I Am The Game's Villain

397  Dinner At Zestel

"You wished to speak with me?" I asked, my voice neutral.

I stood inside a modest guest room within the grand Zestel Royal Palace. The room, though simple, bore a certain rugged charm, much like its usual occupant—Randor Ironbeard. The walls were lined with dark wooden panels, and the furniture was sturdy, built to last rather than impress. A large, heavy table dominated the center of the room, flanked by two solid chairs that looked like they had weathered many years, perhaps even as many as Randor himself.

After my conversation with Melfina, I made my way here, knowing that Randor had requested to speak with me about something of apparent importance.

Randor nodded slightly, his expression a mix of gratitude and lingering regret. "First of all, let me thank you for saving me," he began, his voice gruff, yet tinged with a rare vulnerability.

"You are welcome," I replied, my tone measured, offering little more than a courteous acknowledgment.

Randor's lips curled into a bitter smile. "You're right, you know. I've been a coward. A coward for all these long years, and because of that cowardice, Sara is dead… and Celeste, well, she nearly met the same fate." n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

He paused, his gaze dropping to the worn wooden floor as if the memories themselves were too heavy to bear. Though I hadn't said as much out loud, it seemed his guilt had already passed judgment on him. If that guilt could spur him into crafting the weapon I needed, I was more than willing to let him unburden himself.

After a moment of silence, Randor lifted his eyes, a new resolve gleaming within them. "But after witnessing what has happened, I've made a choice. I will no longer run away from my responsibilities…"

His voice hardened, and his eyes narrowed slightly. "However, that doesn't mean I'll simply hand over everything you ask for."

I felt a flicker of irritation rise within me. Had he summoned me here just to refuse my request? The thought was irksome, to say the least.

But then, as if sensing my growing impatience, Randor continued, "I will make you a weapon. But only one weapon."

At this, my lips curved into a smile, a mix of satisfaction and triumph. That was all I needed.

"That's exactly what I asked for," I replied, my voice laced with a hint of satisfaction as I reached into my ring and retrieved a stack of papers. I handed the carefully prepared documents to Randor, watching as his brows furrowed in surprise.

"All the necessary information is there," I explained, "The specifications, capabilities, and other details about the kind of weapon I want."

Randor's eyes widened slightly as he began to flip through the pages, absorbing the detailed plans I had meticulously outlined. His expression shifted from shock to grudging admiration.

"You've really thought this through…" He muttered, more to himself than to me.

"Well, of course," I replied, a touch of impatience creeping into my voice. "It would be ideal if you could complete it before the war breaks out."

Randor grimaced, clearly not appreciating the pressure. "Who do you think I am? If you want a weapon of true quality, you'll need to be patient."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just saying it would be good to have it ready before the war begins."

Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and a soft, yet clear voice cut through . "My Lords."

I turned to see a familiar figure standing in the doorway. It was Lera, Celeste's personal maid. She had always carried herself with a quiet grace, her presence calming and reassuring. Today, she seemed no different, her demeanor polite yet purposeful.

"My apologies for the interruption, but the Princess has invited both of you to join her for dinner," Lera announced, her voice respectful.

"Right," I replied, rising from my chair, and Randor followed suit.

I had already informed Christina that I would be staying at the palace for the night. I had also briefly explained the details of the attack to her, knowing she would be worried. Despite her concerns, I reassured her swiftly—she had enough on her plate without additional troubles to weigh her down.

"It's been a while, Lera," Randor greeted the maid with a small, genuine smile, a rare sight from the usually gruff man.

"Indeed, Lord Randor," Lera replied with a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that suggested she was more than just a servant in this grand palace.

"You don't have to call me that, it feels too strange—even for me," Randor chuckled, his laughter deep, as he tried to wave off the formalities.

"I'm afraid I must, Lord Randor," Lera responded with a warm smile, her tone respectful. "You are still an esteemed guest, one whom Queen Sara herself took into her care."

Randor shook his head, his expression softening as he looked at her. "Does that really make a difference? I've always considered everyone here as my own, like family," he said.

