I Am The Game's Villain

Chapter 540: [Event] [Elven Utopian War] [79] Father And Son

"I knew placing that last resort spell would come in handy."

It was his voice.

I stood frozen, my breath caught in my throat. It was him—without a doubt, my father.

Alvara tightened her grip on Freyja, pulling her closer, her blade pressing against the princess’s back just in case. Freyja barely flinched in response just observing.

My father turned, his grey eyes sweeping over me before settling on Freyja.

"You seem to be in quite the predicament, Princess Freya," he said.

"Kill them," Freyja ordered without hesitation.

Alvara scoffed, pressing the blade harder into Freyja’s spine. "You’ll be the first to die."

Freyja grimaced, but my father remained indifferent to the exchange. Instead, he turned his gaze toward another figure—my mother.

"I’m afraid I don’t work for Utopia," he said. "I came here for my wife."

A lump formed in my throat. "F-Father..." I muttered, almost unsure if I should be saying it.

His head snapped back toward me, eyes narrowing in an unreadable expression.

"Hm?"

I swallowed hard and reached for Bryelle’s pendant, yanking it from my neck. The illusion shattered, revealing my true face.

For a brief moment, I saw something flicker in his gaze—recognition. But just as quickly, it hardened into something else.

Disdain.

"Oh," he muttered, his voice tinged with cold indifference. "It’s you."

"Father—"

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"Don’t call me that."

He cut me off.

"..."

His words... there was hatred in them. Real, tangible hatred.

What was this?

"Are you really my father?" I asked, wariness creeping into my voice.

Something felt off. He wasn’t the man from my memories or at the least the father who was kind to Amael.

His expression darkened. "I told you not to call me that," he repeated his voice turning colder. "Not with that mouth. Not while you’re inside that body. Not with that face."

Inside that body?

I froze.

He wasn’t speaking in metaphors. He knew.

He knew Nyrel Loyster was inside Amael.

But how? And more importantly—why did he hate me for it?

My mind raced with questions, but only one thing mattered right now.

"Are you with the Iris Project?" I asked. "You even hurt Mother. My real father would never have done that. Did they do something to you?"

His lips curled into something almost resembling amusement, but there was no warmth in it.

"I am not with them," he said. "And they did nothing to me. They merely showed me the truth."

I frowned. "What truth?"

His gaze locked onto mine.

"The truth about you."

Then, slowly, he lifted a finger and pointed directly at me.

"Nyrel Loyster. You aren’t my son."

"...!"

I opened my mouth but I had nothing to say.

Because, for the first time in a long time... I wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

"W-What are you saying?" I blurted out in the end.

"The truth," he said. "You may have fooled my wife and daughter, but not me. You are not my son. You might have his memories, but you are nothing like the boy I raised."

Each word hit me harder than I expected, slicing through me painfully. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my expression neutral, but the ache in my chest was impossible to ignore.

"What about you?" I shot back. "We thought you were dead! And now you just show up, acting like a completely different person... You even took Mother—"

"She isn’t your mother either."

Before I could process his words, he turned and strode toward the amber cocoon where my mother was trapped. Without hesitation, he thrust his hand through it, shattering the crystalline structure. Water gushed out, pooling at his feet.

He caught her as she fell forward, cradling her in his arms.

I froze.

For the first time since his arrival, his expression softened. Gently, he brushed aside the damp strands of hair sticking to her face, his eyes filled with something painfully familiar.

"That depends on what it is," I replied.

Freyja’s lips parted, and her answer came without hesitation.

"My body."

I raised a brow. "Your body?"

"Swear it to me." She stepped closer, her golden eyes locking onto mine. "Swear that you will do everything in your power to bring me my true body."

[]

’Her body is inside the Holy Tree...?’

This was the first time I was hearing any of this.

’Can I just take it out of the tree?’

[]

’What do you think I should do?’

[]

’Or...?’

[]

’I am not killing her, Cleenah. If I give back Brísingamen, do you think she will attack me, trying to kill me?’

[]

I stared at Freyja, taking in her expression—the betrayal still visible on her expression but there was slight hope I might get her what she wanted. Slowly, I stepped forward and reached for her hand.

Gently, I placed Brísingamen in her palm. "You have my word. I will return your body to you. And if I fail... you can kill me if you want."

Even though I said that, I doubted Nemes especially will let me die this easily...

Freyja’s fingers curled around the necklace. The moment her skin made contact, the beads pulsed faintly, as if responding to her presence. But she wasn’t looking at Brísingamen. Her gaze remained fixed on me.

"In exchange, I need your word," I said. "Promise me that you won’t do anything against me or Sancta Vedelia."

She narrowed her eyes. "And how do I believe you? Any trust I had in you is gone."

"Your body is inside the Holy Tree of Eden," I said with a knowing smile. "And I am a royal of the Olphean House. If there’s anyone who can find it and bring it to you, it’s me."

Her eyes widened in shock. She hadn’t expected me to know that.

I sighed, glancing briefly at Alvara before meeting Freyja’s gaze again. "I meant what I said. I’m sorry for deceiving you. Without your help, there are people I might not have been able to save."

I paused a bit letting my words sink.

"I owe you for that. So let me return the favor, Freyja."

She studied me in silence before pulling her hand away, Brísingamen still clasped tightly in her fingers. Then, in one smooth motion, she fastened the necklace around her neck.

The beads glowed a divine red, pulsing like a heartbeat. At that moment, I could feel it—if she wanted to, she could kill me right now. And yet, she only stared.

"If you betray me again, Loki—"

"I won’t," I interrupted with a smile.

She held my gaze for a moment longer, then turned slightly. "Then tell her to stop pointing her sword at my back before I decide to kill her."

"Alvara?" I called her behind Freyja.

Alvara stood rigid, her grip on her sword tight, barely concealing the murderous intent radiating from her.

A brief moment of silence stretched between them before, at last, she lowered her weapon.

"Bryelle, now," Alvara said before striding ahead without another word.

I started to follow after Alvara but hesitated, glancing back at Freyja.

"I know who you really are," I said, meeting her golden gaze. "You’re the Goddess Freyja."

"Who told you that?"

"I can’t say," I replied. "But tell me if I’m wrong—you don’t actually care about this war or what happens to Utopia, do you?"

Freyja’s expression remained indifferent. "I don’t. The only reason I want Utopia to win is because if they fall, Elyen Kiora falls with them."

So, it was just as I thought.

"And Durathiel?" I asked.

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "What about him?"

Her tone was dismissive, almost bored by the discussion.

"He died the day your father ambushed them. The Sin transformed him into something else entirely, and I don’t care about whatever he is now," she said curtly.

"I’m going to kill him," I said, watching her carefully.

Freyja’s lips curled into a small smile, but she said nothing. There was no opposition—no warning. Just quiet amusement.

"But after that," I continued, "you know what will happen to Utopia. What Sancta Vedelia will do to Elyen Kiora."

Freyja’s smile faded slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"I suppose," she said, "if you’re saying all this, then you must have a plan, Loki."

"I do," I confirmed, reaching into my cloak. "But I need your help."

From my hand, the Seed of Eden glowed faintly.