyes blazing with stubborn pride. "It's Felt. Just Felt."
"Felt," Viyrim repeated, as if tasting the name. "Simple. Direct. I approve." He snapped his fingers, and a pair of exquisite golden shoes materialized in his palm. They seemed to be made of actual gold yet looked flexible and comfortable. Intricate patterns were etched into their surface, patterns that seemed to shift and move when viewed from different angles.
"What are those?" Felt asked, unable to hide her interest despite her wariness.
"These," Viyrim explained, "are shoes forged from the condensed light of a dying star. They will never wear out, will adjust to your foot size as you grow, and will make you completely silent when you walk. Useful for your... profession, I imagine."
Felt's eyes widened at the sight of the shoes, her expression transitioning from anger to calculating interest. "And what do I have to do for them? Nobody gives something for nothing in this world."
"Smart girl," Viyrim acknowledged with the barest hint of a nod. "You know this city. You know its secrets, its shadows, its whispers. I want you to be my guide to its underbelly."
"That's... it?" Felt asked suspiciously, one eyebrow raised in disbelief. "You just want a tour guide?"
"For now." Viyrim smiled, and somewhere in the distance, a star went supernova, though no one in Lugnica would see its light for several millennia. "Consider it a provisional arrangement. Your services in exchange for footwear that would make queens weep with envy."
Felt chewed her bottom lip, clearly weighing her options. Her gaze kept returning to the golden shoes, practically glowing in the dimming evening light.
"How do I know those shoes are what you say they are? Maybe they'll burn my feet off or something."
"A reasonable concern," Viyrim conceded. He glanced around and spotted a small puddle in a depression of the cobblestone street. With a casual flick of his finger, the dirty water transformed into a perfect crystal sphere that rose to hover at eye level.
Felt's jaw dropped. "You're... a magic user?"
"No," Viyrim replied. "Magic users channel ambient energy through predetermined patterns to achieve limited effects based on the natural laws of their reality." He closed his hand around the crystal sphere, and when he opened it again, the sphere had transformed into a miniature replica of Lugnica's capital, accurate down to the tiniest detail, including a microscopic version of themselves standing in the exact spot where they were. "I simply decide what reality should be, and it complies."
Felt swallowed hard, her confident facade cracking slightly in the face of power she couldn't begin to comprehend. After a moment's more hesitation, she thrust out her hand.
"Fine. You've got yourself a guide. Now hand over those shoes before my feet freeze to the ground."
Viyrim placed the golden shoes in her outstretched hands. Felt quickly sat on a nearby crate to put them on, marveling at how they seemed to mold perfectly to her feet the moment she slid them on.
"They're... warm," she said with surprise, wiggling her toes experimentally.
"They maintain the ideal temperature regardless of external conditions," Vados explained, speaking for the first time since their encounter with the young thief began. "They will never be too hot or too cold."
Felt stood and took a few experimental steps, her eyes widening at the sensation. "I can't even hear myself walk! This is..." She caught herself before showing too much enthusiasm and schooled her features back into a guarded expression. "They'll do, I guess."
"I'm glad you approve," Viyrim said dryly. "Now, tell me, little Felt, what interesting activities occupy your evening? I find myself in need of entertainment."
Felt hesitated, then shrugged. "I was heading to the loot house. I have... a job tonight. A client wants me to acquire something valuable."
"Perfect," Viyrim declared. "Lead on, little thief. We'll follow."
"Aren't you going to have her carry you again?" Felt asked, eyeing Vados.
"Do you find it strange?" Viyrim inquired, genuine curiosity in his tone.
"Well, yeah. You've got legs, don't you? Why not use them?"
"Why use something unnecessarily when you have better alternatives available?" Viyrim countered. "Do you churn your own butter when you can buy it? Do you sew your own clothes when you can steal them?"
Felt frowned, unable to argue with his logic. "Fair point."
As Vados lifted Viyrim once more, Felt shook her head in bemusement. "You're the strangest people I've ever met, and that's saying something in this city."
"We're just getting started," Viyrim assured her with a lazy smile. "Lead the way, golden-footed guide. Show us what intrigues lurk in Lugnica's shadows."
## Act II: Meeting Emilia
As they followed Felt through the winding streets of the capital, the crowds thinned as night fell fully over the city. Lanterns cast pools of golden light at intervals, creating islands of illumination in a sea of darkness. The young thief moved with newfound grace in her magical shoes, her steps completely silent on the cobblestones.
"So what exactly are you?" Felt asked over her shoulder, curiosity finally overcoming her caution. "Some kind of noble from another country? A spirit contractor like that Roswaal guy?"
"I am what I am," Viyrim replied enigmatically. "Labels are so limiting, don't you think?"
Felt rolled her eyes. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're equipped to understand at present," Viyrim said, not unkindly. "Suffice it to say, I'm a visitor to your world, and I find it... quaint."
"Quaint?" Felt's nose wrinkled at the word. "That sounds like something a noble would say. Are you looking down on us commoners?"
"I look down on everyone equally," Viyrim assured her with the ghost of a smile. "Height differentials are irrelevant when viewing ants from the clouds."
Before Felt could respond to this cryptic statement, they turned a corner and collided with another pedestrian—a silver-haired girl with striking violet-blue eyes, dressed in white and purple robes. She stumbled backward from the impact, and a small crystal attached to a chain momentarily floated out from beneath her clothing before she hastily tucked it away.