I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at their exchange, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "Excuse me for a moment," I interrupted, my voice cutting through their friendly conversation. "Do I need to pretend I don't notice the obvious flirting going on here? Especially you, old man—can't you see she's not interested in you?"

"..."

"..."

A heavy silence fell between us.

Randor glared daggers at me, his face flushed with embarrassment, while Lera continued to walk ahead, her expression carefully neutral, though I thought I caught the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes.

"This brat…" Randor grumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed. "Maybe I shouldn't bother making you that weapon after all."

[<Speaking as if you weren't dense at all, wow, Amael. You started off strong but failed miserably at the end. The maid clearly appreciates him a lot.>]

'No way,' I thought, shaking my head in disbelief. I considered myself something of an expert in matters of romance, especially after all the time I'd spent immersed in that game. Cleenah wasn't going to fool me that easily.

Just then, as we stepped into the grand dining hall, a familiar voice greeted us. "Finally! You took your time," Celeste called out, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she gave us an exaggerated look of impatience.

She was dressed in a casual yet elegant ensemble—a flowing blue skirt paired with a crisp white top that perfectly complemented her figure. The outfit brought out the fairness of her skin and accentuated the striking contrast of her white hair, now tied back in a neat ponytail. Her hair, once streaked with blue, was now completely white, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly beauty.

"Did you plan some kind of show for us?" I shrugged as I took a seat at the table. "I don't think the old man's interested in any of that. Just let him spend some time with your maid, and he'll be just fine."

Randor's face turned an even deeper shade of red as he shot me a mortified glare. "You brat!" he sputtered, clearly flustered.

Celeste, however, grinned, clearly enjoying Randor's discomfort. "Come on, Uncle Ran. I can even arrange for Lera to take a few days off if you'd like," she added mischievously.

Lera, caught off guard by the sudden turn of the conversation, quickly shook her head, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I–It's not necessary, Princess!" She stammered, clearly flustered by the suggestion, much to Randor's obvious disappointment.

As if on cue, the maids began to serve the evening's meal, the aroma of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filling the air. The table was laid out with an array of dishes, each more appetizing than the last.

"Why don't you invite Annabelle to join us? There's more than enough for everyone," Celeste suggested casually as she began to serve herself.

"Anna, huh…" I murmured, my tone turning somber. "She's not feeling well." The words came out more bitterly than I intended.

Annabelle, as my banshee, had always been deeply connected to my emotions. As such she had been subjected to the intense, overwhelming feelings I experienced under 'her' influence. It was only for a short time, but the strain it put on Annabelle had been clear. When I saw her earlier, she was barely able to stand, so I insisted she rest.

Guilt gnawed at me. I needed to find a way to help her, to get her a proper body before things escalated even further.

"Oh, I see," Celeste said softly, her expression shifting to one of understanding. She didn't press the issue further.

As I began to indulge in the succulent roasted drumsticks, I glanced around the table, noting the absence of familiar faces. "Where are your brother and father? I was pretty sure they'd be here, given that I'm around. You know, to protect you from any potential male threats," I added with a playful scoff.

Celeste grimaced slightly before a smile tugged at her lips. She brought her fork to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before answering. "They're not here today. Thanks to someone who caused quite a bit of chaos in Zestel again, they've been extremely busy. And yes, they're quite angry, by the way."

"R–Right," I stammered, feeling a bit awkward as I resumed eating, suddenly very interested in my plate.

Celeste watched me with a knowing grin, her head resting on her hand as she observed my every move. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something else there too—something that made the air feel just a bit heavier.

It was getting weird.

"How about you focus on eating instead of trying to get a reaction out of me?" I suggested, forcing a smile.

"Oh, I've already eaten," Celeste replied with a nonchalant shrug.

"Already?" I asked, my gaze flicking to her plate. It was nearly untouched.

Wait… Don't tell me she actually took my teasing words to heart and started a diet?

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees as a tense silence settled over us. Celeste was still smiling, but there was a coldness in her eyes that hadn't been there before—a look that sent a chill down my spine.

No way… Could she really read my mind?