I Am The Game's Villain

"Alvara…" I called her name.

Unsurprisingly, there was no response.

Her disheveled hair cascaded over her face, hiding her expression, but I could guess what kind of torment was etched there. Even without seeing her eyes, the trembling in her shoulders and the way her hands clenched tightly against her knees told me everything I needed to know.

At least she hadn't completely lost control—yet. Thank God for that. Bryelle was still alive and Alvara herself seemed physically unharmed. Still, her utterly paralyzed flow vessels was a different matter. It must have left her feeling helpless, a condition she despised above all else.

That damned Sin of Sloth.

Its oppressive effects had nearly overwhelmed even me, and I only managed to resist thanks to my own Sin of Wrath, which absorbed the brunt of its attack. But Alvara wasn't as fortunate. The unfairness of these Sins was quite a cheat.

I sighed, glancing down at her trembling fists. What should I do? I couldn't just walk away, not after witnessing this. She needed someone to pull her back from the edge—for her own sake and for everyone else's.

Lowering myself onto one knee, I studied her closer. Blood smeared her knuckles, which were split open and raw. Normally, she could heal such wounds with ease, but with her mana paralyzed, she might as well have been a powerless mortal. She needed a more traditional approach to treatment.

"Damn it…" I muttered under my breath, reaching out to take her hand.

-Slap!

Her hand shot out, smacking mine away before I could touch her.

"That hurts, you know," I said with a frown.

She didn't respond.

"It's not good to leave your hands in this state," I continued, pulling out a healing vial from my pouch.

Still, she showed no intention of cooperating. Her posture remained rigid, and her head stayed bowed, her hair shielding her face like a curtain.

I uncorked the vial, intent on tending to her wounds despite her protests. But the moment I reached for her hand again—

-Slap!

Her hand struck mine once more, this time knocking the vial from my grasp. It shattered against the ground, the precious liquid spilling uselessly across the dirt.

"Don't touch me!" She glared at me hatefully.

When her head finally lifted, her golden eyes glowed fiercely, filled with rage and anguish. Her expression was a twisted mask of darkness, one I had seen before. It reminded me of how she had looked in the Game—right before she started slaughtering for pleasure.

I frowned, suppressing the irritation bubbling within me. "Oi, I'm trying to treat your wounds here. Don't take your anger at that bastard Durathiel out on me."

Her glare didn't change though, but I refused to back down. Instead, I retrieved another vial from my pouch, ignoring the sharpness in her gaze.

I reached for her hand once more, and as expected, she moved to slap me again. This time, I caught her wrist mid-motion.

"This is my last one!" I snapped as I glared at her. "I won't let you waste it."

The annoyance in my tone seemed to startle her, though her golden eyes burned back. I clenched my teeth, recalling how many healing vials I had already burned through on the journey to Valachia. This was it—the very last one. I had to refill myself.

Alvara tried to wriggle her wrist free from my grasp, but in her current state, her strength was a shadow of what it should have been. It was a futile effort.

"Look," I said, lifting my other hand to show her the slim, white gloves I was wearing. "I'm not even touching you. Enough already with the princess routine."

Her thrashing diminished at that, her movements slowing as the sight of the gloves seemed to calm her. It stung a little—how much that small detail mattered to her—but I pushed the thought aside. Now wasn't the time.

Gently, I placed her delicate, bloodied hand in my gloved palm. Her skin was cold to the touch. I spilled a bit of the liquid onto a fresh cloth, then began dabbing at the torn flesh, carefully cleaning away the grime and impurities.

"Ughn…" A faint groan escaped her lips, almost imperceptible, but it didn't escape my notice.

Was she always this vulnerable?

The Sin of Sloth's influence was insidious, even undermining the natural defenses she had possessed since birth. Just what kind of power was this, that it could strip her of even that?

I pushed the thought aside and continued my work. Slowly and methodically, I cleaned her hand, ensuring every wound was free from infection. When her knuckles and fingers began to resemble their original form—save for the lingering redness—I reached for a roll of bandages. Carefully, I wrapped her hand with delicate precision.

I could only thank Edryn for drilling the art of traditional wound treatment into me. Countless times, I had patched up the Blood Elves after battle, learning to treat injuries with little more than rudimentary supplies. I was practically an expert by now.

Once her right hand was securely bandaged, I repeated the process on her left, applying the same care.

