I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 849: 25th Utopian King [1]

More than half a million people had gathered inside the Grand Forum of Veyra to witness the Saintess Reveal, an event that had begun exactly as Edenis Raphiel had planned.

Maria Reina Paradis, the Saintess of the Garden of Eden, had appeared before the world. Her speech had reached every corner of the Forum and traveled far beyond it through the worldwide broadcast. For one brief, shining moment, the ceremony had been a success.

Then a man had interrupted it.

More than half a million spectators stood in complete silence, their eyes fixed on the stage. Those seated closest could see the scene with their own eyes, while the rest watched through the enormous screens that displayed every movement taking place above.

It was difficult to make out the stranger clearly. King Aslan, Maria, and Commander Reginald stood between him and much of the audience. Still, everyone could see the man sitting on the golden seat that had been prepared for the Saintess.

They could see his silver hair.

They could see his silver eyes.

But with blood covering his body and staining his clothes, his face remained difficult to recognize.

The silence seemed to stretch endlessly.

In reality, barely five seconds had passed.

Then Reginald Fitzgerald drew his sword.

The clear sound of steel leaving its sheath cut through the Grand Forum. Alector, Brutus, and Pope Francis immediately rose from their seats, their expressions changing at once. On the opposite side of the stage, Isabel Arclight remained seated, observing the newcomer with open curiosity, while Barbara stood with a wary, guarded expression.

Grand Priest Cornelius did not move from his seat. Beneath his blindfold, his face remained calm, though his personal attendant stepped protectively in front of him.

"Who are you?" Reginald demanded.

He moved in front of Maria without hesitation.

The man sitting on the golden chair glanced at Reginald. Then his silver eyes shifted toward Maria.

Maria remained silent.

Her mismatched eyes narrowed slightly as she stared him, her expression unreadable. There was intensity in her gaze, but no visible fear.

"You would do well to answer, stranger," Aslan said coldly.

He stepped forward. A fierce orange glow began to gather around his body, coating him in a heat that distorted the air. The power radiating from him made it clear that his earlier calmness had disappeared completely.

The silver haired man looked toward Aslan and leaned his right fist against his bloodied cheek.

"Do I?" He asked lazily.

"Insolent..."

Brutus was about to step forward, his massive body tensing as mana began to gather around him.

"Wait," Alector said.

Brutus paused and looked back at him in confusion.

"Lord Alector?"

"His right arm," Alector replied, his gaze fixed on the stranger. "Look carefully."

Everyone on stage turned their attention toward the man’s right arm.

His shirt had been damaged and stained by blood, the sleeve torn enough to expose part of his skin. Beneath the blood and the thorn patterned fabric, something golden had been etched into his arm.

An emblem.

A divine mark.

"The symbol of a Guardian."

The voice that answered came from Grand Priest Cornelius.

Though blindfolded, he spoke with complete certainty. He calmly pulled back the sleeve on his own left arm, revealing a similar emblem. Yet while the stranger’s symbol shone gold, Cornelius’s was marked by a light purple hue.

"Guardian?" Brutus asked, his stance changing slightly. "Guardian of what?"

The hostility on stage did not disappear, but it shifted. The presence of a divine emblem could not be ignored. It was not something an ordinary person could have.

The silver haired man did not acknowledge Brutus’s question.

His eyes remained on Aslan.

"Disappointing," he said calmly. "And disappointing."

His tone was almost bored, yet every word carried through the tense silence.

"You invite every important person to your precious lands, yet you forget a King and a Guardian."

"A King and a Guardian?" Reginald repeated.

His eyes narrowed.

He could not think of anyone who matched both titles.

But Aslan’s face changed as he widened slowly his eyes.

The orange mana around him flickered.

"The Utopian King..."

The words were quiet, but the nearest microphones caught them.

A wave of stunned gasps spread through the Grand Forum. The audience, who had already been struggling to understand the stranger’s identity, now stared at the screens with renewed utter shock.

"U-Utopian King? What does that mean, Lord Aslan?" Alector

"The Utopian King is dead!" Brutus added in disbelief.

Aslan’s expression became complicated.

"A new King was called in Utopia one week ago," he said at last. "Nothing had been formally announced to the world. However, we received the information not long ago."

"A new Utopian King?" Alector asked, his voice wary. "No one else has been made aware of this."

"Because I did not make you aware," the man replied with a side glance.

He shifted slightly on the golden chair.

"I wanted Edenis Raphiel alone to know. Consider it a token. A way to build this so called bridge of trust that Edenis Raphiel has become so fond of speaking about recently."

His words were tinged with obvious sarcasm.

"Aslan," Alector said, turning toward Aslan. "Who is he?"

For several seconds, Aslan did not answer.

His tangerine eyes remained fixed on the bloodied man seated on Maria’s chair. The expression he wore was no longer one of anger alone. Recognition, disbelief, and something far more troubling had entered his face.

Then he spoke.

"The name called as the twenty fifth Utopian King was Edward Falkrona."

"...!"

Shock rippled across the stage, then surged through the entire Grand Forum.

Gasps erupted from every terrace. People rose from their seats, staring at the giant screens as though they had heard something impossible.

Alector and Pope Francis showed the strongest reaction while Maria flinched her eyes widening.

"E—Edward Falkrona?" Alector repeated.

His voice shook with disbelief.

"No... that is impossible..."

"Edward Falkrona. Is that not the name of the man who caused the Blood Wedding two years ago in Sancta Vedelia?" Brutus asked, stunned.

