Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day
Chapter Summary
Because honestly, three seconds were nowhere near enough to completely overturn a battle like this. Almost instantly, from somewhere across the battlefield, a glimmering greatsword — bright golden like it was forged from a shard of sunlight itself — soared into the air and shot toward him like a comet. It didn't take long for them to realize that the black-haired young man with the cursed-looking sword was dangerous.
Three seconds.
That's all the time Samael bought by shackling the beasts with his innate ability.
After that, the monsters either broke free by brute force or the stone hands began crumbling into rubble.
It turned out that performing such a large-scale transmutation took a heavy toll on him — both physically and mentally.
Not only was his Essence reserve nearly depleted, but his focus was also fraying at the edges.
It made sense in hindsight.
After all, transmuting even a simple moving construct was taxing.
Binding dozens of monsters mid-rampage?
It bordered on impossible.
But he managed to pull off the impossible, if even for only three seconds.
And those mere three seconds were more than enough for the tides of battle to shift — however briefly — in the favor of humans.
In the sudden stillness, dozens of Cadets found their footing.
Formations reformed.
Monster ranks broke.
Momentum tilted.
Of course, none of it was going to last.
Because honestly, three seconds were nowhere near enough to completely overturn a battle like this.
Especially not when the enemy was nigh-immortal.
Sooner or later, the fallen Solbraiths would rise again — their charred remains would stitch themselves back together.
The Cadets would be pushed back once more.
The momentum would slip away again....
But at least for now, countless lives had been saved.
At least for now, the battlefield belonged to them.
Even if only for a breath.
Samael didn't pretend otherwise.
He wasn't delusional enough to think three seconds of control meant victory.
All it meant was breathing room — and sometimes, that was the only kind of miracle war allowed.
He stood in the center of the chaos he'd carved open, swaying slightly on his feet.
Every muscle in his body hurt.
His fingers trembled.
His knees nearly buckled.
His legs felt like wet rolls of paper.
His thoughts lagged, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
That transmutation had really drained him.
His Essence reserve was practically bone-dry.
Well… at least that was something he could solve.
After drawing a shaky breath, he raised one hand and focused on the bond tethering his soul to the Divine Sword Aurieth.
Almost instantly, from somewhere across the battlefield, a glimmering greatsword — bright golden like it was forged from a shard of sunlight itself — soared into the air and shot toward him like a comet.
In the very next second, the blade landed in his open palm.
And the moment Samael gripped the hilt of Aurieth, he felt a slow, steady stream of Essence trickling into his body.
That was because one of Aurieth's enchantments had activated:[Conduit – While held, Aurieth subtly enhances the wielder's Essence absorption, accelerating recovery and strengthening their reserves.
]It wasn't much.
The speed at which Essence was refilling his reserve wasn't instantaneous, but it was still faster than what his natural recovery would allow.
That alone was a gift.
Soon, his knees steadied.
His pulse began to even out.
His grip stopped trembling.
He was still exhausted — especially mentally.
Still dangerously low on Essence.
But he wasn't going to collapse.
Not yet.
The taste of smoke and blood was thick on his tongue as he let out a shaky breath.
Then, slowly, he straightened his back and looked around...
before his eyes locked onto something — or someone — in the distance.
From the ground behind him, Juliana followed his gaze.
In the distance, a tall young man was cutting through monsters on the frontlines.
His raven black hair swayed with the embers in the wind each time he took down a monster.
He was using a longsword that was shrouded in layers upon layers of sinistrous darkness.
Each time he swung that shadowy blade, the air itself rippled and distorted — as if even reality wanted nothing to do with that weapon.
And the most peculiar thing about him was that each monster he slew with that sword never rose back up again.
It was as if — somehow, someway — he was actually capable of killing these undying creatures of fire and ash.
Unfortunately, these weren't normal Spirit Beasts he was dealing with.
These were Lesser Solbraiths — and thanks to their shared telepathic link, they weren't just monsters.
They were a coordinated, thinking swarm.
A hive of intelligence and wrath.
It didn't take long for them to realize that the black-haired young man with the cursed-looking sword was dangerous.
He could kill them.
Permanently.
So they started avoiding him.
They began backing away at the mere sight of him.
And it wasn't long before he caught the attention of the cyclops guarding the eastern exit.
The smoldering giant let out a deep, earth-rattling growl… then fired a blindingly hot laser from its single burning eye.
The young man's eyes widened.
In the next second, he activated several Defence Cards and bolted sideways without hesitation.
Half a dozen translucent energy barriers manifested into existence between him and the incoming beam of pure destruction — glowing layers stacked one over the other like panes of enchanted glass.
But none of it mattered once the laser hit them.
The first shield shattered without a sound.
The second exploded — like someone had just thrown a ball of blazing fire into a mirror.
The third melted into a puddle of flickering light sparks.
The fourth and fifth crumbled back-to-back, like they never stood a chance.
By the time the beam slammed into the sixth barrier, it had dimmed slightly — but not enough.
Nowhere near enough.
The final shield burst apart.
And the laser beam carved a molten trench straight through the battlefield.
A few Cadets caught in its path didn't even have time to scream.
They turned to ash on the spot.
The black-haired young man barely managed to escape the brunt of it.
He dropped low, threw himself into a rough slide, and rolled through scorched ground as the air behind him combusted from the lingering heat.
Any sane person would've been running away by now.
After all, that cyclops wasn't just any normal monster.
It was a Greater Spirit Beast.
Only an [A-ranker] could even think about facing something like that head-on.
But the young man didn't run.
His figure rose from the smoke and fire, limping but unyielding, clothes in tatters, skin charred along his side… and lips drawn in a bloody grin like he wasn't done yet.
If anything, he now looked like he was about to charge back in solo.
And honestly?
He probably would've.
If not for Samael shouting his name at the top of his lungs.
"Michael!
"The black-haired young man froze mid-step.
Even in the chaos of the battlefield, he heard his name.
Perks of being a [B-ranker] — heightened senses.
Michael's shoulders suddenly tensed.
The grin on his face flickered and faded, like someone had slapped him back to reality.
Then — slowly — he turned his head.
Through the haze of smoke and drifting ash, his gaze locked with Samael's.
Even from this distance, Samael saw the faint twitch of irritation on Michael's bloodied face — a twitch that said, 'Damn it, not now.
'Samael didn't care.
He raised his sword, pointed it at the cyclops, then at Michael, then jabbed it into the air in front of him — a crude and exaggerated series of gestures that screamed:'Fall back here, dumbass.
'Michael stared at him for a second longer.
Then muttered something under his breath, shook his head, and finally — finally — turned and began limping toward Samael and Juliana.