I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 437  [Event] [Semester-Exam At Vanadias] [25] Lykhor's Anger

"Well, maybe because I know something about Bryelle that you might want to hear," I said.

"...!"

Her expression shifted dramatically, transforming from initial shock to one of utter coldness. Her eyes narrowed, glittering with fury.

"What did you say?" She asked in a low, dangerous tone.

I could see it in her eyes—she wanted to rip me apart, limb from limb.

I chuckled lightly. "D–Don't have the strength to explain…" I rasped, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The pain was becoming unbearable, seeping into every muscle and bone. Reaching the 9th Zone had been a monumental effort, but now... moving any further felt impossible. My limbs were heavy, my vision blurred.

"U–Ugh!" I groaned as a sharp pain shot through my body. Suddenly, a vine had coiled and pierced through my ankle, causing me to lose balance and slide down the tree, landing hard on my back with a thud. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I was left gasping, staring up.

I heard her approaching, the faint rustle of her steps as she closed the distance between us. Her shadow loomed over me, and when I looked up, she was standing tall, her gaze cold. "How do you know about Bryelle?" She asked, looking down at me like I was something beneath her notice—like an insect.

"Guess a little… you're a half-goddess, right?" I scoffed, the words leaving my mouth before I could stop them. I was definitely wearing a dumb smile. I knew it wasn't the smartest thing to say, not when she was this close to snapping. But I couldn't help myself.

The look on her face was priceless.

Alvara's lips twisted, her brows twitching in irritation. She clearly wanted to tear me apart right then and there, but I could see her mind working. She was reaching a conclusion, her anger momentarily held back by curiosity.

"You're the one who abducted Bryelle from her guards?" I barked out a rough laugh. "Abducted? No. I saved her from her overbearing, stalking guards. She wanted some fresh air, and I gave it to her. Not everyone is as controlling as a certain racist big sister." Her reaction was immediate—her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw clenched tightly. Her brows twitched again, the clear sign that I had struck a nerve. Ah, so she was sensitive when it came to Bryelle.

Interesting.

"What did you do to her?" She asked.

Seriously?

"Bought her a white bear plush and a pendant. She seemed to really like them." I let my smirk widen. "What? Do you want a bear plush too?" Her expression darkened further, but she ignored my taunt. "What were you going to say about Bryelle?" I sighed, my head falling back against the bark of the tree. "I'll tell you," I muttered, "but first, lower your hand. Call off whatever spell you're about to throw at me."

"Say it."

"I won't say a word unless you listen to me."

"Then die here," she said coldly, and with a flick of her wrist, she summoned three thorny red vines, each as deadly as a blade. They writhed and coiled like serpents, drawing closer to me.

"Well, you could kill me, but you'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't hear what I have to say. You'll never forgive yourself for not listening."

The vines stopped, just inches from my face. I could feel the cold sting of their thorns grazing my skin. Her face was a mask of barely restrained rage, but beneath that, there was uncertainty. She was hesitating.

"Ah… you've got some backbones, I'll give you that," she muttered through gritted teeth. Slowly, the vines retreated, and with a flick of her wrist, they vanished altogether. She took a step back, her lips curled into a smile barely concealed anger and hatred. "I commend it, Amael."

"Thank you for the compliment. Now, take me to the tenth floor."

"What?" Before she could summon her vines to tear me apart for real, I hastened to explain. "It's important, concerning Bryelle. You must hear me out if you want her well-being. I'm not joking, Alvara Teraquin, you see..." I said though my expression might not be convincing at all.

A chilling silence fell upon us. And after a moment…

"If you dare to lie to me…your death will be anything but pleasant."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Being killed by the most beautiful woman in Sancta Vedelia wouldn't be so bad, I suppose," I replied, wiping away a trickle of blood.

To my genuine praise, her anger seemed to intensify. [<Amael?>]

'What's up?'

[<I think the poison is making you…nevermind.>]

Whatever.

"Hey," I called out to Alvara weakly. "You'll have to help me. I can't walk anymore."

With a flick of her wrist, thorny vines coiled around my stomach, lifting me off the ground like a sack of potatoes. The thorns pricked my skin, causing me to grimace in pain.

