The moon hung heavily amidst the silver-lined clouds, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets echoed through the ancient trees surrounding the Archnemesis estate. As Hermes and his sole remaining servant crossed the threshold of the silent mansion, the water from the garden's central fountain abruptly halted—a mechanical salute to the master's return.
Immediately, Justin went to work. With a sharp flick of his wrist, the butler cast a high-level concealment spell, activating five powerful barriers that encased the mansion in a shimmering, invisible dome. It was a lethal security measure; not even a stray bacterium could bypass it. Since Hermes had severed ties with his subordinates and let go of his other servants to keep his location a secret, Justin took no chances with their safety. Any unauthorized living thing that touched the perimeter would perish without a trace.
Inside, the open balcony windows invited a cool night breeze that made the fire in the hearth dance wildly against the stone. The mansion felt cavernous and hauntingly empty. Hermes separated from his servant, heading back toward the garden to pace, while Justin excused himself to prepare a dinner for two—the only residents left in this fortress of ghosts.
As Hermes walked, the mansion's automated lights flickered to life, illuminating the grim history of the Archnemesis line. The illustrations lining the grand hallway carefully detailed the family's past: the founder was depicted with a hand buried in the chest of an enemy, a vicious smile on his face. Other frames showed corpses piled beneath the feet of former headmistresses. In the center of the two-story entry, bathed in the glow of two crystal lights, hung the portrait of the sole survivor: Hermes Archnemesis.
Out in the garden, Hermes walked back and forth near the dormant fountain. His mind was a chaotic mess. The reason for his distress was simple: the consequences of his own impulsiveness.
Chief Zamor's "favor" was no simple escort mission. It was a critical sub-quest from the game—one he had just accidentally hijacked. Hermes covered his eyes, his shoulders slumped in distress.
"What have I done? You fockin' blew it, Aljen. You fockin' blew it," he muttered, spanking his forehead.
He shouldn't have accepted it. That quest was originally designed to be handled by one of the female playable characters. By accepting the double pay, he had effectively stolen a piece of the game's fate. Now, it was too late to turn back; refusing would destroy his carefully built relationship with the Chief and spark suspicion. Since he had no other allies or associates to delegate this to, the burden fell entirely on his and Justin's shoulders.
"I have to take responsibility," he whispered.
His main concern was the Dark Scily Forest. He knew exactly where the hidden boss lurked. If he could keep the twins on the outskirts, they would be safe. However, he didn't know the specific location of the herbs. If the kids followed their instincts, they would lead him straight into the monster's maw. He scratched his head, imagining the horrific sight of the twins as a beast's midnight snack.
"It won't happen. I'll definitely protect those kids, no matter what."
Hours later, Hermes retreated to his office. It was nearly quarter to nine by the time he finished the paperwork regarding the Archnemesis finances and his new business ventures in Neue Fiona. Unlike the past, there were no reports from associates or requests from underlings—just the cold, hard numbers of a man trying to buy his way into a quiet exile.
He dropped his pen and stretched until his joints popped, leaning back into the smooth, black leather of his chair. He stared at the ceiling, his arm draped over his eyes.
"What the hell is going on? Is this really necessary?" he groaned. "The more I learn, the more trouble arrives. Why am I still acting like a Don? I was supposed to be finished with all this. What the fuck?"
He slammed his right hand onto the armrest while his left remained over his eyes.
"The mess in that village is turning into a nightmare. My reputation is at stake. The Handdog gang, the psycho ogre, the High Priestess, and now the Second Root—none of these were part of the original Otome game plot. And these new characters... they are acting very suspicious."
There's only one person I know who has been screwing with me from the start, he thought bitterly. Stump G.
He forced himself to focus on the document in front of him: the dossier on the Second Root. Based on his summary, this organization was a dangerous "new feature" in this universe. They were likely operating in plain sight within the village.
Hermes knew he could potentially wipe them out, but without his former army of associates, he had to be surgical. If he struck too hard and harmed someone connected to the female leads, he might accidentally trigger a death flag. He was knee-deep in a plot he wanted no part of, and he had no choice but to work the problem with only Justin at his side.
First and foremost, Hermes sought to understand why the former "Hermes Archnemesis" of the game's original script had bothered to pester this specific territory. The original villain was many things, but he wasn't a fool; he wouldn't dare initiate such a campaign without a valid reason. There was a high probability that these peculiar events were connected to that underlying motive. However, Hermes still lacked the final pieces of the puzzle to prove his theory.
