Redemption Arc

Stories

### Chapter 1: 1 New Game

Lord Lucian Villamar. A handsome man with long gray hair, sharp yellow eyes, and a half-smile that dripped with languid superiority and condescension. He looked impressive. Looked like a major villain, maybe—the kind that killed the protagonist’s parents, then kept showing up again and again to torment him until the final confrontation. He most definitely wasn’t. Call it subversion, call it wasted potential, but the bottom line was that Lord Lucian Villamar was a nobody. Maybe that was where Lucas’ sympathy rested.

“I'm gonna see this smug bastard’s face in my dreams…” Lucas muttered, kneading his forehead.

He’d spent at least eight hundred hours of his life dedicated to Lucian. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate—he’d spent it playing War of Four , a turn-based strategy RPG from a small indie studio. He had bought the game on a whim, but the characters were surprisingly good, the story was solid if a bit generic, and it had a lot of small choices that branched paths. The gameplay, though… it was ruthless, yet fair. There was always a cause to the effect—something that could be tweaked to fix the mistake.

Once Lucas had beaten it once, he replayed it thrice to side with the other three factions. Eventually, he started up with speedruns: trying to beat the game as fast as possible. When he got bored of that, he did challenge runs: trying to beat the game with certain limitations, or under certain conditions. There was nothing quite so satisfying as a grand plan coming together to overcome insurmountable odds.

Lucas never expected to get so absorbed in this playthrough in particular.

Lord Lucian Villamar was, frankly, god awful. Even though he was technically an ally, the player couldn’t control him directly. He was intended to be nothing more than the tutorial to explain death to the player. His stats were rock-bottom, his growth rates were abysmal, his elemental affinities were all lackluster with the exception of dark, his proficiency with weapons was non-existent, and on top of all that, he would blindly rush in and attack without any sense of self-preservation. It was like he wanted to die.

But if the player played their cards right, he could survive. Not just one or two battles, either—he could survive the whole game . Lucas had fought and scratched and clawed his way through hell to make it through War of Four while keeping Lucian alive. He was only intending to do one or two battles after he read about someone discovering some unique dialogue on a forum—but now, a wasted lifetime later, he was at the final boss.

The consequence of War of Four being a small indie game was that there wasn’t much documentation. He had to find out firsthand that Lucian didn’t just have unique dialogue after the first chapter—Lucian had unique dialogue through the full game. He was a shameless, self-assured spoiled brat with no sense of how useless he was, but Lucas found him endearing all the same. Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome.

Everyone else seemed to hate him, in-game or otherwise. With good reason, granted—Lucian was quite petty and spiteful; the archetypal coddled rich kid. If the player wanted to prevent his death, they had to forego recruiting a lot of allies. A lot of people wanted to kill Lucian to settle old grievances. Still, Lucas just couldn’t bring himself to hate the guy. He was such an awful person it looped around to being funny again.

“I just need him to survive one attack,” Lucas muttered. He’d gotten so angry he was talking to himself—last time that’d happened, he’d gotten a complaint from his neighbors. “One round . ”

This wasn’t even a hardcore run—he could always reload a save. The problem was that he couldn’t defeat the final boss fast enough to prevent Lucian from taking a hit. The main character—the avatar, who he uncreatively named Lucas—was beefed up with everything imaginable. Every stat-boosting item, every secret perk, every hidden item, had gone to buff the main character so that he could carry Lucian through.

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It just wasn’t enough to make it past this.

Lucas stared at the ‘end turn’ button, dreading this. He’d already done this fight enough to lose his mind. The end result was always the same. Lucas couldn’t kill the boss in one round. Consequently, the boss did his big AOE attack, which hit everyone. Lucian evaporated.

“…I need a build with more attack,” Lucas said with dread.

He hunched over his desk and bumped his forehead against it repeatedly, groaning. He tried to think of some ways he could raise Lucian’s defense, or increase his character’s attack further. But… bupkis. All the consumables, all the temporary buffs he could imagine were activated. His brain was blanking. He had already reloaded some older saves to tweak his stats a little bit before arriving here, but the fact was he couldn’t do it. None of his saves went back far enough to make his build strong enough.

Lucas took his mouse over to the ‘end turn’ button, and clicked it. The turn switched over to the enemy. The First Emperor displayed his attack’s cutscene—raising an orb of fire up into the air elegantly, before slamming shut his fist and sending fire cascading out across the map. Lucas watched with one last flicker of hope as the fire spread out. It hit his character, dealing 0 damage. When it came to Lucian…

97

Lucas blew air out of his mouth and sunk back into his chair. Considering Lucian had 10 health, that was 87 too much damage. Lucian’s portrait appeared on screen, alongside his death quote.

