I opened my eyes to rough thatch and rotting wood beams.

  Morning light leaked through gaps in the walls, gray and weak. The straw mattress had somehow gotten worse overnight, poking new holes in my back that I hadn't noticed before. Everything hurt. My shoulders, my legs, my hands where blisters had formed during yesterday's fighting.

  I stared at the ceiling and let a single question drift through my mind: What the hell was I doing?

  Seriously. What was the point of all this?

  The saber purchase. The dungeon planning. The careful consideration of build optimization and proficiency grinding. I'd woken up in this world… this bizarre, impossible situation where I'd somehow ended up inside a video game… and my brain had just shifted into gamer mode. Autopilot engaged. Start optimizing. Plan your build. Locate unique legendary weapons. Map out the skill trees. Grind experience. Min-max everything.

  I hadn't stopped to think about why.

  What was my actual goal here? What did I want to accomplish with this new life?

  Revenge. Against Gallan vel Sarcova. Against the Academy and their boot-licking administrators. Against all the nobility.

  The silence in the room pressed down on me. No convenient quest markers appeared to tell me where to go. No dialogue options popped up offering clear paths forward.

  Just me, staring at a ceiling, realizing I'd been operating on pure gaming instinct without any actual direction.

  Did I really want to follow Roxam's original path? Take over the Viper Syndicate? To do that, I'd have to kill Angus the Grim. Angus, who'd been nothing but generous to me. Who paid well, who trusted me with important jobs, who offered me rewards and treated me like a valued enforcer. Sure, he was a crime boss. Sure, he ran an organization built on violence and illegal activity. But he'd never been anything other than decent to me.

  And why would I even want to run a criminal syndicate? Because that's what happened in the game? Because it was part of Roxam's character progression?

  Fuck that.

  I didn't have to follow the script. This wasn't a video game anymore; or if it was, I was living inside it, not controlling it from outside. I had free will. Agency. Choice.

  I could quit crime entirely. Become an adventurer. Live a nice, quiet life diving into dungeons, collecting treasure, leveling up without all the murder and gang warfare. The Graves was right there, full of undead to fight. Perfectly acceptable targets. Nobody mourned animated corpses. I could grind skills fighting monsters instead of people.

  Yeah. That sounded better. Peaceful, even. Adventuring had always been the fun part of RPGs anyway. The exploration, the loot, the progression. Not the moral complications of playing a villain who hurt innocent people.

  Except.

  I knew what was coming.

  My stomach tightened as the knowledge settled over me like a burial shroud.

  Marquis Vakke vel Sarcova. One of the most powerful nobles in the entire Kingdom. In Act 3 of Path of Exemplar, players discovered his terrible secret: he'd pledged himself to Maldeth, the Demon King of the Inferno. Made a pact for immortal life in exchange for service. The Marquis would open portals between the mortal world and the Inferno, creating gateways for demonic armies to pour through.

  First, Zenas City would fall. Demons flooding the streets, slaughtering civilians, burning everything. The beautiful architecture reduced to rubble and ash.

  Then the Duchy. The Marrin Islands. Every settlement and town methodically destroyed.

  Finally, the Kingdom itself. The capital besieged. The King killed. The land conquered and transformed into a staging ground for further Infernal expansion.

  The death toll would be catastrophic. Millions dead. Civilization collapsed. Everything burning.

  Could I really just... ignore that? Live my comfortable adventurer life, delving dungeons and selling loot, while I knew that apocalypse was coming?

  Maybe I could flee. Leave the Kingdom entirely, head to the foreign lands beyond its borders. Get as far away as possible before the demon invasion started.

  But Path of Exemplar had taken place entirely within the Kingdom's borders. The other nations and continents were barely mentioned, just names on a map, vague references in lorebook entries. I'd have no idea what to expect there. No knowledge advantage. And there was always the chance that the Infernal invasion wouldn't stop at the Kingdom's borders if nobody opposed it. Demonic armies didn't exactly respect geopolitical boundaries.

  I sighed, the sound loud in the quiet room.

  Screwed. I was absolutely screwed.

  I sat up slowly, my back protesting. Ran my hands through my bald head, feeling the greasy texture. When was the last time I'd bathed? Roxam's memories told me it had been a while. The body didn't seem to mind its own stench, but my transplanted consciousness found it revolting.