"I'm sorry!" the girl exclaimed, quickly composing herself. "I wasn't looking where I was going."
Viyrim studied her with newfound interest, his nostrils flaring slightly as if catching a scent invisible to others. "Half-elf," he murmured, too softly for anyone but Vados to hear.
The silver-haired girl didn't seem to notice his scrutiny, her attention focused on Felt, who had instinctively stepped back into the shadows. The half-elf's eyes narrowed with sudden recognition.
"Wait, you're—"
"Nobody important," Felt cut in quickly, already backing away further. "Just passing through. Sorry about bumping into you."
"You smell like magic and tragedy," Viyrim remarked conversationally to the half-elf, his voice carrying effortlessly despite its soft volume. "How fascinating."
The girl blinked in confusion, her attention diverted from Felt to the strange man being carried in the blue woman's arms. "Excuse me?"
"You bumped into my master," Vados said smoothly. "An apology is in order."
"I just said I'm sorry," the girl replied, puzzled by their strange demeanor. Her violet-blue eyes studied them with growing wariness, clearly sensing something unusual about the pair.
Viyrim's expression turned thoughtful as he studied the half-elf. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back, and her delicate features were framed by small braids on either side of her face. Despite her youthful appearance, there was something ancient in her eyes—a burden carried too long.
"Words are cheap," he finally said. "I require... pudding. As compensation."
"Pudding?" she repeated, clearly taken aback by the unexpected demand.
"Yes, pudding. The food of gods." Viyrim sniffed the air again, more obviously this time. "You're chasing something, aren't you? Or someone?" His gaze slid meaningfully toward Felt, who was trying to edge away from the encounter.
The silver-haired girl followed his gaze, and her eyes widened with recognition. "You!" she exclaimed, pointing at Felt. "You're the one who stole my insignia!"
Felt froze, caught between flight and fight, her new golden shoes glinting in the lantern light as she shifted her weight nervously.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she denied automatically, though her darting eyes betrayed her.
"Ah, so that's what this is about," Viyrim mused, looking genuinely interested for the first time since arriving in this world. "A theft. How charmingly ordinary." He turned his depthless gaze back to the half-elf. "What's your name, child of two worlds?"
The girl hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with his piercing stare and the strange form of address. "Emilia," she finally answered. "Just Emilia."
"Emilia," Viyrim repeated, as if committing it to memory. "And what is this insignia that's so important to you?"
"It's a qualifying object for the royal selection," Emilia explained reluctantly, her eyes still darting to Felt periodically to ensure the thief didn't escape. "I need it back immediately."
"Royal selection?" Viyrim's interest visibly deepened. "Elaborate."
"The king of Lugnica has died without an heir," Emilia explained, her tone suggesting she was surprised they didn't know this basic fact. "The Dragon Tablet has named five candidates to compete for the throne. Each candidate receives an insignia that reacts to their touch, confirming their eligibility."
"Politics," Viyrim sighed, his momentary interest fading. "How tedious. Always the same, regardless of the realm." With a casual gesture, he warped Emilia's shadow, causing it to rise from the ground and form a floating chair beneath her.
Emilia gasped as she was suddenly lifted into the air, her feet dangling a few inches off the cobblestones. "W-what is this?!" she exclaimed, gripping the edges of the solidified shadow with alarm.
A small, cat-like spirit materialized beside her, fur bristling with protective energy. It had gray fur and feline features, but its eyes held an intelligence far beyond that of any normal cat.
"Who are you to manhandle my daughter this way?" the spirit demanded, tiny paws clenched in what would have been a threatening gesture from a larger being.
Viyrim raised an eyebrow, looking marginally more interested. "A spirit contract. How quaint." He studied the floating cat with mild curiosity. "Floating Cat Orb #2, I presume? How delightful."
"My name is Puck!" the spirit protested indignantly. "I am the Great Spirit of Fire, and you will show respect!"
"Great Spirit?" Viyrim echoed, a hint of genuine amusement coloring his voice. "I suppose greatness is relative. To an ant, a mouse must seem positively gigantic."
Puck bristled visibly, his fur standing on end as he sensed the dismissive attitude. He began to glow with magical energy, the temperature around them dropping noticeably as he prepared to defend his contractor.
"Puck, don't!" Emilia cautioned, placing a restraining hand on the spirit's small head. "There's something very strange about these people. His magical energy... it's unlike anything I've ever sensed."
Viyrim nodded approvingly at her caution. "Wise beyond your years, little half-elf. Your Floating Cat Orb would find me... indigestible."
"What do you want?" Emilia asked directly, her violet-blue eyes meeting Viyrim's obsidian ones without flinching, despite the unnatural chill they sent down her spine.
"Want? Such a limiting concept," Viyrim mused. "Let's say I'm interested in observing the drama unfolding between you and the golden-footed thief." He gestured toward Felt, who had been using their conversation as an opportunity to slowly back away. "Since you seem intent on following us anyway..." He turned back to Emilia, still floating on her animated shadow. "You may tag along, but only if you agree to serve as my tour guide and lap pillow."
"L-lap pillow?!" Emilia sputtered, her face flushing a delicate shade of pink. "What are you saying? That's completely inappropriate!"
"Is it?" Viyrim seemed genuinely puzzled by her reaction. "Laps exist to be sat upon, and heads exist to be rested. The combination seems entirely logical to me."
"That's not—I mean—it's just not something you ask of someone you've just met!" Emilia protested, her composure cracking slightly in the face of such an odd request.