He closed his eyes, recalling the grim conclusion of his character's life in the Otome game. After the female protagonist's reverse harem executed the villainous Don, the new landowners had turned the village into ruins. The mismanagement, ignorance, and economic incompetence of her male concubines led to a swift downward spiral. Arata Kingsman—one of the powerful love interests—had ignored the villagers' cries for mercy, allowing corruption, kidnapping, turmoil, and famine to fester in the wake of the Archnemesis' fall.
In other words, life for the villagers became far more miserable than they had ever expected. Hermes' death had only brought his people more suffering. Eventually, they had begun to regret their rebellion, secretly wishing to return to the days of the Archnemesis management.
"Well, it doesn't concern me at all. I don't care about the lives of those villagers," he muttered to the empty room. "But the problem here is the reward money I stand to gain from this quest. That girl is annoying, but it isn't a bad idea to keep her on my side. Since there is no time limit, I have plenty of room to maneuver."
He rubbed his jaw in contemplation. "Chief Zamor wants me to guard his kids. Hmm... I wonder what kind of reward I'll truly get from that."
Hermes resumed his work, and a few hours later, Justin entered the office carrying a sealed document. The butler bowed respectfully before handing it over.
"My Don, these are the documents we received from our client earlier," Justin stated.
Hermes took a deep breath before breaking the seal. Inside were seven pages of classified intel regarding the Second Root. It was detailed in its descriptions of their activities, but a glaring problem remained: there were no images and no names listed for the leaders or members of the secret society.
Bullshit! he thought.
"This is an impossible task, Justin. Look at this stupid intel," he said, tossing the file onto the edge of his desk. "How exactly are we supposed to trace the people behind an illicit organization without proper identification? It's a hundred percent impossible."
"Then, I suppose we should refuse the request," Justin suggested.
Hermes chuckled darkly. "I disagree."
"Pardon?" The servant tilted his head in confusion.
"I disagree because refusing would make them believe I am an incompetent and unreliable ally," Hermes replied, his eyes sharp. "I need the power and influence of Chief Zamor Camella. Furthermore, I cannot afford to ruin my relationship with the Church."
In this world, the State and the Church were two distinct entities that controlled society through their own powers. For Hermes, the Chief represented the high authority of the territory, while the High Priestess was his bridge to favorable status with the Church.
Thanks to Mambo, I have another idea to topple my death flags, he simpered internally.
Plan A: If he were caught or his identity exposed, he could avoid a trial through the political protection of Chief Zamor.Plan B: If a trial were to proceed and the judges declared him guilty of his past misdeeds, the Church could intervene and grant him sanctuary or a pardon.
Two birds with one stone, he noted.
He had to prevent any decision that could lead to his downfall. He recalled a line from a book—the title of which he had forgotten—that said: "To prevent hunger on a desert island full of monsters, the lone warrior must adapt by eating the grass. The only salvation from death is to strip away hostility, but to prevent indignity, one must befriend the enemy."
He needed to gain their absolute trust. One day, when he needed them most, they would be unable to turn their backs on him.
Playing it safe is the most basic rule of survival, he thought with a smug expression.
Justin lowered his head in a deep apology. "My apologies, my Don. Once again, I offered... terrible advice without considering the consequences. Such conduct should not be tolerated according to my oath. For this unforgivable lapse, I offer one of my fingers as tribute for my mistake."
Justin swiftly pulled out a knife, but Hermes shouted before the blade could descend. "Stop!"
"But, my Don," Justin justified, his voice trembling with fanatic loyalty. "I failed to see the wisdom in your decision and suggested something foolish. I must be punished for failing you as your Consigliere."
"There is nothing to worry about. Forget it," Hermes explained promptly, his tone firm. "If you lost your fingers, you'd be a miserable piece of shit in front of me, and you'd be less useful as a butler. So, stop that nonsense. Next time, don't exaggerate over something so simple. Remember, you're my advisor, so act like one. In this situation, you're only reversing our roles—making me look after you. Yes, I'm your boss, but I'm still a teenager. I don't want to see something terrifying like that. I'm not the one who's going to clean up the blood in this room if you go through with it."
The butler immediately knelt on one knee, lowering his head. "Again, I feel terrible, my Don. I am deeply sorry for such an outrageous display in your presence."
Hermes raised a hand to dismiss the tension. "Alright, forget it. There's a saying: there is always a tomorrow for everything, and everything can be solved with the speed of lightning."
Hermes's eyes suddenly turned sharp as a cold shiver raced down his spine. He stood up abruptly, his chair sliding across the polished floor with a harsh creak. He trembled from head to toe, a primal instinct screaming that he was the subject of someone's intense focus.