  Think. There had to be a way out of this mess. Some alternative path that didn't require me to become a full-on villain but also didn't condemn millions to death.

  Vengeance is all that matters. What happens afterwards doesn't matter.

  I went through Path of Exemplar's storyline in my head, trying to remember every detail.

  Act 1 was essentially a tutorial. Extended introduction phase. The player character, whose default name was Lott Everyman though most people customized it, started at Allstone Academy as a newly admitted student. He had a commoner background wand was accepted on merit. The Academy taught combat, magic, tactics. Nobles and talented commoners learned together, though the social divide remained obvious.

  Most of Act 1 consisted of attending classes, doing side quests, exploring Zenas City, making friends. Building your party. The main story didn't really kick off until the kidnapping attempt.

  Genieve vel Sarcova. Gallan's twelve-year-old daughter. She was a spoiled noble brat who looked down on commoners with open contempt. In the game, Roxam's goons tried to kidnap her, as revenge against Gallan by proxy, hurting his family. The player character intervened, fought off the kidnappers, rescued Genieve.

  She responded to being saved by insulting her rescuer's common blood. Complained about how roughly she'd been handled during the fight. Demanded compensation for her emotional distress.

  Players hated her. Forums full of people wishing they could throw her back to the kidnappers.

  But her safe return marked the player's first real encounter with Skullface Roxam and the Viper Syndicate. After that, they became recurring antagonists. The player thwarted Syndicate operations throughout Act 1. Smuggling rings broken up. Protection rackets dismantled. Gambling dens raided.

  Each encounter escalated. Small-time thugs at first, then lieutenants, then Roxam's elite enforcers.

  All of it built toward the docks confrontation.

  The player and their party, usually four or five members by that point depending on who you'd recruited, cornered Roxam at the waterfront. They thought they had him. Thought they were ready.

  They weren't.

  The cinematic that played showed Roxam absolutely destroying them. Effortless, brutal efficiency. He cut through the player's party like they were made of paper, demonstrating the massive level gap. The fight was unwinnable by design, a scripted loss to establish Roxam as a serious threat.

  Only the arrival of city guards saved the player from death. Roxam swore he'd kill them all next time, then vanished into the night.

  It was a great villain moment. Roxam looked dangerous, competent, genuinely menacing. Players knew they'd have to get much stronger before facing him again.

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  Throughout the rest of Act 1, the conflict continued. More Syndicate plots, more confrontations. The player grew stronger, gained levels, acquired better equipment. Built up their party.

  Everything culminated in Roxam's attack on Allstone Academy.

  The villain's grand revenge scheme. He'd spent years planning it, gathering resources, recruiting fighters. Now he would strike at the heart of the institution that had failed him. Kill not just Gallan's children, but all the noble children. Make the Academy burn. Make them pay for the injustice he'd suffered.

  It was during the Academy Tournament, a grand event where students competed in combat trials while wealthy parents and nobles watched from the stands. Perfect target. Maximum casualties.

  Roxam's forces assaulted the Academy grounds. Chaos erupted. Students fighting for their lives. Faculty trying to protect them. City guards rushing to respond.

  The player and their party fought their way through Syndicate enforcers to confront Roxam directly. By now they were strong enough. Close enough in level.

  The boss fight was legendary. Multiple phases, unique mechanics, awesome music. One of the best fights in the game.

  At the end, players had three options:

  Kill Roxam. Permanent death, he's gone from the story.

  Capture Roxam. He gets imprisoned, shows up briefly in Act 3.

  Let Roxam escape. This triggered a special questline in Act 2 where Roxam could become a temporary party member. The "redemption arc" route that a lot of players loved.

  Regardless of which option you chose, the attack on the Academy served as Act 1's conclusion. After the dust settled, the player and their classmates were sent on a mission to the Marrin Islands as part of their advanced training. That transition launched Act 2, introducing a whole new setting and antagonist.

  The Duchess. The beautiful, deadly pirate queen who controlled the Marrin Islands through a combination of charm, ruthlessness, and powerful magic. Act 2's villain, and many a players' favorite.

  I rubbed my face, feeling the ruined skin under my fingers. The missing nose, the scar tissue, the skull-like appearance.

  The problem was obvious.

  Without Roxam playing his role, the entire story fell apart.