"Emilia," Puck whispered to her, floating close to her ear, "there's something very strange about these people. His magical energy... I can't even measure it. It's like trying to count the drops in an ocean."
"I can hear you, Floating Cat Orb #2," Viyrim murmured without taking his eyes off Emilia. "And your analogy is generous. It would be more accurate to compare it to measuring the universe with an eyelash."
Puck's small eyes widened, clearly unsettled by both Viyrim's acute hearing and the casual claim to power beyond comprehension.
Emilia hesitated, clearly weighing her options. She needed her insignia back—it was crucial for her participation in the royal selection, her one chance to implement the changes she believed the kingdom needed. But these strangers were unlike anyone she had encountered before, and their power was undeniable, if inexplicable.
"I... accept your terms," she finally said, her voice firm despite the absurdity of the situation. "But only after I retrieve what belongs to me."
"Excellent," Viyrim smiled benignly. "A woman of pragmatism. I approve."
"Hey!" Felt interjected, having given up on her stealthy retreat when it became clear that Viyrim was somehow aware of her every movement despite not looking in her direction. "You can't just decide that she's coming with us! I thought I was your guide!"
"You are," Viyrim assured her. "She is something else entirely." He studied the two women—the scrappy thief with her golden shoes and the elegant half-elf floating on a chair of solidified shadow—and seemed pleased by the contrast. "Two sides of the same coin, perhaps. Both outsiders in your own ways."
Felt scowled, clearly not appreciating the comparison. "I'm nothing like her."
"No?" Viyrim's gaze seemed to pierce through her defenses. "Both orphans. Both rejected by society for circumstances beyond your control. Both fighting to change your destinies through unconventional means." He shrugged lightly. "The parallels seem rather obvious to me."
Both women stared at him in shock, unsettled by his casual knowledge of details they hadn't shared.
"How did you—" Emilia began.
"Your souls are like open books," Viyrim interrupted gently. "Written in large print with helpful illustrations."
An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, broken only by the distant sounds of the city night—a dog barking, the faint music of a tavern, the call of a night watchman announcing the hour.
"Well," Felt finally said, clearing her throat, "if we're all going to the same place anyway, we might as well get moving. My client will be waiting, and he's not the patient type."
"Lead on, little thief," Viyrim instructed, settling more comfortably in Vados' arms.
And so their strange procession continued through the streets of the capital—Vados carrying Viyrim, Felt leading the way with silent, golden steps, and Emilia floating behind them on her animated shadow, with Puck perched protectively on her shoulder, his small eyes never leaving the back of Viyrim's head.
To the few late-night passersby who witnessed this unusual group, it seemed like a strange dream or a hallucination brought on by too much cheap wine. Most quickened their pace and hurried home, suddenly eager to be safely behind locked doors.
When they reached a small square with a decorative fountain at its center, Viyrim motioned for them to stop. "I require a brief respite," he announced. "The ambiance here is pleasing."
Vados obediently set him down on a stone bench facing the fountain, where water trickled from the mouth of a carved dragon into a wide basin below. The night was quiet here, the sounds of the city muffled by the gentle splashing of water.
Viyrim patted the space beside him, looking expectantly at Emilia. "Your services are required, half-elf."
Emilia's shadow chair gently lowered her to the ground beside the bench. She hesitated, glancing at Puck, who shook his tiny head in warning.
"A deal is a deal," Viyrim reminded her. "Unless your word means so little?"
With a sigh of resignation, Emilia sat stiffly on the bench. The moment she was settled, Viyrim lay down, resting his head in her lap without ceremony. Emilia tensed at the contact, her back rigid as a board.
"Relax," Viyrim murmured, closing his eyes. "Tension defeats the purpose of a lap pillow."
"Is he always like this?" Emilia whispered to Vados, afraid to move lest she disturb the strange being using her lap as a cushion.
"My lord takes what he wants," Vados replied with a serene smile. "But fear not. He is fair in his own way."
Puck circled them anxiously, his small form glowing faintly in the darkness. "Emilia, I still can't read his mana at all. It's like trying to measure the ocean with a teaspoon."
"I can hear you, Floating Cat Orb #2," Viyrim murmured without opening his eyes. "And your analogy is generous. It would be more accurate to compare it to measuring the universe with an eyelash."
Felt, who had been pacing impatiently nearby, snorted with poorly concealed amusement. "You two look ridiculous."
"Jealous?" Viyrim inquired, one eye cracking open to regard the young thief. "There's room for another lap if you're offering."
"In your dreams," Felt scoffed, though the faint blush on her cheeks belied her dismissive tone.
"Dreams," Viyrim mused, closing his eye again. "Such fascinating constructs. Did you know, little thief, that in some realms, dreams are actually gateways to alternate realities? Your consciousness slips between the cracks of existence while you sleep, experiencing fragments of lives you might have lived."
"You talk weird," "You talk weird," Felt said, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "And we should keep moving. I have a job to do, remember?"
"Time is a construct," Viyrim replied, still resting comfortably in Emilia's lap. "We have as much of it as I decide we do."
Emilia, who had gradually begun to relax despite the strange situation, cautiously asked, "What exactly are you? You're clearly not human, and you're not like any spirit I've encountered."
Viyrim opened one eye to regard her curiously. "Why do you assume I must fit into categories you understand? Perhaps I'm something your world has never encountered before."
"That's... not really an answer," Emilia pointed out.