“No…! How could they possibly… win… without me?” Lucian said, and then faded off the map.

Lucas tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling in despair. When he saw light, he turned around to look at the window. “It’s morning already? God…”

Lucas hit Esc, then clicked ‘Return to Title.’ He checked on his saves, scrolling through them. The furthest save back… he’d already loaded that once before, two days ago. He couldn’t fix it.

Lucian grabbed the small book at his side. He flipped through the pages, looking for something that he could do differently. He always liked to keep handmade notes when he was planning out a build. People always told him just to use a text file, but he liked to have a physical book. It helped that he had solid handwriting—his one talent. Writing stuff down helped him remember all the intricacies of the game.

After a long while of scanning his notebook…

I can’t salvage this save, Lucas accepted.

Lucian went back, then clicked ‘New Game.’ He stopped just before hitting confirm.

“The hell is wrong with me…?” Lucas asked, alt-tabbing to look at the clock. “Work in 3 hours… idiot… gonna catch hell for this…”

Lucas stood up from his chair, went and brushed his teeth, and then crawled into his bed. After setting his alarm, he flopped on his back and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t realize how tired he was until he laid down. In the distance, he could still see his computer. He forgot to turn it off. He couldn’t be bothered, now.

Think I’m done with Lucian, Lucas thought, staring at the ‘New Game’ confirmation panel. Wasted half a century on that prick. What am I even doing this for? Bragging rights? Game’s got maybe a thousand active players, tops.

Lucas sighed.

Lucian’s beyond saving.

As he came to that conclusion, Lucas started to drift off. Before long his breathing slowed as sleep claimed him. The monitor was still shining brightly in the room, the mouse’s cursor hovering just over the ‘Confirm’ button on starting a new game. After a while… though the mouse hadn’t clicked, the prompt disappeared. A black screen took its place, three words across it.

Starting new game.

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### Chapter 2: 2 The Challenge Run

“Lord Lucian?” A voice called out from behind the elegantly carved mahogany.

When he heard the voice, Lucian couldn’t help but curl inward. He didn’t want to respond to it. He wanted all of this to go away. But after three days, nothing had changed. Not one thing. He wasn’t Lucian. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. But when he tried to think of his own name… nothing else came to mind.

“Lord Lucian, may I enter?” came the voice once more. “If you stay silent, I’ll take it as a yes.”

After a few moments of silence, the doorknob turned and the door opened up. The old man that entered looked around the room in alarm. Countless things were broken, and the room was generally in a state of chaos.

“Lord Lucian…” the old man walked up, stepping over the junk on the floor.

Lucian looked up at him. His spectacled face, his neatly combed hair, his glorious moustache… he recognized this man from War of Four , though he’d only seen him once . Lucian had often talked about him in his dialogue. This was Lucian’s private butler. He took a seat on the bed, not far from where Lucian curled up.

“Could you at least tell me what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this,” Walter said, with what seemed to be genuine concern.

Lucian looked at him in total torment. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to explain that he’d been trapped here for three days. He wanted to explain that what he thought was a fiction had become a reality. He wanted to tell this kind old man who seemed concerned that Lucian wasn’t his name, but he found himself already forgetting what his name actually was. Had his name been Lucian? Something about it seemed wrong, but as the days passed, it felt more and more ordinary to respond to it.

Three days ago, he had woken up as Lucian Villamar. And no matter how he raged, acted out, or denied reality, nothing changed. And worst of all, he couldn’t talk about it. Whenever Lucian tried to open his mouth and explain what was happening, it felt like he was being choked. Something was preventing him from confessing his situation. He was in an entirely new world with no one to confide in.

“Since you seem resistant to my help… I’ve taken the liberty to invite your brother-in-law over,” Walter said, rising back to his feet. “My hope is that he can help you.”

“What?” Lucian looked at him in alarm.

“Perhaps Duke Metterand can better speak to your troubles,” Walter said, all his earlier warmth gone. “I believe he can help you understand your situation better than I ever could.”

Lucian’s blood ran cold hearing that, and ran colder still when someone appeared in the doorframe to his room. He immediately rose to his feet, wearing nothing but a silken purple robe. Duke Clemens Metterand stood there.

“Brother…” he said, his voice like honey. He looked around the room, but his eyes stopped on Lucian. “What a state.”