She was a sadist, through and through. But I knew she cared about Bryelle, more than anything.

At least I could count on her to take care of me until I gave her what she wanted.

With a sigh, I closed my eyes, trying to rest despite the pain.

***

Alvara's hands trembled, but not from fear or cold—this was the tremor of barely restrained anger. Every fiber of her being screamed for release, to let her fury lash out, but she held it back, knowing she couldn't afford that now. Not with him lying there.

Behind her, Amael slept peacefully in a bed of thorny vines she had woven herself. The thorns, sharp pricked into his skin, his arms entangled in their grip. And yet, he slept—as if completely oblivious to the pain that should have woken him long ago.

'Is he even human?' Alvara's brow furrowed as she studied his face, her golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. His strength, resilience, and mana levels were frighteningly high—far surpassing what should have been possible for someone like him. Even Celeste had grown stronger recently, but that made sense. Celeste was a full-blooded High Human, a rare lineage of power. But Amael? He was only a Half. There was something off about him, something that defied logic similar to Connor now that she thinks about it but Amael seemed to progress even faster.

Alvara had never felt this bothered by a man before. Still, she knew she had no choice but to keep him alive, if only to get the truth about Bryelle. The thought of her younger sister crossed her mind, and her heart clenched. If Amael had done something to her... she needed to know. She couldn't afford to let her anger blind her, not now. Bryelle was more important than her pride.

The students they had passed on their way were horrified by the sight of Amael being transported by Alvara. They had whispered in confusion, their eyes wide with disbelief as they ran away, eager to avoid whatever conflict was unfolding. Alvara couldn't have cared less about the exam at this point. All that mattered was reaching the 10th Floor—and getting her answers.

But as she neared her goal, a familiar figure stepped into her path.

"Alvara?"

She raised her eyes to see Lykhor standing before her, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. But that smile quickly faded as his gaze shifted to Amael, still draped in her thorny vines.

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What is he doing here?" Alvara's expression remained cold as ice. "That's none of your concern, Lykhor. Now, make way."

But Lykhor didn't step aside. Instead, he raised a hand, blocking her path.

Alvara's golden eyes turned to steel, her irritation boiling just beneath the surface. She had already been tested too many times recently—Cylien, her brother, Amael—and now this? Lykhor was dangerously close to pushing her over the edge.

"Alvara… we don't have much time left. You're still up for it, right?" Lykhor asked as he subtly alluded to their shared mission. The plan with Utopia.

"Move, Lykhor," she repeated, but her tone was now threatening.

Lykhor hesitated, his eyes flickering between Alvara and Amael. He had been part of the plan for Utopia all along, but something about Amael's presence annoyed him.

"Alvara, what's going on? He shouldn't be here—"

"I said, move," Alvara snapped. Her vines tightened around Lykhor, threatening to burst him open.

Lykhor gritted his teeth, barely able to remain patient. He needed her to hear him out, to trust him. "After all these years, you can—"

"Oh, God! Cut the flashback," Amael interrupted, his voice dripping with annoyance. "It's getting cringeworthy."

Lykhor's face flushed with anger. Amael, suspended mid-air by vines, looked like a pitiful spectacle. But there was a smirk playing on his lips, a mocking glint in his eyes.

"Don't you see she's creeped out by you?" Amael laughed, coughing blood. "Oh, damn, I'm going to die for real..."

Lykhor's jaw clenched. Alvara remained silent, without saying anything.

"Knew it!" Amael cackled, his laughter grating on Lykhor's nerves. "Ahahaha!"

Lykhor felt a surge of rage. "I'll kill you—" He began, but a sharp pain in his thigh cut him off.

Alvara had struck. A vine had pierced his thigh, drawing blood. Her ruthlessness surprised him. Why was she defending a Half-Human over a royal elf like him?

The situation seemed surreal. Alvara, usually so composed, was acting out of character. But Lykhor couldn't understand her growing concern for Bryelle, which seemed to overshadow her disgust for Half-Humans.

"I will not repeat myself, Lykhor," Alvara said, turning away. She dragged Amael behind her, the Half-Human waving a smug, mocking grin.