The Villain Reborn as Game's Final Boss-Chapter 62: Coffee

Hm?

I felt a cold wave of air wash over my body.

A man stood before me, an amused smile stretched across his face.

I could feel the entire body under my control. Kael’s consciousness had faded into slumber... temporarily.

Was this his doing?

I looked at the man again.

Nemur Daithra—Headmaster of Namda Academy.

A Sovereign.

The game had described him as soft-spoken and gentle. Someone who cared a great deal for his students.

But... right now, looking at the creature before me, I felt none of the care that had been described.

I could see the look in his eyes.

I knew what those eyes meant.

The man before me was no saint as described in the game.

An opportunist.

That was the only word that could politely describe him.

In the past year since awakening my full consciousness after the spar with Arthur, I had been working to install a safety mechanism in Kael’s soul.

And his mind.

If anything surpassed the limitations of the mechanism, it would trigger an automatic response, thereby shutting Kael’s soul down for a brief amount of time.

Such a forceful act could be harmful to this body in the long run, so it had to be used only when absolutely necessary.

And...

This man had been trying to do something to Kael’s body. At my current level of strength, I couldn’t exactly figure out what had been done, but—

It was something that triggered the safety mechanism, switching Kael’s soul with mine.

"Interesting."

Nemur’s voice reached my ears.

I didn’t speak.

I had to analyse the situation. The man before me was infinitely stronger than my current self.

Defeating him in combat would be delusional.

And speaking too much could do more harm than actually fighting him.

I had to listen to what he thought.

Why would someone, known to be a shield for the students, act like this?

There was a possibility of him discovering my association with criminals.

But that was a long stretch.

Though D.X. had now grown stronger, with a wider network of criminals working under me...

It wasn’t enough to warrant suspicion.

In the first place, none of the criminals under me had acted as members of D.X.

There had been no active operations of the organisation—at least not in the public records.

The identity of D.X. itself wasn’t known to anyone besides the members themselves.

So linking me to something that was non-existent from the world’s point of view was... ridiculous.

Still...

Nemur was a Sovereign.

And I still didn’t have enough grasp of the abilities of the Sovereigns... yet.

Though I had fought against them in the game...

It was a game.

This was reality.

The game’s mechanics had been designed to fight, to kill, and to survive.

Every minor detail about the powers of each character couldn’t be displayed in something that was merely a human creation.

This was a living world.

I couldn’t judge the abilities of these characters simply based on how they fought or behaved in the game.

That would be foolish...

And pathetic!

"You have a strong will, for someone of your rank and... age."

Nemur’s words echoed in my mind.

Will...

Had he tried some kind of mental attack on me?

"Cautious... You know I could kill you with a flick of my finger."

My calm attitude might have irked him.

Was he trying to intimidate me...?

"Go ahead."

I spoke, not a hint of fluctuation in my voice.

Nemur raised a brow.

I knew he couldn’t kill me.

Not because I was a Frost.

No. Something like that wouldn’t scare him.

Why would a Sovereign fear a mere Duke?

But...

This was Namda.

The city of peace.

Its neutrality was what had kept it safe from the influence of other powerhouses across the world.

Killing me would equate to breaking that fragile balance.

And...

No matter how strong Nemur was—

At the end of the day, he was a mere Sovereign.

He might be powerful, but that was individual strength.

And he wasn’t the only Sovereign in the world.

One wrong move, and his rivals would get the perfect opportunity to kill him.

Why would the other Sovereigns—beings with unimaginable powers—go to such lengths to avenge the death of a kid?

Surely not out of morality.

Hypocrites justify everything when their goals are met. And in this case...

My death would be the perfect trigger to gather the world against him.

For what?

The body of a Sovereign had far greater value than any resource currently available on the planet.

Every part of Nemur’s body would be the perfect resource for improving their own bodies.

Killing a Sovereign in a one-on-one battle had barely a fifty percent chance of success for another Sovereign.

The beings who reached that level were the elite of the elite.

Every Sovereign could be called the greatest talent in history.

And when such talents clashed, the outcome could never be determined.

That was why my death would create the perfect opportunity for them to claim greater rewards with minimal risk.

In the end, there was strength in numbers.

No matter how strong Nemur was—he would fall nonetheless.

Nemur kept looking at me, as if I were some unique specimen he had discovered.

Currently, his gaze wasn’t much different from Alfred’s.

"Just kidding. I am a devout follower of peace."

Nemur gave me the most disarming smile I had seen today.

He knew the conclusion I had likely reached.

"Some coffee?"

Without waiting for my reply, Nemur began brewing coffee for the both of us.

"You see, Kael, I have lived a long life. Even after becoming an Immortal, I never stopped dreaming of more power."

I must say... this guy was quite adaptable.

Sensing that a forceful approach wouldn’t work on me, he had shifted toward negotiation.

"The world at that time was a chaotic mess. With everything coming undone, the destruction of this planet felt imminent. Then, through some miracle..."

Nemur began explaining the history of Jutan.

He might have equated my age with a lack of knowledge...

Though I knew the truth far better than what the history books described, I stayed silent.

There was no point in flaunting such details.

Letting the opponent enjoy the illusion of having the upper hand was a necessity for the final strike.

The guard had to be lowered for the hunt to begin...