"And he died," Alector said, unable to take his eyes from Edward. His voice carried disbelief, almost as though he were demanding that the silver haired man deny it.

"He was killed."

Edward’s silver gaze fell on the old elf.

"You’d wish."

The emblem on his right arm blazed with a golden radiance.

The symbol of the Guardian of the Holy Tree of Ymir shone with clear divinity, leaving no room for doubt. A silence fell over the stage, and the people watching through the giant screens stared in stunned confusion.

Then, at that very moment, the doors leading from both corridors swung open.

"Good lord, finally."

A sweet feminine voice rang out from the corridor behind Edward.

Everyone’s attention turned at once.

A woman stepped onto the stage, so beautiful that for a brief second, even the tension seemed to fade beneath the force of her presence. Long, wavy hair of deep pink cascaded down her back, partly tied with an elegant dark pink scarf knotted behind her head. Her eyes, equally pink, swept calmly across the stage before falling upon the silver hair visible over the high back of the golden chair.

She wore an off shoulder pink dress that reached her knees, paired with black tights. Her expression immediately softened when she saw Edward.

A sweet smile formed on her lips.

She was about to approach him when footsteps echoed from the opposite corridor.

Another woman appeared.

She was just as beautiful, though her beauty carried an entirely different feeling. Her long mint green hair had been braided neatly behind her back, and she wore a graceful white and green elven gown with long white gloves covering her arms. In one hand, she lazily twirled a white umbrella shaped like a flower.

Her golden eyes flashed with open annoyance as she looked over the endless crowd.

"I really hate crowds," she muttered.

"What do you even like?" Layla asked, rolling her eyes.

Without waiting for an answer, Layla walked directly toward Edward. She climbed onto the golden chair and sat sideways on his right knee, swinging her legs over the armrest with ease. Then she looked up at him with a flushed, sweet smile.

"Except Honey, of course."

Edward glanced down at her.

Layla giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning comfortably against his chest as though they were alone rather than standing before half a million people.

Alvara approached from behind, her expression twisting into a grimace when she saw Layla pressed so shamelessly against Edward.

"My love, you need a proper bath," Alvara said, standing behind the golden chair and reached her hand, brushing his bangs back lightly.

"So much blood," Layla sighed.

She untied the dark pink scarf from her hair and began wiping the blood from Edward’s face with gentle movements. Her expression had softened with concern, though she continued smiling faintly whenever he looked at her.

When she finished, Edward’s face became visible once more. A faint reddish tint still stained parts of his skin and hair, but his features could now be clearly seen by everyone watching.

Layla rested her hand holding the folded scarf against his neck and looked up at him again, one arm still resting around his shoulders.

"Are you hurt, Honey?" She asked quietly.

Edward looked down at her without replying.

The intimacy between them was so obvious that the people on stage could only stand in silence. The tension in the air had changed completely, becoming strange and uncomfortable in a way no one knew how to address.

Layla smiled but just when she was about to lean forward, Aslan broke the silence.

"Utopian King," he said.

Layla’s expression immediately twisted. She turned her head toward Aslan with a deeply annoyed gaze, as if he had interrupted something precious.

"What is this place, my love?" Alvara asked, looking around the Grand Forum. Her face twisted further as she noticed the unimaginable number of people gathered below and on the distant terraces.

"A gathering for important people, it seems," Edward replied, his eyes sweeping across the people present on the stage. "It seems." He repeated and this time it really sounded insulting.

Aslan turned toward one of the White Knights standing near the back of the stage. The knight still looked bewildered, unsure whether he was witnessing a political disaster or a nightmare.

"Cut the sound," Aslan ordered.

The knight nodded rapidly and hurried away.

Within seconds, the public broadcast changed. The giant screens remained focused on Edward and the women beside him, but the sound from the stage was cut off. More than half a million spectators could still see every expression and movement, yet they could no longer hear a word spoken between the dignitaries.

"Utopian King," Aslan said again, his tone much more controlled now that the public could not hear him. "There may have been some misunderstanding, but what you have done is highly disrespectful. You interrupted an event of worldwide importance and killed what I hope was not an innocent person—"

Aslan froze instantly mid-speech.

"...!"

Reginald reacted fast, turning on his heel with his sword raised. His body shifted between Maria, Aslan, and the source of the voice, ready to intercept an attack.

Yet no attack came.

A woman walked onto the stage from the front stepping the same way Edward had landing from the sky.

She wore a pure black gown with a deep V neckline, tightened at her waist by a dark purple sash. A crimson mist surrounded her, flowing around her body like blood suspended in the air. Her long hair, dark purple with nearly black shades, fell across her shoulders and down her back like silk.

No one moved.

A calm yet terrifying bloodlust spread from her presence. It did not explode outward like rage. It pressed down upon the stage with dreadful quietness, making even experienced veterans feel the instinct to remain still.

She walked forward like a ghost.

Then everyone noticed what she held in one hand.

A head.

She gripped it by the hair. The face wore an expression of pure horror, frozen in its final moment. Blood dripped from the severed neck onto the crimson carpet, leaving darker stains across its surface.

The woman stopped in front of Edward.

Then she casually threw the head onto the ground.

It rolled across the red carpet before coming to a stop.

Several people recoiled in horror, especially Isabel who averted her gaze immediately at the horror.

The woman looked at Edward, her cold expression softening only for him.

"They are all dead, Darling."