Capítulo 3: Chapter 3: The Weight of Nobility
Ren—no, Valen—paced slowly through the halls of his tower, the echo of his footsteps mingling with the soft crackling of distant fires and the muffled conversations of servants. The grand stone structure, once a mere set-piece in a game he used to play, now felt far more ominous, alive in its own way. Each step sent a jolt through his body, a reminder that this was no longer a fantasy.
The familiar weight of the Nobility skill weighed heavily on him, more so than before. It was as if an invisible hand gripped his chest, suppressing every ounce of humanity, forcing him to maintain an icy façade. Valen had always been portrayed as indifferent, unfeeling, and now Ren understood why—this cursed skill allowed no emotion, no passion, no outbursts.
He entered the grand hall, where a group of figures awaited him. His disciples. Though he had treated them as tools in the game, seeing them now, as real individuals, made him hesitate. They all knelt in perfect form, heads bowed, awaiting orders from their Duke.
One of them, a tall man with silver hair and eyes like ice, stepped forward and spoke first. His name was Lucian, Valen's first disciple, and one of the most loyal—at least, that's how it seemed in the game. "My Lord, we've received reports from the northern provinces. The Serathin Empire is moving its forces along the border. It seems they are preparing for something... an invasion, perhaps?"
Valen stared at Lucian, his face betraying none of the panic he felt. The Serathin Empire was one of the stronger nations in the game's world, often challenging the borders of Valen's territory. In the game, it was easy to maneuver troops, to strategize without worry, but here? This was real.
"What are the empire's numbers?" Valen asked in his steady, emotionless tone.
"Reports suggest their forces number in the tens of thousands, including their mana cavalry and warlocks," Lucian responded, still kneeling.
Valen clenched his jaw. Tens of thousands. In the game, this might have been an exciting challenge, but now, as he felt the vulnerability of his position, the reality set in. His character had always been underpowered, relying on trickery and manipulation to survive. Without the players' hands guiding him, he was truly weak.
And yet... they all believed he was strong.
"I see," Valen said after a long pause. "We will not act rashly. Send spies to gather more information on their movements, but do not engage. Let them make the first move. We will respond when the time is right."
"Yes, my Lord," Lucian replied, bowing his head further. His loyalty seemed genuine, though Ren couldn't shake the memory of Lucian betraying him in the game, turning against him for a better reward.
Another disciple, Mira, a woman with raven hair and piercing green eyes, stepped forward next. "Master, the academy has sent an invitation for you to attend their annual summit. They wish for you to speak on the growing tensions between empires and the balance of mana use."
Valen's gaze flickered to her. Mira, too, had betrayed him in the game. She had played the part of the dutiful disciple, but at the first sign of advantage, she had turned on him, delivering a final blow in one of his previous defeats. He couldn't trust her. He couldn't trust any of them.
"The academy's matters are of little concern to me," Valen said coldly, his expression never changing. "Tell them I will consider it, but do not confirm anything. My priorities lie elsewhere."
"Of course, my Lord," Mira said, her head lowering, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Perhaps irritation, or suspicion. Ren couldn't tell. He couldn't afford to let any of them see through him.
The council of disciples dispersed shortly after, leaving Valen alone in the great hall. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. This world, this life—it was more complicated than any game. He couldn't rely on pre-determined storylines or scripted events. Everything was a gamble, and everyone around him had their own motives.
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