Chapter 2 – False Heart
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The dagger felt heavier than it should have. Arin turned it in his hand, watching how the dull light from the orphanage window glinted along its rust-flecked edge. It had never been more than a kitchen knife with pretensions—a thief's tool, not a warrior's blade. Still, in the hands of someone who knew where to cut, it could do enough.
He set it down with care and closed the lid of the chest.
[Optional Objective: Intimidate a fellow orphan to claim better quarters.]
[Time remaining: 19 hours 12 minutes.]
[Reward: +5 Fear Points.]
He ignored it.
Not because he couldn't do it—he could, easily—but because it was too crude. Too obvious.
He hadn't come back to smash doors and scream in alleyways. That was what the System wanted: a beast on a leash. But Arin Velas had been a strategist once. A leader. He knew how to play long games.
If he was to become a villain… he would do it right.
Still, he needed to test the System.
Something small. Controlled.
He rose and moved to the rickety table by the wall. A single sheet of parchment lay curled near the edge, along with a half-burned candle stub. The wax was hardened into an odd spiral—one of the younger children must've played with it the night before. That same child would likely be back soon.
He remembered her—Sera. Barefoot, soot-cheeked, always singing to herself when she thought no one listened. She had shared food with him, once, when the headmaster cut rations. A simple kindness. One he hadn't deserved then… and wouldn't now.
False Heart, the System had called it.
[Skill Unlocked: "False Heart (F)" – Allows you to fake sincerity. Duration: 60 seconds. Cooldown: 2 hours.]
He focused on the skill. A faint shimmer passed over his vision, like oil on water. When it settled, he felt… lighter. Not happier. Just hollow in a very precise way.
A knock rattled the warped door.
"Arin?" came a girl's voice. Hesitant.
He schooled his face and opened it.
There she was—Sera, exactly as he remembered. A little shorter than him, hair tied back with a fraying blue ribbon, holding a chipped wooden bowl full of half-boiled oats.
"I saved you some," she said, offering it up. "You missed morning bell again."
Arin blinked. Her kindness felt like a blade in reverse—cutting not from pain, but from something gentler, and crueler because of it.
He activated False Heart.
His face changed, softened. A smile formed, subtle and perfect. His eyes glistened with feigned gratitude.
"Thanks, Sera," he said, voice warm. "You didn't have to."
She smiled back, visibly relieved. "You've been quiet lately. Since last week. Are you okay?"
Arin looked down at the bowl. The oats had already congealed. He took them anyway.
"I'm alright," he said. "Just...thinking a lot."
He crouched a little, dropping his voice.
"Could you do me a favor?"
Her eyes widened slightly. "What is it?"
"I need access to the headmaster's study. Just for a minute. You still clean in the evenings, right?"
She hesitated.
"I—I'm not sure I should—"
"I just want to look at something," Arin said, giving her a lopsided grin that had once made generals trust him. "It's nothing bad. You trust me, right?"
Sera stared for a moment too long. Then she nodded, almost sheepishly.
"Alright," she whispered. "But only if no one sees."
[Quest Complete: Commit a selfish act.]
[Reward: Skill – "False Heart (F)" obtained.]
[Chaos +3. Morality Shift: -1.]
[New Quest Available: Manipulate someone to gain restricted access.]
[Reward: "Memory Trace (F)" – Allows recall of written material after 5 seconds of observation.]
The skill message hit just as False Heart expired. Arin's smile faded on cue.
Sera was still there, watching him. Trusting.
He shut the door gently after she left, then sat back down at the table and stirred the oats once, mechanically.
The food tasted like glue. He finished it anyway.
That evening, after the halls of Ironvale quieted and the fire in the main hearth had burned to cinders, Arin made his move.
Sera met him in the hallway that led to the headmaster's office. She had a ring of keys in one hand and a lantern in the other, her fingers white with nervous tension.
"He went out drinking again," she whispered. "But we need to be quick."
Arin nodded. "Stay here. I'll only be a minute."
The door creaked as it opened. He stepped inside.
Dust, pipe smoke, and mildew hung thick in the room. Shelves were crowded with parchment, old tomes, and even older ledgers. A framed portrait of the king stared down with a smile so wide it might have cracked if not held by paint.
Arin moved to the desk. He wasn't here for revenge. Not yet. He wanted information.
Anything that could give him leverage.
He flicked through ledgers—student records, orphanage finances, donor bribes hidden behind falsified receipts. Then a drawer—locked.
He reached into his tunic and withdrew a thin sliver of metal. An old trick. Took him only a few seconds.
Inside: letters. Stamped with noble crests.
He pulled one free and scanned it.
[Skill Unlocked: Memory Trace (F)]
[You have memorized this document.]
Arin's brow furrowed.
"Blackmail," he muttered.
The headmaster had been selling children to certain nobles for "adoption"—not all of whom were known for their kindness. Sera's name was on one of the lists. Scheduled for departure within the month.
He clenched the paper until it crinkled.
The System dinged again.
[Quest Complete: Manipulate someone for restricted access.]
[Reward: Memory Trace (F)]
[Fear +2. Chaos +5.]
[New Objective Available: Decide the fate of Headmaster Orlen.]
[Options:
– Expose (Gain +10 Justice, unlock "Grey Reputation")
– Blackmail (Gain +5 Fear, +Gold Income weekly)
– Kill (Gain +20 Chaos, unlock "Executioner's Mark")]
Arin stared at the glowing text.
The System truly wanted a villain.
He stepped back from the desk.
Not yet.
He would decide later.
Back in his room, Arin sat by the candle's dying light, staring at the flame. His thoughts burned hotter.
This world wasn't broken. It was designed that way—propped up by liars in armor and cowards in thrones. It let the innocent suffer and the corrupt prosper.
And now he had a System that wanted to turn him into a monster.
Fine.
He'd become one. But not its monster.
His own.
And when the world finally screamed his name—it would be in fear, not praise.
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