Chapter 3 – The First Piece
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The morning broke slowly in Ironvale.
Fog clung to the orphanage courtyard like a rotting shroud, muffling sound and smell. Even the birds were slow to rise. A dull grey light seeped in through the warped panes of Arin's window, casting long bars across the wooden floor. His candle had long since gone cold. He hadn't noticed.
He hadn't slept.
There were too many thoughts pressing against each other like knives in a sheath.
The System was quiet—for now. But its presence was like breath on the back of his neck. Always watching. Always offering.
[Pending Objective: Decide the fate of Headmaster Orlen.]
Still waiting.
Arin turned away from the notification and dressed in silence.
There was no rush.
If he'd learned anything from his previous life, it was that power meant nothing without patience. Rushing revenge was for fools. And monsters.
He intended to become both—but on his terms.
In the common hall, the older orphans were already eating: crusts of bread dunked in weak broth. Sera sat at the far bench, stealing glances at him, worry flickering in her eyes. She had every right.
She had opened a door she didn't understand.
Arin gave her a faint nod. Reassuring. Practiced. He knew how to make people feel safe, even as he moved the knife toward their backs. He wasn't ready to use it on her—not yet—but he also couldn't let her linger too close.
Emotions were dangerous. He couldn't afford real ones.
He sat beside Kall, a sullen boy with a crooked nose and sharper ears. Once a street urchin, now a bully-in-training. The kind who didn't mind working with others—as long as he felt like the leader.
Perfect.
"Got a job for you," Arin said quietly.
Kall looked at him sideways, tearing off a chunk of bread. "What kind of job?"
"Watch Orlen. Discreetly. Tell me when he meets with anyone outside the orphanage."
"Why?"
Arin smiled. Cold. Crooked. Calculated.
"You want extra food this week or not?"
Kall hesitated, then grunted. "Fine. But if I get caught—"
"You won't," Arin said.
[Quest Created: Use an Informant.]
[Reward: Skill – "Web of Eyes (F)" – Passive bonus to surveillance and rumor gathering.]
[Morality Shift: -1. Fear +1.]
The messages no longer surprised him.
They were simply a mirror of his actions. A reminder of who he was becoming.
By midday, Arin had gathered three more names—orphans who could be swayed by promises, blackmail, or both. One of them, Jorik, was a wiry child with the uncanny ability to move without sound. Arin tasked him with mapping the patrol paths of the night guards.
Not for immediate use.
But later—when real plans began to form—he would need safe exits and hidden entries.
[Passive Skill Improved: "False Heart" – Duration increased. Cooldown reduced.]
[Network Progress: 3/5 Nodes.]
[Villain Tip: Trust is a tool. So is fear. Use both.]
Arin closed the interface with a blink.
The System whispered like silk in the cracks of his mind. Never shouting. Just suggesting. Rewarding.
He couldn't destroy it yet.
But he could learn its language.
That evening, Arin visited the storage cellar. It was a cramped, dark-smelling room beneath the orphanage, half-filled with rotting potatoes and sacks of flour gnawed by rats. But there was a corner where a loose panel had fallen from the wall.
Behind it, brick. Cold. Solid.
Perfect.
He began clearing it out. Slowly, methodically. A secret place—one no one knew about, one he could use later. He would need it when the games began in earnest.
And they would begin.
Because he'd finally made his decision.
That night, Headmaster Orlen returned late—drunk, as usual. His boots echoed through the hallways, heavy with misplaced authority. He cursed at a boy who stumbled in front of him and slapped the cook for watering down the wine.
Arin watched from the shadows.
And then followed.
The office door groaned closed behind the man, and light flickered beneath the frame.
Arin waited.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
Then—
A knock.
Orlen opened the door, bleary-eyed.
Arin slipped inside without waiting for permission.
"What—" Orlen began.
"I know about the letters," Arin said.
The effect was instant.
The color drained from the man's face. His hands twitched toward the drawer—too late. Arin had already placed the paper on the desk.
One letter. Sera's name bold in black ink.
"I found them," Arin continued, calm as a coiled serpent. "I've memorized all of them."
"You little—!"
"If anything happens to Sera, or anyone else here," Arin said, "these go to the town guards. And the merchant's guild. And the church."
Orlen hesitated. Rage warred with fear behind his sunken eyes.
"I'll kill you," he hissed.
Arin smiled.
"You could try."
[Quest Complete: Decide Orlen's fate – Blackmail Chosen]
[Reward: +5 Fear. +Gold Income (weekly): 2 silver coins.]
[System Note: You have chosen control over destruction. Chaos remains contained—for now.]
[Title Gained: "Shadow Leverage (F)" – Threats are more effective. Fear resistance reduced in targets.]
Orlen sank into his chair, trembling.
"I want the adoptions halted," Arin said. "You will stop selling children. Or I leak everything."
Orlen nodded, throat dry.
"And," Arin added, voice dropping lower, "you'll give me five silver coins a month. I'll tell you where to leave them."
"That's extortion," Orlen choked.
"No," Arin said. "That's interest."
He turned and left, the sound of the man's breathing ragged behind him.
Later, under a sky dusted with stars, Arin returned to the hidden corner of the cellar and placed the silver coin he had taken from Orlen's drawer in the hollow he'd carved behind the wall.
The first piece.
Small, insignificant.
But a beginning.
The coin glinted once in the moonlight from a cracked window.
Arin stared at it a long time.
Then:
[New Objective Available: Establish a criminal base of operations.]
[Reward: Title – "Architect of Ruin (F)"]
[Optional Add-on: Recruit followers (0/3).]
He leaned back against the cold stone, eyes half-lidded.
The world had made him a villain.
He would repay the favor—slowly, methodically, beautifully.
And when it was ready to crumble, he would be the one holding the final stone.
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