"It's the only one you're equipped to comprehend at present," Viyrim replied, closing his eye again. Without opening them, he added, "Your fingers are twitching. You want to touch my hair, don't you?"
Emilia's face flushed bright red. "I-I don't—that's not—!"
"Go ahead," Viyrim offered magnanimously. "Most beings find it soothing. Like petting a dangerous beast that has temporarily decided not to devour you."
Still blushing furiously, Emilia hesitantly reached out and touched Viyrim's obsidian-black hair. Her eyes widened in surprise. "It's... warm. And it feels like... starlight, somehow."
"What does starlight feel like?" Felt scoffed, though she had moved closer, obviously curious.
"Like this," Emilia murmured, her fingers now gently stroking through Viyrim's hair. "Somehow both solid and ephemeral at the same time."
Felt rolled her eyes but leaned in closer. "Can I... touch it too?"
"If you wish," Viyrim replied, sounding thoroughly amused by their curiosity.
Felt reached out cautiously and brushed her fingertips against his hair. She quickly withdrew her hand, looking startled. "It tingles!"
"Different beings experience my essence differently," Viyrim explained. "It responds to your nature."
After allowing them a few more moments of fascinated exploration, Viyrim sat up with fluid grace. "Enough rest. We shall continue to this 'loot house' now." He stood and stretched languidly, causing the water in the fountain to momentarily flow upward against gravity before settling back to its normal pattern.
Both women stared at the fountain, then at Viyrim, their expressions a mixture of awe and unease.
"Does everything around you just... bend?" Emilia asked cautiously.
"Reality is more malleable than most beings realize," Viyrim replied with a casual shrug. "It simply responds more obviously to my presence."
Without another word, he held his arms out to Vados, who dutifully lifted him once more. "Lead on, little thief," he instructed Felt. "I find myself increasingly curious about this insignia and the client who desires it."
## Act III: The Insignia Hunt & Elsa
As dusk deepened into true night, they arrived at the loot house—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of the city where stolen goods changed hands away from the watchful eyes of the Royal Guard. The structure sagged to one side, its windows boarded up and its door reinforced with iron bands.
Felt approached the door and knocked in a specific pattern—three quick taps, a pause, then two more. After a moment, a small peephole slid open, and a single bloodshot eye peered out at them.
"It's me, old man Rom," Felt announced. "Open up."
The eye narrowed as it took in the unusual group behind her. "Who're they?" a gruff voice demanded.
"Guests," Felt replied simply. "They're with me."
After a moment's hesitation, the sound of multiple locks being undone echoed in the quiet street, and the door swung open to reveal a massive, bald man with prominent tusks protruding from his lower jaw. Rom, an aged giant, stood nearly seven feet tall, his muscular frame only slightly softened by age and drink.
"Felt," he grunted in greeting, stepping aside to let them enter. His wary gaze lingered on the newcomers, particularly on Viyrim still being carried in Vados' arms. "Strange company you're keeping these days."
"It's complicated," Felt muttered, slipping past him into the dimly lit interior.
The inside of the loot house was a cluttered space filled with shelves, tables, and cabinets overflowing with items of dubious provenance. Oil lamps cast a warm, flickering light over the eclectic collection of stolen goods—jewelry, weapons, books, clothing, and oddities from across the kingdom.
Rom closed and locked the door behind them, then moved to stand behind a sturdy counter, one hand casually resting near a massive club leaning against the wall. "So what's this about, Felt? Your client hasn't arrived yet."
"They're here about the insignia," Felt explained, gesturing toward Emilia, who still floated on her shadow chair. "She says it belongs to her."
Rom's eyes narrowed as he studied Emilia more carefully. His expression shifted from wariness to shock as he took in her silver hair and violet eyes. "You're a half-elf," he stated bluntly.
"I am," Emilia confirmed, lifting her chin slightly, as if preparing for the usual prejudice.
"And that insignia is yours?" Rom pressed, his tone skeptical.
"It is. It was gifted to me by my benefactor, Roswaal L. Mathers, as proof of my candidacy for the royal selection."
Rom whistled low. "Royal selection? You?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Never thought I'd see the day when a half-elf would be in the running for the throne."
"Times change," Viyrim commented lazily from his perch in Vados' arms. "Perceptions shift. What once was taboo becomes commonplace. What was once revered becomes mundane. It's the only constant in any realm—nothing stays the same forever."
Rom's attention shifted to the strange man. "And who might you be?"
"I am Viyrim," he replied simply. "A tourist in your quaint little world."
Before Rom could respond to this peculiar introduction, Viyrim tilted his head slightly, his nostrils flaring as if he were sniffing the air. Then, with unerring precision, he pointed directly at a floorboard in the northeast corner of the room.
"There," he said. "It smells like guilt and failed ambition. The insignia is hidden beneath that specific board."
Rom and Felt exchanged alarmed glances.
"How did you—" Felt began.
"It doesn't matter," Emilia interrupted, her expression hardening with determination. "That insignia belongs to me, and I need it back immediately."
Rom moved in front of the indicated floorboard protectively. "Now hold on just a minute. Felt acquired that fair and square, and there's a client paying good money for it. We can't just—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the door to the loot house burst open with a splintering crack, the reinforced wood giving way as if it were paper. A woman with long black hair and a revealing outfit stood in the doorway, her purple eyes scanning the room until they settled on Emilia.
