I play a Evil God in Otome Game

Norman's sword suddenly cut through dozens of Wargan warriors and advanced through the enemy ranks. The dark purple mana leaking from his body spilled from the sword and exploded, causing a blast.

Norman's armored figure advanced with a ruthless gleam, moving at a speed beyond the human eye's capability to follow. His figure vanished in a flash of brilliance and moved rapidly forward.

"Damn bastard! Die!"

A giant Wargan warrior raised his massive axe and swung it furiously at Norman, but it was too late. In an instant, a sword struck him from his abdomen to his chest, dealing significant damage and knocking the Wargan to the ground.

Carelessly, Norman's gaze shifted toward the Shamans preparing runes in the distance. Then, suddenly, his figure flickered under a purple glow, vanishing.

"He's gone! Everyone, be alert–"

Before a shaman could continue, a sword pierced his stomach, effortlessly lifting him into the air and dropping his lifeless body like a puppet.

"A foolish move. Surrender, and it will be for your benefit." As Norman's figure became clear again, the Shamans glared at him with anger and hatred. "We don't kneel to rats like you!"

"Right! You bastard! We won't surrender to you!"

"Know your place, heretic!"

Hearing the Shamans' furious cries, Norman sighed briefly, his eyes glowing under the axis of power, and he charged again.

The Shamans, with furious shouts, began searching for Norman's figure in the cold winter air, but it was nearly impossible.

Norman's figure was faster than a human could perceive. The Shamans showed some courage for a while, but in the end, Norman, with his overwhelming power, easily defeated and killed them as they deserved.

When the last surviving Shaman fell dead to the ground, Norman paused, his mana calming. Standing in the cold snow, he sighed again and slowly made his way back to the camp.

Having changed positions constantly on the front like a dog for so long, Norman was mentally stressed and exhausted. He hardly had any time left. The commanders appointed by the Church didn't care about his state of mind.

Still, Norman didn't care. His only goal was to destroy the enemy and fulfill his responsibility to his people. Nothing more than that.

As Norman's thoughts faded while approaching the camp, the camp, housing a 10,000-strong Church army, came into view. Despite the Wargans' invasion, this place was an important stronghold at the front of the defense line.

The rear of this camp was a critical trade route highly valued by the Church. Since the war began, this had been the Wargans' primary target.

As he walked through the camp, Norman ignored the fearful gazes of many soldiers. When he spotted a familiar tent, he didn't say a word to the guards and entered without acknowledging them.

Inside the tent, there was an abundance of fine meats and wines. The disgusting smell of raki even disturbed Norman, but that wasn't the most bothersome thing.

Looking at his commander, Norman silently scolded him. Commander Timothy was overweight, appearing as a drunkard. Though noble by title, this man didn't appear noble at all. He had two beautiful women around him.

His face wore a careless, filthy grin. He had a face that could make even the most composed person feel nauseous. His greasy hands and military uniform strained against his bulging body.

This man, who was the personification of disgust, was surprisingly kind. Of course, this kindness was only toward women and his superiors.

"Commander," Norman said, trying to get his attention. Timothy's gaze shifted toward him, and he smiled. "Hey! You finally made it! Did you clean up the trash?"

Norman nodded in approval. "Yes, I killed them all."

"Good job, dog. Now go hunt some more," Timothy said, turning to the women. Norman's brows furrowed, and his face tightened.

As he turned to leave, Timothy suddenly stopped him. Norman turned back, curious to hear what he would say.

A grin appeared on Timothy's face, his gaze slightly lustful. "I heard there are some beauties among the Wargans. I've heard they're quite beautiful. I want to try one of them."

Norman struggled to calm himself, his gaze hardening. Timothy didn't even notice and continued. "Go and bring me one. The guards already know my favorite. Go, dog, and bring me the prettiest one."

Suppressing his anger, Norman turned around and exited the tent. He then spoke to the guard, "The commander wants one of the Wargan prisoners. Choose your favorite and bring them."

The guards simply nodded, and a short time later, they returned, bringing a young male prisoner with his hands, legs, and mouth bound.

Norman glared at the guards. "Are you kidding me? This is a boy, and a child at that."

Norman's eyes shifted to the young boy, whose eyes were filled with anger and fear. The guards trembled with shame and fear, their eyes to the ground. After a moment of silence, one of the guards finally couldn't bear the gaze and spoke.

