Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

Chapter 376: Wardeness of LuckThe Syndicate of the Nameless Lords was a secret organization of the world’s elites that directed and controlled global events, covertly shaping history and aiming for a future where they would be the only ones left standing to rule.

As such, obviously, they were against the Monarchs.

It was nothing new.

In this era of Awakened, where individuals possessed mythical superpowers once only seen in fiction, everyone born with a strong potential wanted to be the king or queen of the world.

Over the years, numerous villains had attempted to realize this dream of theirs — the dream of world domination.

They had created cults and groups, gangs and armies, but the Monarchs always prevailed.

With each victory, they not only cemented their positions as the apex of all Awakened, but they also showcased why they were called the Gods of Modern Day.

It was impossible to overthrow them.

...

But the Syndicate didn’t care.

They were familiar with the grand reputation of the five people whom they had dared to oppose, and they still did it.

Where did they get so much courage from?

Why, despite witnessing every other new world order organization fall before the Monarchs, did they still try to follow that same path?

That was because the Syndicate wasn’t a typical organization with a rigid hierarchy like most of those other secret societies.

There was no supreme leader sitting at the top of the pyramid.

There was no grand council constantly meeting in dimly lit halls.

There was no chain of command that could be traced, infiltrated, or broken.

Instead, it functioned more like an invisible marketplace.

Its members were scattered across the world as politicians, billionaires, media tycoons, research magnates, military generals, and the occasional high-ranking Awakened who preferred power from the shadows rather than the spotlight.

These people did not serve one another.

They invested in one another.

They operated in cells, each working on separate aspects of their grand plan, ensuring that no single failure could cripple the whole group.

...

Or, at least, that’s what they thought.

The reason the Syndicate had survived so long in secrecy, the reason that despite shaping so many of the major world events it still never clearly fell on the radar of the Monarchs, was because even most of its own members didn’t know much about their own organization.

The truth was that there was indeed a Supreme Leader sitting at the top of the pyramid.

There was indeed a grand council constantly meeting in dimly lit hallways...

and sometimes (most of the time) in trendy cafes.

There was indeed a chain of command — but because only a select few knew of its existence, it could really not be traced, infiltrated, or broken.

And at the very top of that chain of command, there sat an assembly of core members who were all the true masterminds steering the Syndicate toward its ultimate goal.

Each of these individuals was a true believer in the Syndicate’s misanthropic ideology — humans are irredeemable, and only the Spirit King’s return can cleanse the world.

However, their motivations and methods varied, with some pursuing personal evolution, others seeking vengeance against humanity, and some merely embracing absolute nihilism.

...

Iliana Marcis was none of them!

She had joined the Syndicate by mistake while attending Dawn Academy, found it fun enough to stay, and kept rising in the ranks by a series of sheer coincidences.

She was just lucky, always at the right place at the right time.

For instance, today she was on a date with a famous movie star.

She leaned back comfortably in the plush velvet chair of the rooftop restaurant, swirling a glass of vintage red wine that likely cost more than a mid-sized sedan.

Across from her was Julian Varce, arguably the hottest sensation that had hit the entertainment industry like a storm last year.

He was currently deep into a monologue about the emotionally taxing nature of his latest method-acting role, but Iliana wasn’t really listening.

She was busy being...

lucky.

"Is everything alright, darling?

" Julian asked, his voice dropping into that husky register he used for romantic leads.

"You seem distracted.

" "Oh, just thinking about how small the world is," Iliana lied smoothly.

She caught the eye of a passing waitress — a young woman who looked exhausted and was clearly at the end of a double shift.

As the waitress leaned in to refill their water, Iliana’s expression soured with arrogance.

"Careful, you nearly dripped on my sleeve.

Honestly, they’ll hire any bitch off the street these days, won’t they?

" she scoffed.

The waitress stiffened.

Her face flushed red in humiliation.

"Ma’am, you cannot talk to me like this!

It wasn’t even close to your—" "Oh, just shut up and get to work.

" The waitress looked ready to lose her mind, when suddenly, her coworker jumped in and pushed her away before mumbling an apology on her friend’s behalf.

Though the waitress scurried away, her eyes stung with frustration.