"My, my, what a gathering," she purred, stepping inside with fluid grace. She wore a revealing purple-black dress with high slits that exposed her legs, while ornate daggers hung at her sides. "I've come for the royal insignia. Hand it over, and perhaps I'll make your deaths quick."
"Elsa," Rom growled, reaching for his club. "You're early."
"I became impatient," Elsa Granhiert replied with a predatory smile. "And it seems I was right to hurry. You appear to have additional... complications." Her eyes lingered on Emilia with obvious malice.
Emilia tensed, preparing for battle. Puck materialized fully beside her, his diminutive form glowing with magical energy. Felt backed away toward a hidden exit, while Rom hefted his massive club.
Viyrim, however, merely sighed.
"You have awful timing," he commented to the newcomer. "We were just about to resolve this situation civilly."
Elsa's attention shifted to Viyrim, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed this unusual figure. "And who might you be, pretty boy? Another lamb for the slaughter?"
"I am Viyrim," he replied, his tone suggesting extreme boredom. "And you are tedious."
Elsa's smile faltered for just a moment, something in his casual dismissal triggering a warning in her predator's instincts. But her confidence quickly reasserted itself.
"We'll see how tedious you find me when I'm examining your entrails," she replied, drawing her curved blade in one fluid motion. "I don't do 'civil'."
She lunged forward with inhuman speed, her blade aimed directly at Viyrim's abdomen. To the others, she was merely a blur of movement, her lethal grace honed by years of killing.
But Viyrim didn't flinch. He didn't even bother to dodge. Instead, he yawned, lazily raising a single finger as the blade came within inches of his body.
The weapon shattered into stardust upon contact with his finger, the particles glittering as they floated to the floor.
The room fell into stunned silence.
Elsa stared at the remnants of her blade, her confident expression cracking for perhaps the first time in her career as the Bowel Hunter. For a brief moment, genuine fear flashed across her features before she schooled them back into a mask of control.
She reached behind her back and drew a second blade, her movements now more cautious but no less determined. "Interesting trick," she commented, circling warily. "But I have more than one knife."
"And I have infinite patience," Viyrim replied, though his tone suggested the opposite. "But it's wearing thin."
Elsa struck again, this time using her supernatural speed to attack from behind, aiming for Vados instead of Viyrim.
Without looking, Viyrim reached into his sleeve and withdrew what appeared to be... a chopstick. With a casual tap on Elsa's forehead as she approached, he sent her flying backward—not just through the wall of the loot house, but through what appeared to be a tear in the fabric of reality itself.
Through that momentary rift, they glimpsed a massive garbage heap covered in snow, presumably somewhere in the northern nation of Gusteko, before the tear sealed itself as if it had never existed.
"That was excessive," Vados commented mildly, not having moved an inch during the attack.
"She was rude," Viyrim replied with a shrug. "Besides, the cold will do her good. Cool that murderous temperament."
Rom's club slipped from his nerveless fingers, clattering loudly on the wooden floor. Felt stood frozen in shock, her red eyes wide with disbelief, while Emilia and Puck stared at the spot where Elsa had disappeared.
"What... are you?" Emilia finally managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
Viyrim smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say I'm a tourist with very specialized vacation preferences." His eyes drifted toward the floorboard he had indicated earlier. "Now, about that insignia..."
## Act IV: Reinhardt & Recognition
Before anyone could move to retrieve the insignia, another disruption arrived in the form of heavy footsteps approaching the broken doorway. A tall, red-haired man with a sword at his hip appeared in the opening, his striking blue eyes quickly assessing the scene before him.
His uniform marked him as a Royal Knight of Lugnica, and the distinctive sword at his side identified him as no ordinary knight.
"I am Reinhardt van Astrea," he announced, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on Viyrim. "I sensed a disturbance in the mana flow of the entire city. What happened here?"
Felt cursed under her breath, ducking further into the shadows. "Great. Just what we need—the Sword Saint himself."
Viyrim regarded the newcomer with mild interest. "Your sword is talking to you," he observed. "How quaint."
Reinhardt's composed expression faltered for just a moment. "The Dragon Sword Reid does not speak. It merely... resonates."
"It's screaming right now," Viyrim countered with a yawn. "Rather annoying, actually. It recognizes what I am, even if you don't."
Reinhardt's hand moved to his sword hilt, not in a threatening gesture, but almost as if to reassure the weapon. His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Viyrim more closely.
"I cannot... measure your blessing count," he murmured, seeming genuinely puzzled for the first time in perhaps years.
"That's because I don't have blessings," Viyrim replied casually. "They have me."
The cryptic statement hung in the air between them. Reinhardt's stance shifted subtly, his balance redistributing in preparation for potential combat.
"Whatever you are," the Sword Saint said carefully, "if you threaten the peace of Lugnica, I must intervene."
"Must you?" Viyrim asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I wonder if you truly understand the concept of 'must' when applied to beings outside your comprehension."
Almost imperceptibly, Reinhardt's stance shifted further. His hand moved from the sword's hilt to the grip, a subtle indication of his readiness to draw.
The moment his fingers touched the handle, the sword began to glow red-hot in its sheath. Steam rose from the scabbard, and Reinhardt quickly removed his hand, his expression one of genuine shock.
"What did you—" he began.
Then, to everyone's surprise, the Sword Saint of Lugnica fell to one knee before Viyrim. It wasn't a conscious decision—his body simply moved on its own, responding to some primal instinct that recognized power far beyond his comprehension.
