World’s Strongest Became the Game’s Weakest Villain

The lady and I sat together in a special room of the theater, getting a great view of the stage. Since we were close up to the ceiling, the sounds of the orchestra would reach us quite well.

Sitting side by side, the lady and I snacked on some chicken, custom ordered. We were planning to splurge all the money that arm wrestling had earned us anyway, so it didn't hurt.

A bell was placed in the room that didn't make a sound but alerted the staff member standing outside the door. A magical barrier was also set up in the VIP room that prevented any chatter from coming in or going out. The double couch was pretty comfortable and the table in front of us was wide.

The lady had curled her legs up and was resting on the hand of the couch while I leaned back and left my legs on the table.

Titania seemed occupied with the food, so there wasn't anyone to disturb us in the close proximity.

The curtains unfolded, and the orchestra came into view.

The lights in the theater dimmed down and focused on the orchestra, leaving the room in darkness.

Then, the first note began.

Long, slow, the flutes and oboes began playing the notes of the music.

As the conductor moved his hands, the sounds merged into the room and filled the space in the theater.

The lady stopped, so did Titania.

Like a boat gently swaying on a calm lake.

Like grey clouds flitting in the night sky.

Along with the sound of the harp, rose an emotion that choked the listener's heart.

In perfect amounts, the piano and the horns started complimenting the melody, not to bring attention to them, not to show off their technique. But to merely compliment the music. To make one revel in the joys of the sound.

Euphoric.

A euphoric simplicity.

It was all simple.

As simple as a pair gazing up at the night sky. Hence, it was as beautiful as the night sky the pair gazed upon.

Yet, it was complex.

Like the arrangement of the stars, the accent in each tone, the soul in each note.

It was hard to tell.

If the composer wanted the person to appreciate the beauty of the moment.

Or if they wanted the listener to lament its fleetingness?

Ravel, pavane pour une infante defunte.

The pavane for a dead princess.

It was a song that I had introduced to this world.

What an ironic tune to play at an ironic time.

I looked to the side.

At the princess of a duchy.

Her veil remained unmoving, I could tell that under it, her heart and her eyes were all focused on the music.

The princess in front of me.

It was a tune for that dying princess.

She placed her hand on the couch and clenched at its cloth, her hand trembled slightly as the music went on.

Without a word, I placed my hand on top of hers.

The lady's trembling transferred over to me.

I could feel the storm in her heart.

How was she feeling right now? Was she crying under that veil?

I was curious.

Even now, I wanted to know more about her.

The music reached a high crescendo as all the instruments slowly came together.

I clenched her hand in mine.

The soft tune of the flute followed, and the trembling of her hand stopped.

The strings came together again and a chaotic section played.

She slightly trembled.

Like the ebbs of a wave, the music flowed back and was replaced by the sound of the flute again.

A calming sound of the flute.

Then, the wave rose again.

Instead of trembling, she turned her hand over and grabbed mine.

Our fingers locked together, and the music started reaching an outro.

The wave didn't come over again.

Not a word was shared.

The lady's eyes didn't move from the orchestra.

I simply closed my eyes and listened.

Listened to the sound of the strings.

For a long, long time, hand in hand.

We just listened.

***

Anatolia bit her thumb as she heard the report from her knights.

The mountain bandits outside the capital were crushed.

The mountain, four hundred meters tall, had been split in half.

And dozens upon dozens of bandits were left with mangled bodies.

Her plan had failed.

She flipped through the pages of her book furiously.

Her plan was immaculate.

No one else should have remembered that lady.

Yet, she was saved.

How?

Why?

These thoughts filled Anatolia's head.

She took in a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.

"Right. Things won't go my way. They never have."

They never had.

The day of the banquet was the decided time. The doomsday for her empire.

But, there was still a backup plan in her mind.

A few days from now, she would open the doors to hell herself and offer the flower to the demon king.

She had worked with demons before. Vile as they were, they weren't unreasonable.

She could do it.

She held faith.

With a calm gaze, she let go of her bleeding thumb and wiped it on a towel.

Her plans wouldn't fail just yet.

She could still do something to fix things.

Yes.

She wouldn't give up here.

"Lady of Acacia, was it?"

There was someone hindering her plans.

Someone who had saved her.

But that didn't matter.

She could take that person down to.

Just as she was thinking that, the image of the one she had assigned to Acacia entered her head.

Could it be?

No. No way

It couldn't be Eugene Hall.

It couldn't be that useless bum who cared for no one but himself.

She would get him down. She was certain.

Her end goal. She had planned to pin the blame of the disappearance of a person on him, but there were other ways too.

No matter what, she would kill him.

Eugene Hall...