  If I wasn't there to be the Act 1 villain, what would motivate the player character to get stronger? Lott Everyman, or whoever the player created, needed that antagonist. Needed those escalating confrontations. Needed the docks beatdown to understand how much further they had to grow. Needed the Academy attack to prove they'd finally reached Roxam's level.

  Without that progression, the player would be unprepared for Act 2. The Duchess and her pirate crew would crush them. They wouldn't have the skills, the equipment, the experience necessary to survive.

  And if they failed in Act 2, they'd never reach Act 3.

  Which meant they wouldn't be there to stop Marquis Sarcova.

  Which meant the Infernal invasion would succeed.

  I was trapped. The game's narrative structure required me to be the villain. To terrorize the city, kidnap nobles, attack the Academy. If I didn't, the hero wouldn't be strong enough to save the world.

  "Goddammit," I muttered.

  This was worse than a railroaded plot in a bad tabletop campaign. At least there you could argue with the GM, try to find creative solutions. Here, the consequences of deviating from the script would be measured in millions of lives.

  I stood up, began pacing the small room. Three steps, turn. Three steps, turn.

  There had to be another way. Some alternative I wasn't seeing.

  What if I helped train the player character directly? Became their mentor instead of their enemy? Guided them to get stronger without all the violent conflict?

  Would that actually work, though? In the game, the players and their group got as strong as they did through actual battle. No-holds-barred fighting. Life and death situations. That was far different from simple training and sparring.

  What if I warned people about Marquis Sarcova directly? Exposed his demonic pact before Act 3 started?

  Right. Like anyone would believe the disfigured criminal. "Excuse me, city guard, I have information that one of the most powerful nobles in the Kingdom is secretly working with the Demon King of the Inferno. My evidence? I just know, trust me, bro."

  They'd laugh me out of the room. Or arrest me for slander against nobility. Possibly execute me.

  Even if I somehow convinced someone to investigate, Sarcova was careful. Paranoid. He wouldn't leave evidence of his pact lying around where authorities could find it. In the game, players only discovered the truth through elaborate detective work across multiple Acts, piecing together clues that wouldn't make sense until much later.

  I couldn't just skip to the end. The proof didn't exist yet.

  My pacing grew faster. The walls felt like they were closing in.

  Maybe I could alter Roxam's plans? Still be the villain, but make sure nobody actually died during the Academy attack? Stage everything so the threat was real but the casualties were minimized?

  That might work, except... how? Roxam's forces needed to seem genuinely dangerous for the player to take the threat seriously. And combat was unpredictable. Once swords started swinging, people died. I couldn't guarantee everyone's safety in the chaos of a real battle.

  Plus, Roxam's character motivation demanded maximum revenge. He wanted noble blood spilled. Wanted Gallan's children dead. Wanted the Academy destroyed. If I pulled my punches too obviously, it would break character. The player might notice something was wrong.

  I stopped pacing, leaned against the wall, and closed my eyes.

  The truth settled over me like a heavy cloak: I was going to have to play the villain. Really play it. Become Skullface Roxam in full, carry out his plans, attack the Academy, put children in danger.

  Become the monster everyone already thought I was.

  The alternative was letting the world burn.

  My hands clenched into fists. The blisters on my palms stung.

  You can't do anything else. Stay the course. Get me my vengeance.

  I ate a breakfast plate of eggs and greasy bacon at the tavern downstairs, keeping my hood up over my head as I worked through the meal. The eggs were overcooked, the bacon swimming in grease that soaked into the stale bread beneath. Nobody bothered me. The usual patrons gave my table a wide berth, conversations dying whenever I shifted in my seat.

  When I finished, I got up and headed for the front door.

  Piggy stood there, thick arms crossed over his barrel chest, guarding the entrance like always. His actual name was probably something normal, like Marcus or William or John, but everyone called him Piggy because of his upturned nose and small, beady eyes.

  "Roxam." He nodded at me.

  "I'll be gone for a few days."

  His brow furrowed. "What? Where you headed?"

  I ignored the question, brushing past him into the morning streets of Western Zenas. The door closed behind me, cutting off whatever else he wanted to say.

  The sky hung gray overhead, threatening rain. Puddles from last night's downpour made the muddy streets even worse, the puddles reflecting the cramped buildings that leaned over the narrow streets.