"Interesting," Viyrim commented, watching the knight's involuntary genuflection with analytical interest. "Your body knows what your mind doesn't. There's wisdom in that surrender."
"I don't understand," Reinhardt admitted, struggling unsuccessfully to rise. "My body won't obey me."
"It's obeying something more fundamental than your conscious will," Viyrim explained. "Consider it a kindness. If you had drawn that sword against me, the consequences would have been... unfortunate."
He studied the kneeling knight for a moment longer, then added, "You've got manners, even if they're instinctual rather than chosen. Vados, give him a cookie."
Vados materialized an elegant, golden-brown cookie from nowhere and offered it to the kneeling knight. Reinhardt, still seemingly in a trance, accepted it automatically.
"I don't understand what's happening," he admitted, his voice steady despite his confusion.
"Few ever do," Viyrim replied cryptically. He turned to Emilia. "Your insignia, I believe?" With a casual gesture, the royal insignia floated up through the floorboards and hovered before Emilia.
It was a small, ornate medallion crafted of silver and crystal, emitting a soft purple glow that intensified as it neared the half-elf's hand.
She reached for it hesitantly, as if afraid it might disappear. When her fingers closed around the familiar metal, she exhaled in relief.
"Thank you," she said, genuine gratitude in her voice.
"Now my transaction is ruined," Felt complained, though without much heat. She glanced at Reinhardt, still kneeling and munching on his cookie with a bewildered expression. "Though I guess there are worse outcomes."
"You were stealing from a royal candidate?" Reinhardt asked, finally managing to rise to his feet as Viyrim's influence over him relaxed.
"A girl's gotta eat," Felt replied defensively.
Reinhardt studied her closely, then suddenly gasped. "Your eyes... they're red."
"Yeah? So what?" Felt asked, backing away nervously.
"Red eyes are the mark of the royal family," Reinhardt explained, his own eyes widening. "The lost child of the royal bloodline was said to have been born with crimson eyes."
"What are you talking about?" Felt demanded. "I'm no princess. I grew up in the slums."
"Nevertheless," Reinhardt insisted, "you should be tested with an insignia. If I'm right, you may also be eligible for the royal selection."
"This gets more interesting by the moment," Viyrim commented, watching the exchange with renewed interest. "A thief and a half-elf as royal candidates. Your kingdom has unconventional taste."
"Want to test your theory?" Emilia asked Reinhardt, offering her insignia to Felt.
The blonde thief hesitated, then reluctantly took the medallion. The moment it touched her hand, it began to glow with brilliant crimson light, causing everyone to shield their eyes.
"Well," Viyrim observed dryly as the light faded, "that was decisive."
Felt stared at the insignia in her hand with an expression of utter disbelief. "This doesn't make any sense. I'm nobody. Just a thief."
"It appears the dragon thinks otherwise," Reinhardt replied gently. "As a Knight of the Royal Guard, I am obligated to escort you to the castle immediately. The royal selection committee must be informed of this development."
"I'm not going anywhere!" Felt protested, backing away. "I don't want to be a candidate or a princess or whatever this means!"
"Your golden shoes suggest otherwise," Viyrim commented lazily. "They've been whispering to me. They say you've always dreamed of changing things—of having the power to reshape the world that discarded you. Isn't that true, little thief?"
Felt froze, staring at him in shock. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I know many things," Viyrim replied enigmatically. "Dreams leave echoes in the fabric of reality. Yours are particularly loud."
Reinhardt looked from Felt to Viyrim with growing confusion. "I don't understand what's happening here, but as the Sword Saint, I must insist—"
"You must nothing," Viyrim interrupted softly. "But I'll allow it. The little thief should explore this new path. It will be... entertaining."
He turned to Emilia. "And you, half-elf? What now? Back to your patron to report your success?"
Emilia nodded, tucking the insignia securely into her robes. "Yes. Roswaal will want to know what happened. And..." she hesitated, then continued more firmly, "I would like to invite you to stay at the mansion as my guest. As thanks for your help."
"How generous," Viyrim replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I accept your hospitality."
Rom, who had been watching these exchanges in stunned silence, finally found his voice. "So... everyone's just leaving? What about my door? And my business?"
Viyrim glanced at the destroyed entrance. With a negligent wave of his hand, the splintered wood knit itself back together, the reinforced door becoming whole once more.
"As for your business," he added, "consider diversifying into legitimate trade. This realm is changing. Old models may not serve you well in the coming transformation."
Rom swallowed hard, nodding frantically. "Yes, sir. I'll... consider that."
"Good," Viyrim approved. He turned to the assembled group. "Now, I believe we have places to be. Felt to her unexpected destiny, and us to this Roswaal's manor." He settled back into Vados' arms. "The night is still young, and I find myself curious about what other entertainments this world has to offer."
## Act V: Roswaal Manor - First Impressions
The journey to Roswaal's domain took them through dense forests and rolling countryside. Reinhardt accompanied Felt in the opposite direction, toward the capital, though the young thief continued to protest her newfound status the entire way.
Emilia, Viyrim, and Vados traveled in a carriage provided by Reinhardt before his departure—a luxury conveyance bearing the royal insignia that granted them passage through checkpoints without question.
As they journeyed through the night, Emilia found herself seated across from Viyrim, who had finally deigned to sit on his own rather than being carried by Vados. The blue-skinned attendant sat beside him, her posture perfect, her expression serene.