Duke Clemens Metterand, the midboss of the War of Four, walked toward Lucian. Most called him ‘Metterand’ rather than his first name. He was a handsome white man with brown hair, but he possessed only one extraordinary feature. His eyes were white and clouded as if they were blind. He most certainly wasn’t. Metterand decorated himself in incredibly ostentatious garb, often wearing white decorated with vibrant colors to contrast. Today wasn’t an exception.

“Your Grace,” Lucian answered, keeping his voice steady. He stood a fair bit taller than Metterand, but felt small in front of those lifeless eyes.

Metterand tsked. “You’re my brother-in-law. Dispense with the formalities.” Walter left as Metterand reached out and put his hand on Lucian’s shoulder. “The butler tells me you’ve been out of sorts. Talk to me, Lucian. What troubles you? I can help.”

Where to begin? he wanted to say. I’m in a world where demons and monsters are about to become commonplace. That crazy bastard—the First Emperor—is manipulating things behind the scenes to cause war. I don’t even have average talent, but very below-average talent. My lifelines are withering, and my enemies are formidable, one and all. And now… you, psychopath that you are, show up at my doorstep.

“I see your fear,” Metterand said, gently squeezing Lucian’s shoulder. “Rest assured, brother… my ruthlessness is reserved for the enemies of my family. And you are family. The day I took your sister as my wife, I resolved to protect you until my last breath.”

Lucian tried not to show his obvious unease at the hand so near his neck. “It’s nothing.”

Metterand looked around once more at the wrecked room. “It seems to be a whole lot of nothing.” He looked back with concerned eyes. “This is about your father taking away your budget, no? That’s the only thing that I could think of. If it isn’t that, please talk to me. I’ve known you since you were a little boy. There’s no need for secrets between us. Nothing you could say would make me hate you,” he said with a warm smile.

“It’s really nothing,” Lucian insisted, despite how foolish the lie sounded. He tried to pull away from Metterand’s hand, but found himself fixed in place.

Metterand sighed, looking out the window in the room for a few moments before looking back. “Do you know why your father cut off your allowance?”

Of course he knew. It was something that should’ve happened a long time ago.

“Duke Cyril Villamar wanted to reform my behavior.” Lucian nodded.

“I’m glad you realize as much.” Metterand’s hand glided to Lucian’s neck. “Your father is a very important man. He’s the most powerful duke in the Empire of Riverra, myself included. During your time of study in Verne, he’s given me the duty of protecting you, looking after you… guiding you. All in the hopes that perhaps, just perhaps, you might one day succeed him as Duke of Villamar.”

Metterand’s fingers dug into Lucian’s neck, and though he craned with his whole body to break free, it felt as hopeless as escaping a shackle around his neck. His struggle only made the pain worse.

“I pulled many strings in my capacity as Chancellor to earn you prominence in Verne. If you cannot motivate yourself to act based solely on personal ambition, perhaps you can act selflessly to please your dear brother-in-law,” Metterand continued, his warm affect not diminishing even as he choked Lucian. “It would make me very happy to see you leave your home, head to the Collegium of Verne, and complete your registration. I assure you—any unpleasant emotions you experience now will diminish once you arrive there. We would both be happier—you see?”

Lucian felt his head swim as oxygen left it.

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“There, you’ll have every means at your disposal to become the best version of yourself you could possibly be,” Metterand continued softly. “You’re a young, handsome man from a great house. Go out there, meet some people! This, too, shall pass.”

Metterand’s vice-like fingers finally relaxed, and Lucian staggered away, breathing quickly.

“Our talk… has it brought you any clarity, despite its brevity?” Metterand asked. “I could always stay longer if you have more issues you wish to discuss.”

Lucian grabbed at his throat. Swallowing now felt agonizing, and his vision was still dancing… but even still, he had clarity. Even his ‘allies’ were enemies. This world was real—its pains, its hardships, its everything. Curling up, hiding away… he’d already proven that nothing was changing. If this was his reality, if this was something he’d have to endure, he couldn’t do nothing.

“Things are much clearer,” Lucian said with a hoarse voice.

“Good. I’m very proud you could find some inner strength,” Metterand said with a smile. “Do you intend to go to the Collegium, then?”

“Yes.” Lucian nodded. “I’ll show up today.”

“Then I’ll be watching for your arrival,” Metterand said simply. “It’s such a joy to work near one’s family. You can make sure they’re well, and monitor their progress in case they need any help. All that to say… if you don’t show up today, I’ll be very concerned.”