"The commander likes young men. We're ashamed of this, but there's nothing we can do, Sir," the guard said pitifully. Norman's gaze shifted back to the young man.

He didn't want to take the boy to that disgusting, bloated man, but on the other hand, his loyal dog side told him to carry out the order, no matter what.

For a while, Norman's thoughts wavered, then turned ruthless, and he sighed. An order was an order. Norman couldn't find the strength to object. He grabbed the child by the arm and easily carried him inside.

When he entered the tent, he saw that the women had left. Norman searched inside for Timothy's figure, and after a while, sensing Timothy's arrival, he turned his head.

"Finally, the dog! If you had been any later, I would have whipped you—" Timothy's usual arrogant words suddenly cut off as his gaze shifted to the child, and he licked his lips.

"Hmm, what a young boy..." Seeing Timothy take the young Wargal with a groan of anger, Norman stepped back and turned his head. He couldn't bear to watch.

Timothy's hands slid from the child's shoulders to his back, and occasionally, he made a disgusting sound of admiration. Seeing Timothy take the child toward the bed, Norman clenched his fists.

"Stay there and listen to everything, dog. This will be a reward for you." Timothy forcibly took the child to the bed and disappeared to the other side of the tent.

"You really are a fool, Norman..." Norman muttered, and his gaze shifted to where Timothy had gone. He sighed and closed his eyes.

As the nuns had told him, he wanted to pray to the Goddess to rid himself of these conflicting, rebellious thoughts. After reciting all the prayers he knew for a while, Norman suddenly stopped praying when he heard a noise from the bed and opened his eyes.

"Please! Please let me go! Help me!"

Suddenly, the sound of a slap silenced the cries, and Norman's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword. Reluctantly, he took a step forward, and the sounds rose again.

"Your rebellion only adds to the pleasure, you Wargal infidel. Let me cleanse you of your sins." Hearing Timothy's voice, Norman could no longer endure it and moved to the other side. He drew his sword and pressed it against Timothy's throat.

"Cut it out and act according to your rank," Norman said coldly to Timothy, who lay naked on the bed. Feeling the cold blade on his skin, Timothy was frightened, but his anger was greater.

"You fool! Will you betray the Goddess and us!" Timothy suddenly screamed like a girl as Norman's sword slightly cut his throat. Norman looked at him harshly and mercilessly. "If you continue even a little, I will kill you. I swear they won't even find your corpse."

Timothy hesitated for a second, then slowly retreated and got off the young Wargal. As Norman turned to check if the child was okay, he suddenly winced as a dagger pierced his kidney and grabbed Timothy's arm with a firm grip, ready to break it.

As Timothy collapsed to the ground with a scream of pain, Norman pulled out the dagger indifferently and tossed it aside. "I'm giving you one last chance, Commander. Either surrender or die. Choose one."

Timothy trembled for a moment, holding his crumpled arm. He breathed heavily in anger. His gaze turned to Norman. "You—you will be punished by the Goddess! I swear I will use all my power to destroy you! I—"

Suddenly, Timothy clutched his throat. With a slash, blood spurted out, and Norman looked at him mercilessly. Watching this scene without even blinking, Norman's gaze turned to the trembling and crying young Wargal warrior.

"Don't be afraid, I'm here, and you're okay."

"I—I thank you..." The young Wargal looked at Norman with genuine gratitude. He cried and wiped his tears. Seeing this scene, Norman couldn't help but let a small smile form on his lips.

"Hey! Dog! Why are you grinning like an idiot?"

Hearing Timothy's disgusting voice once more, Norman opened his eyes in surprise and looked at Timothy, who stood before him, unharmed and in good condition.

Timothy was half-naked and looked quite happy. Norman turned his gaze away, hoping what he thought had happened wasn't real.

"Unfortunately, the brat couldn't handle it and died. It's hard to find a Wargal as beautiful as him. Tch tch, not good." Timothy said with disappointment, sitting on the couch and drinking wine as he ordered Norman. "Go and throw the body away. It's useless now."

Norman's eyes trembled. His gaze lingered on Timothy for a moment. Seeing Norman staring at him blankly, Timothy got angry. "Go and get rid of the damn body! Come on, dog!"

Snapping out of his daze, Norman sighed and, wishing for death, went to the bed to dispose of the body.