"So," Emilia began, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen, "you never really explained what you are or why you're here."
"Didn't I?" Viyrim replied, gazing out the window at the moonlit landscape. "I suppose I find explanations tedious. They reduce the ineffable to the mundane."
Puck materialized on Emilia's shoulder, his small form glowing softly in the dim carriage. "You're not from this world at all, are you?" the spirit asked directly.
Viyrim's lips quirked up slightly. "Perceptive, Floating Cat Orb #2. No, I am not native to your reality."
"And you're powerful," Emilia added. "More powerful than anyone I've ever encountered. More powerful than even the legends speak of."
"Power is relative," Viyrim replied with a casual shrug. "To an ant, a human child is a god. To me, your world's greatest threats are... quaint."
Emilia leaned forward, her violet eyes intent. "But why are you here? What do you want from us—from this world?"
Viyrim met her gaze, and for a brief moment, Emilia caught a glimpse of something ancient and infinite in those obsidian depths—like staring into the void between stars.
"Entertainment," he said simply. "I was bored. Vados suggested your world might provide diversion. So far, it has."
Emilia sat back, unsure whether to be relieved or terrified by this answer.
"You mean you came here... just because you were bored?" she asked incredulously.
"Is that so strange?" Viyrim countered. "Don't humans seek entertainment when bored? The only difference is in scale."
"But—" Emilia began, then shook her head. "I suppose that makes a strange kind of sense."
The carriage fell silent again, the only sounds the rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves and the creak of wheels on the country road.
As dawn approached, they arrived at an imposing mansion nestled among the hills. The Roswaal estate was a grand structure of stone and timber, its many spires reaching skyward as if to pierce the heavens themselves.
The carriage rolled to a stop in the circular drive before the main entrance. As they disembarked, the massive front doors swung open, revealing twin maids with striking pink and blue hair. Their identical faces bore identical expressions of suspicion.
"Lady Emilia," the pink-haired one said, her voice crisp and slightly haughty, "Lord Roswaal was concerned about your extended absence."
"I'm sorry, Ram," Emilia replied, straightening her travel-worn clothing. "I encountered some... unexpected situations in the capital." She gestured to her companions. "This is Viyrim and Vados. They helped me retrieve the insignia."
The blue-haired maid's nose wrinkled slightly as she studied the newcomers. "I smell something strange," she murmured. "Something... wrong."
"How perceptive," Viyrim commented, studying the blue-haired maid with new interest. "You must be Rem, the one with the demon's horn. I can smell your trauma from here. Delicious."
Rem stiffened, her hand moving toward the hidden weapon at her thigh.
"There's no need for that," Vados interjected smoothly. "My master means no harm. He simply... notices things."
"They will be staying with us as my guests," Emilia declared, trying to defuse the tension. "Please prepare suitable rooms for them."
"Of course, Lady Emilia," Ram replied, though her tone suggested she was far from pleased with the arrangement. "We will make the necessary preparations."
Viyrim stepped forward, his bare feet silent on the marble floor of the entryway. He studied the twin maids with open curiosity, circling them slowly like a predator assessing potential prey.
"Oni sisters," he murmured appreciatively. "Fascinating. One stronger in body, one stronger in magic. Both broken in different ways." He stopped directly in front of them, his head tilting as if listening to something only he could hear. "Your clan was destroyed. You blame yourselves, though for different reasons."
Both maids paled visibly, their composure cracking for the first time.
"How could you possibly know that?" Ram demanded, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Your souls sing your stories to those who know how to listen," Viyrim replied. "Yours is a melody of pride shattered by helplessness. Hers—" he nodded toward Rem, "—is a dirge of survivor's guilt and self-loathing."
"That's enough," Emilia interrupted, stepping between Viyrim and the increasingly distressed maids. "Please, they are my friends and valuable members of this household."
Viyrim inclined his head slightly. "As you wish. I meant no distress. Merely making observations." He turned back to the twins. "I accept your hospitality, but only under certain conditions." His eyes glinted with mischief. "You two seem strong. You'll be my foot massagers."
"We most certainly will not—" Ram began indignantly.
Viyrim smiled. Just smiled. And suddenly, Ram found herself unable to complete her sentence. Both she and Rem felt an overwhelming compulsion to agree with whatever this strange guest wanted.
"I... we..." Ram struggled against the invisible force.
"Just once per day," Viyrim amended generously. "For twenty minutes each. Hardly a burden for such capable servants."
Somehow, this compromise made it easier for them to nod in reluctant agreement, though their eyes remained wide with confusion at their own acquiescence.
"Excellent," Viyrim approved. "I look forward to experiencing your... technique."
Before either maid could respond to this suggestive comment, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the grand entryway. A tall, slender man appeared at the top of the main staircase, his appearance so striking that it momentarily diverted everyone's attention.
Roswaal L. Mathers, the lord of the manor, descended the stairs with theatrical grace. His face was painted in outlandish colors—one eye adorned with a star-shaped purple design, the other with a teardrop. His clothing was equally flamboyant—a yellow and purple jester-like outfit that seemed better suited to a circus than a nobleman's mansion.
"My, myyyyy," he drawled, stretching his vowels in that peculiar manner of his. "What interesting guests you've brought home, Emilia-sama."
Viyrim studied the eccentric margrave with undisguised interest. "You're possessed," he observed casually. "How fascinating. The soul within you is practically screaming for attention."
Roswaal's painted smile froze on his face. "I'm afraid I dooooon't know what you mean."