"Done," I said after a minute, rising to my feet.

Alvara remained seated, her gaze fixed on the ground. Slowly, she began to flex her fingers, testing their movement.

"Oi, don't," I warned, placing my hand lightly over hers. "Let them rest," I added, my tone serious.

Her golden eyes lifted to meet mine, the animosity within them dimmed but not entirely gone. There was still hatred there, but it had softened.

Then something struck me. I could see it now—the lingering traces of Sloth within her, like faint, silver particles clinging to her essence.

Wait… could I destroy them with my Wrath?

The thought ignited within me.

Sitting cross-legged in front of her, I took her hand again and closed my eyes. I focused inward, drawing on the fiery energy of my own Sin. The particles of Sloth came into view, clearer and more distinct with each passing second.

I could see them now. And maybe—just maybe—I could burn them away.

I had trained extensively in controlling my Wrath, but this task required an entirely different level of precision. It wasn't just about wielding raw power—I had to channel it with meticulous care, shaping it particle by particle. This was going to be hard.

Releasing minuscule fragments of my Wrath, I directed them through Alvara's hand, allowing them to course through her body. Each fragment moved seeking out and clashing with the particles of Sloth that clung to her essence.

Alvara likely couldn't feel a thing, but I could. It was like a high-stakes game, chasing the faint white specks of Sloth with the raging purple tendrils of Wrath. The challenge lay in reigning in the natural ferocity of my power—ensuring that it destroyed only what it was meant to, without harming her fragile state in the process.

The effort was honestly quite grueling. Five long minutes passed, each second draining my stamina further. By the time I finally stopped, I was left gasping for air, my body trembling from exertion.

But it had worked.

I opened my eyes, wiping the sweat from my brow with a shaky hand. The Sloth's influence wasn't entirely gone, but I had made progress. The faint particles of Wrath lingering in Alvara's system would continue to combat the affliction, bit by bit.

I smiled faintly, flexing my fingers. Even through the exhaustion, I could feel the improvement in my control. This wasn't just helping her—it was refining my own mastery over Wrath.

"Give me a week," I said, standing up and steadying myself. "I'll get rid of the Sloth's affliction."

Alvara raised her gaze to meet mine, clearly not believing me at all.

"I'm sure you already feel a little better," I added. "But I need a week."

I wiped the remaining sweat off my forehead with my sleeve, glancing at her bandaged hands. She didn't reply, but the faint flicker of doubt in her expression suggested she wasn't entirely dismissing my words.

[<Weren't you planning to immediately release your mother using my idea?>]

Cleenah asked, reminding me.
Your next read is at My Virtual Library Empire

I let out a heavy sigh, resting my hands on my hips.

'Just a week, Cleenah. I can't let this girl shatter herself. After coming this far, letting her fall apart would be a monumental waste.'

[<Well, I'm not opposed. Spending more time with Freyja to gain her trust might actually enhance our chances. She'll be more vulnerable when the time comes.>]

'Right...' I replied, though my thoughts were less certain. What exactly was I supposed to do to earn Freyja's trust anyway?

I had no intention of playing the obedient lapdog. That much was certain.

I turned back to Alvara, who was sitting stiffly, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she barely restrained herself from glaring at me. Her golden eyes glimmered beneath her lowered lashes.

Anger and hatred turned toward everyone else around her including me

I grimaced, letting out a deep sigh.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I said. "We'll make more progress in erasing Sloth's influence from you. You don't need to know how—it's something I can handle. Just stay calm, and for God's sake, don't go punching walls again."

Her head dipped lower, her face hidden beneath a curtain of disheveled hair. She didn't respond. Not that I expected her to.

I glanced around the room, surveying the damage. Cracks spiderwebbed across the walls, and fragments of debris littered the floor. The place was a chaotic mess.

"You should ask them to move you to another room," I said, crossing my arms. "Or better yet, clean this one up yourself. Leaving it like this isn't helping. A neat space might do you some good."

The words came out harsher than intended, but I wasn't wrong. A space like this would only amplify her mental strain.

Her silence was deafening, but I didn't push for an answer. I had done what I could for now, and that would have to suffice.

With a final glance at her hunched figure, I turned and left the room. The heavy door groaned as it swung shut behind me.

At least I had bought her some time—an excuse not to snap immediately. That was progress, however small.