...

And that was the first domino to fall.

Such a simple event that, on any other day, would’ve amounted to nothing.

But today it did.

Hours later, after the date had ended with a polite peck on the cheek and a promise to call that Iliana had no intention of keeping, the waitress — whose name was Elyse — stood outside the staff entrance.

It was late, the weather was cold and depressing, her double shift had finally ended, and she was venting her fury into her phone.

"I’m telling you, Mark, she was awful!

Just because she’s rich doesn’t mean she can talk to people like that," Elyse grunted.

On the other end of the line, her boyfriend, Mark, was driving his old SUV through the city outskirts to pick her up.

The car’s jet thrusters kept its metallic body inches above the ground, speeding through the night wind.

He was tired, stressed about rent, and the sound of Elyse crying made his heart ache with a protective rage.

"I know, honey, I know.

I’m almost there," Mark said, keeping his grip stern on the steering wheel.

"Tell you what?

I’ll pick you up, make you a good dinner, we’ll watch one of those boring movies you like, and stay in all day tomorrow, okay?

" "My movie choices are not boring!

" Elyse gasped, suppressing a chuckle.

Mark laughed.

Then he looked down for a split second to tap the ’end call’ button, his mind preoccupied with how much he loved his girlfriend.

Despite nothing going right for him in his life, despite the fact that his parents loved his brother more because he had a lucrative job, despite him having to worry about money every single month...

there was one thing he did right.

It was her.

She had been by his side through thick and thin, even though he was not half the man she deserved.

He really was so lucky.

...

But unbeknownst to him, luck was not on his side tonight.

Because in that exact same moment, three blocks away, Iliana Marcis was clumsily navigating the sidewalk after one too many drinks she shouldn’t have had.

She took a quick turn and bumped squarely into a man in a business suit.

"Oh!

I am so sorry," she chirped, her hand briefly grazing his arm.

In the process, she neatly swiped his phone from his hand, letting it clatter onto the pavement.

The man hissed in annoyance, muttered a curse under his breath at the drunken lady, and spun around sharply to retrieve it.

His sudden, aggressive movement startled a young mother walking nearby with her six-year-old son.

The mother flinched and her grip went loose on her son’s hand — but more importantly, on the string of the bright red balloon the boy was holding.

A gust of wind swept through the street, catching the red balloon and yanking it out of the boy’s startled fingers.

"My balloon!

" the child cried.

Without thinking, he darted away from his mother’s side to chase the red balloon as it floated toward the center of the road.

Mark, still in the middle of pulling his eyes back from his phone, looked up just in time to see a flash of a yellow jacket and a red balloon in his headlights.

His heart leaped into his throat.

He didn’t have time to think.

He just slammed on the brakes and swiveled the steering wheel with everything he had.

The SUV shrieked as it veered off-course.

Luckily, he missed the boy by inches.

Unluckily, the momentum carried the car across the intersection, right into the path of a heavy military supply truck that was barreling through a green light at the crossroads.

THWAAAAM—!!!

The collision that followed was deafening.

Mark’s SUV was crumpled like a soda can.

He died before he could even register the impact.

The military truck, forced to swerve by the wreck, slammed into a concrete divider.

Its entire front end was thrashed.

Its driver slumped over the wheel, deeply concussed.

Within minutes, the scene turned into a chaotic mess of flashing lights and sirens.

Because the military truck was carrying sensitive equipment, a second transport was called in to transfer the cargo.

Amidst the smoke and the shouting of the first responders, a group of soldiers arrived to oversee the transfer.

One of those soldiers, a man with a blank expression and a very specific set of orders, moved in quietly.

While the others were distracted by the wreckage, he slid a small, nondescript metal box into a hidden compartment in the new truck.

To the outside world, it was just a logistical hiccup.

But to the Syndicate, it was a heist performed in broad daylight without a single shot fired.

This was how Iliana Marcis worked.

This was how she had climbed the ranks of one of history’s most dangerous covert organizations — by exploiting the series of coincidences that she would engineer herself.

By being at the right place at the right time.

Amongst the six ruling figureheads of the Syndicate, she was fifth.

She was Lachesis, the Mistress of Probabilities.