"Oh, I think you do," Viyrim countered. "But I'll play along. For now." His eyes gleamed with amusement. "Show me your tricks, clown. Entertain me."
Roswaal, never one to back down from a challenge, raised his hand and conjured an impressive display of magical fire that danced through the air in complex patterns, forming images of dragons and other mythical beasts.
Viyrim watched for a moment, then yawned. With a casual flick of his wrist, the flames transformed into butterflies of pure light, which then coalesced into a miniature replica of the mansion that floated above their heads, accurate down to the smallest architectural detail.
"Amateur," Viyrim commented.
Roswaal's expression darkened momentarily before he forced his smile back into place. "Perhaps my other talents might impreeeeess you more," he suggested, preparing a more complex spell.
Before he could cast it, however, Viyrim made a simple gesture. Roswaal suddenly clutched at his throat, his eyes widening in alarm.
"I've replaced your tongue with a toad," Viyrim explained nonchalantly. "Just for half an hour or so. For fun."
Roswaal made a series of undignified croaking sounds, his dignity thoroughly shattered as he tried unsuccessfully to speak.
Emilia gasped. "You can't just—please change him back!"
"Why not?" Viyrim asked, seeming genuinely curious. "He was about to waste our time with trivial displays. This is far more entertaining."
"Because it's cruel," Emilia insisted. "And he's my benefactor. Please."
Viyrim studied her for a moment, then sighed dramatically. "Very well. Since you ask so nicely." He waved his hand dismissively, and Roswaal's croaking immediately ceased.
The margrave coughed and cleared his throat, tugging at his collar as if to reassure himself that everything was back to normal. "Most... unusual abilities you possess," he managed, his voice slightly hoarse. "I would be veeeery interested in discussing them further."
"I'm sure you would," Viyrim replied. "But not now. I require rest and refreshment after our journey." He turned to Emilia. "You mentioned a bath earlier, I believe?"
"I don't recall promising you a bath," Emilia objected, her brow furrowing.
"Didn't you?" Viyrim asked innocently. "My memory is quite clear on the matter. Bath, grape-feeding, the works."
"I never—" Emilia began, then stopped, a confused expression crossing her face. "Did I?"
"Of course you did," Viyrim assured her smoothly. "After I helped you retrieve your insignia. A fair exchange, wouldn't you say?"
Despite her certainty that no such promise had been made, Emilia found herself nodding. "I... suppose that's fair."
"Excellent," Viyrim declared, clapping his hands together once. "Rem, Ram, please prepare a bath for me. Emilia will attend me there." He paused, then added with exaggerated generosity, "Vados will assist you in preparing the house to my specifications."
The twins exchanged alarmed glances but found themselves nodding in agreement despite their reservations.
"And you, clown," Viyrim addressed Roswaal, "will provide me with a comprehensive overview of this world's political situation over dinner. I find myself curious about this 'royal selection' business."
Roswaal bowed with a flourish, though his painted smile seemed strained. "It would be my pleeeeasure to educate our distinguished guest."
"Splendid," Viyrim approved. He turned to Emilia once more. "Shall we proceed to the bath, then? I find that interdimensional travel leaves one feeling so... dusty."
And somehow, despite her growing list of questions and concerns, Emilia found herself leading Viyrim toward the mansion's luxurious bathing chamber, wondering how exactly she had ended up in this situation—and why a small part of her didn't entirely mind.
Behind them, Ram whispered to Rem, "What is he?"
"I don't know," Rem replied softly, her blue eyes never leaving Viyrim's retreating back. "But whatever he is, we cannot oppose him. It would be like ants trying to stop a landslide."
"Then we adapt," Ram decided pragmatically. "And we watch. And we protect Lady Emilia as best we can."
Neither twin noticed Vados' small smile as she overheard their whispered conversation. Her master had that effect on lesser beings—confusion giving way to acceptance, fear transmuting into a strange form of devotion. It was already beginning, just as it had on countless worlds before.
The God of Infinite Destruction had arrived in Lugnica. And nothing would ever be the same.
## Act VI: The Bath and the Beast
The bathing chamber of Roswaal Manor was a marvel of luxury, more reminiscent of an imperial bathhouse than a private residence. Marble columns supported a domed ceiling painted with scenes of mythological figures, while a sunken pool large enough for a dozen people dominated the center of the room. Steam rose from the heated water, filling the chamber with a pleasant, fragrant mist.
Emilia stood awkwardly by the entrance, watching as Ram and Rem efficiently prepared the bath, adding scented oils and flower petals to the water. Their movements were precise and practiced, but the tension in their shoulders betrayed their unease at the situation.
"That will be sufficient," Viyrim declared, examining the preparations with a critical eye. "You may leave us now."
The twins hesitated, exchanging concerned glances.
"Lady Emilia," Ram began cautiously, "are you certain you wish to remain? We could assist our guest instead."
"I'll be fine, Ram," Emilia assured her, though her cheeks were tinged with pink. "Please see to the preparation of the guest rooms."
With visible reluctance, the twins bowed and departed, sliding the ornate door closed behind them. The moment they were gone, Viyrim began to disrobe, shedding his regal black garments with casual disregard for Emilia's presence.
"W-wait!" she stammered, turning her back quickly. "You should warn someone before you just start undressing!"
"Why?" Viyrim asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. "Bodies are merely vessels. Is nudity taboo in your culture?"
"Yes! I mean, between