There is a hypothesis I have made from reading web novels all my life.
Well, you can say it is obvious at first glance.
That is the tone of a story depends heavily on the author.
And, eventually, the world of the story is converted in accordance with it.
For example, in a fantasy web novel, made for all ages, you would hardly find any adult scene.
Which also means that the world of that web novel, is almost free from such cases.
That is also the case here.
If this were a more adult themed story, the moment I pulled down my pants and showed them my blacksword, it would have been cut off.
However, the reactions I received were quite amusing.
The soldier stood still, too stunned to speak.
And the cloaked woman had her face covered for which I couldn't see her expression, but her body language revealed that she was quite flustered.
Of course she was.
She expected me to beg for my life, so my words must have shaken her.
Because this web novel was also one light themed one, almost without any adult scenes.
Seems like my hypothesis is correct.
"So what will you do, Ms.Messanger?"
The soldier, at my provocation, unsheathed his sword immediately.
"On your order," he said flatly.
His readiness to slice my neck off was unsurprising. Considering the cloaked woman before me was no ordinary envoy but that messenger—whispered about in court rumors and assassination logs—his deference made sense.
She wasn't just a pawn. She was a knight, or maybe even a queen, in this little imperial game.
One word from her, and my head would hit the floor before I could make another edgy comment.
And yet—she said nothing.
I watched her, calm now. It was a gamble, sure. But I'd read the scene in the novel. In the original version, she didn't kill Dorian either. Not even after he blubbered out the black market documents between sobs and snot.
So no matter how much I mocked, taunted, or waved my metaphorical (and literal) sword around, she wouldn't kill me.
Not yet.
Well, I was expecting her to give some reaction, but rather she left the cells, with her final remark.
"I wish you rot in hell."
As she left I heard the soldier growling in agony.
He left soon after, giving me a death stare at the end.
The cell fell silent again.
The torch's flame had been taken with them, leaving only the ambient dampness and that same slow drip of water echoing like a ticking clock. Fitting, since I didn't have much time left.
"I wish you rot in hell," huh?
Bit dramatic. But then again, this is a world built on melodrama.
Still, for someone supposedly stoic and efficient, she lost her cool faster than I thought. Maybe I should've pushed further. Demanded a full strip tease for the location. But no—I had to conserve my bullets.
After all, if this world really was still tied to the author's tone, then I had just shoved a crowbar into the story's fourth wall.
Let's recap:
Broke character.
Mocked a high-ranking imperial agent.
Introduced a weapon (me) the world wasn't calibrated for.
And did it all while pants-less.
It felt amusing a bit, but not enough to convince me to live.
I mean, what reason is there to live for?
My life was shit before this transmigration, and this life is not really good either.
Hell, I am going to be executed by tomorrow morning.
And still, somehow, I don't feel the dread I'm supposed to.
You'd expect fear. Regret. Some desperate prayer to a god I never believed in. But there's nothing like that inside me. Just... curiosity.
Like watching a car crash in slow motion, except I'm the driver and the windshield.
It makes you think.
What is a life anyway?
A string of decisions that lead you from crying in a cradle to rotting in a box. Whether you're a prince, a peasant, or an unfortunate soul caught in a narrative with "villain" stamped on your forehead, you end up in the same dirt.
Existence is cruelly egalitarian like that.
In my previous world, we worshipped productivity. You were measured in grades, salaries, and LinkedIn connections. Here, it's power, mana, lineage. Same garbage, different filter.
Everyone's obsessed with meaning. "Why am I here? What's my purpose?"
Let me answer that for you: you're here because two people got bored and biology happened. Your purpose? Whatever you're gullible enough to believe in.
It's not that I am being cynical.
It is the truth.
Crude enough to sting, but it's still the truth.
And the truth is I am a murderer.
This fact alone would haunt me to my grave.
And thus I took my last sleep, not metaphorically, but literally.
***
The chains were heavy.
Two guards pulled me forward. Their hands were rough, and they didn't speak.
The cold morning air hit my face as I stepped out. The sky was gray. The sun was weak. People had already gathered on both sides of the road. Nobles in clean robes, peasants in rags. All of them stared.
No one smiled.
The execution platform stood ahead. Wooden. Old. The noose hung there, swaying gently in the wind.
I walked calmly.
No tears. No begging. What was the point?
Then—something sharp hit my mind. Like a metal spike. I stopped.
Everything slowed.
The wind stopped.
The guards froze.
Even sound disappeared.
And then I heard it.
[Villain System Initializing...]
No screen. No lights. Just a voice. Cold. Clear. Inside my head.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then—I laughed.
Loud. Mad. Real.
People stepped back.
The priest paused.
The executioner looked confused.
But I just kept laughing.
I didn't know what this "Villain System" was yet.
But it didn't matter.
Because for the first time in my life—
Something had changed.
And I was no longer afraid.
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Author's Note:
Have some idea about my story? Comment it and let me know.
Next : A Grand Escape
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