"What's wrong, my Don?" Justin asked, his hand instinctively moving toward a concealed weapon.
Hermes rubbed his arms, looking around the empty, grand office. "I don't know... I just feel like someone is talking about me."
At that same moment, deep within the sacred chambers of the village church, Venus Aphrodite was kneeling. The newly appointed High Priestess of Neue Fiona was alone, her hands clasped in fervent prayer. Her white clerical robes, fashioned from the finest silk, complemented her pale skin—a complexion so flawless it resembled a goddess carved from marble.
Despite her recent kidnapping by a strange group seeking to use her for their own gains, her spirit remained unbroken. Her faith acted as an iron shield, ensuring the trauma of the event did not dim her light.
Near the entrance, Mambo stood like a silent monolith, watching his mistress. His eyes shifted as the chamber doors opened to reveal Ylla Ereneus, dressed in hoodless clerical attire and accompanied by two attendants.
"Good evening, High Priestess," Ylla said, she and her attendants lowering their heads in a synchronized bow. "It is time for you to rest."
"I see. I will join you after I am finished here," Venus replied without opening her eyes.
Ylla stepped forward, her expression firm. "High Priestess, the nuns have prepared a perfect bath, and dinner is waiting. You have been working without pause and have spent far too much time alone in this chamber."
"That is good to hear. Give me five more minutes. I need more time with God," Venus requested politely.
"That is the third time you have said that, High Priestess," Ylla countered, taking another step forward. "You were already given fifteen minutes. It is time to eat."
"Eh? W-well, I still need more time! I won't move from this spot until I am done. Please, let me finish!" Venus insisted, a bead of cold sweat rolling down her cheek as she doubled down on her prayer.
Ylla sighed, looking at her attendants. "I knew she would be stubborn. Girls, do it."
"Please forgive us, High Priestess," one attendant whispered.
"For the greater good... for the greater good," the second added, bowing three times in apology before they moved in.
"Eh? Wait—why? This is a violation of my rights! This is outrageous!" Venus cried out, her cheeks puffing in indignation as she stomped her feet.
"This is for your own health, High Priestess. Now, if you'll excuse us. Take her away and make sure she eats every bite," Ylla directed.
"Yes, Regent!" the attendants replied in unison.
"Ylla! Ylla, what is the meaning of this? I need to pray! What are you doing?" Venus argued as she was hoisted up. Ylla ignored the protesting Priestess and looked toward the bodyguard.
"Mambo, open the doors for your mistress," she commanded, pointing toward the dining hall.
The loyal servant obeyed, though his heart grew heavy when he saw Venus's "puppy-dog" crying face directed at him.
You too? her eyes seemed to scream.
"Mambo, why?" she begged.
"For the greater good," he muttered, covering his mouth with regret. "I am so sorry, Master."
Ylla patted Mambo's shoulder. "You did well. You don't have to feel sorry. This isn't a betrayal; it's a rehabilitation. Her Highness is becoming far too engrossed in prayer, and it's dangerous for her health."
It was a recurring problem. Venus would lock herself away, skipping meals to pray through the night. Even after a bath, she would sneak back into the chamber, often falling asleep on the cold stone floor. Mambo had developed chronic insomnia just trying to keep watch over her erratic schedule. Ylla had finally decided that this unhealthy lifestyle had to end.
"No! I want to pray! I still have two hours—no, five hours of conversation left with God! This is outrageous! Ylla! Mambo! Listen to me!" Venus wailed.
Ylla simply waved her hand. "Take her away."
"No! I need to—wait, please! Mambo, help!"
Mambo turned his back, unable to look. "I am so sorry, Master."
"Don't turn your back on me! I'm your master! Ylla, God won't hear my prayers if you interrupt me like this! Please!"
The attendants ignored her pleas, clutching her arms tightly and dragging her toward the hall.
"I need to pray for my bright future with my love!" she finally declared, her voice cracking with emotion. She began repeating "For my love" over and over like a stubborn child. The attendants couldn't help but heave a sigh of pity for the beautiful, love-struck maiden.
"Good grief," Ylla muttered, a small smile appearing as the Priestess finally hung her head in defeat. "Eat well and enjoy your bath, Your Excellency. I'll join you in your room later."
Back at the Archnemesis mansion, Hermes rubbed his shoulders, a lingering chill refusing to leave his body. He had never shivered like this before—a strange, persistent feeling that his "bright future" was being decided by someone else's prayers.