  I'd decided. With no other plan available, I would keep doing what I was doing: getting my build crafted, getting stronger. That meant heading to the Graves dungeon to level up and visiting the Shrine to Xiatas afterward to unlock my subclass.

  But first thing was first.

  I needed to know what the date was.

  The realization hit me that I'd been stumbling through this world blind, with no idea where I stood in the timeline. For all I knew, the game's events were starting next week. I could be days away from the player character's introduction, completely unprepared for my role.

  I tried to find a newspaper stand or some other type of information hub. In Eastern Zenas, they'd be everywhere; vendors on street corners hawking the daily broadsheets, bulletin boards posting official announcements, town criers spreading news to the illiterate masses.

  Here in the slums? Nothing.

  I walked three blocks without seeing anything resembling organized information distribution. Just beggars, street vendors selling questionable meat on sticks, and the occasional prostitute propositioning passersby from doorways.

  Annoyance prickled up my spine. How hard was it to find out the goddamn date?

  Finally, I decided to just ask someone.

  Of course, I had to stay in character as I did so.

  I reached out to the crowd moving past me and grabbed a random passerby. This one was a man in a dirty frock coat and glasses. He looked knowledgeable. Maybe a clerk or accountant, someone who dealt with paperwork and would know dates.

  His head snapped toward me as my hand clamped around his upper arm.

  I leaned in, bringing my bandana-covered face close to his. My white eyes locked onto his own, which were widening in terror behind those smudged lenses.

  "What's today's date?"

  "F-February..." He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "February thirty-first."

  Wait. Thirty-first? February didn't have…

  Right. Different world. Different calendar system. The game had mentioned this in some of the background lore I'd skimmed. Every month had thirty-one days here. Cleaner mathematics for a civilization that hadn't developed complex astronomy yet.

  "The year."

  "Y-year?"

  I narrowed my eyes, letting silence do the work. My grip on his arm tightened just enough to make the point.

  "1915!" The word burst out of him like he was confessing to murder. "It's 1915, sir! I swear it!"

  I let him go.

  He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet. I almost screwed up, almost said "Thank you" out of pure habit from my old life. Caught myself at the last second. Roxam wouldn't thank some terrified nobody for basic information.

  The man rushed away, practically running, his whimpering audible even as he disappeared into the crowd.

  I stood there, processing.

  February 1915.

  Path of Exemplar's story events started in September of 1918. That was when the player character, whether they went with the default Lott Everyman or created someone custom, got admitted into Allstone Academy as a special scholarship student. The commoner who would rise to save the kingdom.

  Three and a half years.

  I had three and a half years to get ready.

  The timeline stretched before me, suddenly manageable. No frantic rushing to hit plot beats I wasn't prepared for. No immediate crisis forcing me into premature confrontations. Just... time. Glorious, abundant time to prepare.

  Three years to master my build. To reach the level cap for Act 1 villains, which if I remembered correctly was around level 40. To unlock subclasses, acquire unique equipment, learn the combat skills that would make me dangerous enough to threaten an entire academy of trained fighters.

  Three years to establish the Venom Syndicate. To eliminate Angus, consolidate power, recruit the key NPCs who would serve as my lieutenants during the Academy raid. Grimes the Poisoner, who could disable the Academy's magical wards. Red Anna, whose information network would reveal guard patrol patterns. Torvin Blackknife, the weapons expert who'd breach the armory.

  Three years to build my reputation. To become the terror of Western Zenas, the name that made nobles clutch their pearls and guards patrol in larger groups. To create the legend of Skullface Roxam, so when I finally struck at Allstone Academy, everyone would understand this wasn't some random criminal. This was the criminal. The monster they'd whispered about for years.

  I'd make every second count.

  My hand drifted to the saber at my hip, fingers curling around the wrapped grip. The weight felt good. Felt right.

  The Graves waited. Undead to slaughter, experience to earn, skills to perfect.

  Also on the schedule was visiting the Shrine to Xiatas. In the game lore, Xiatas was the cursed goddess of vengeance and dark contracts. Her blessing would unlock the numerous "dark" subclasses, and I had one particular class in mind. Gaining it would transform my Duelist foundation into something far more dangerous.

  I started walking, heading toward the northern edge of Western Zenas where the old cemetery sprawled.

  Three years seemed like forever, but for me, it felt like barely enough time at all.