The Continent of Destiny: I Became the Villain NPC

On the manor's balcony stood a tall, handsome, golden-haired man.

His arms were crossed, his expression was like carved ice, and a greatsword nearly as tall as he was rested on his back. He wore a suit of ornate silver armor, and the massive golden gem set into his chest plate glinted in the sun. A golden aura radiated from his body, so intense that it had bled into his deep blue eyes, turning them molten gold.

As his power surged, the vast aura behind him began to coalesce, first taking the shape of a roaring lion, then twisting and morphing until it formed the unmistakable silhouette of a colossal dragon. The dragon phantom lowered its head, its pale gold eyes filled with an ancient, dismissive contempt, as if gazing upon a colony of insignificant ants.

But what truly seized the players with terror was the man's name, displayed above his head in stark, blood-red letters, next to which hovered a ferocious skull icon.

[Lord of Frostfell - Alistair Goldenlion *****]

He didn't even wait for them to inspect him. He simply displayed his status for all to see.

[Earth Knight - Lv. 44 - Nightmare]

The players stared at the impossibly long health bar, at the flashing level and Tier beneath his name, and swallowed hard. The word 'Nightmare,' pulsing in a shade of red so deep it was almost black, wasn't a threat level. It was the Reaper's scythe.

And yet, a moment later, a wave of frenzied excitement swept through them. In the early days of an MMORPG, what was more thrilling than grinding levels and killing bosses? It was finding and gawking at a top-tier world boss you had absolutely no chance of defeating, and taking screenshots to prove you were there.

And Alistair Goldenlion was, without a doubt, a top-tier boss.

In terms of lore and status, he was the Lord of Frostfell, a Count of the Pyrian Empire—a genuine powerhouse. In terms of strength, he was a Level 44 Earth Knight.

The players had no idea what that meant, but it didn't matter. 'Nightmare' said it all. And finally, his appearance: the powerful physique, the handsome face, the stunning special effects, and a suit of armor that screamed 'best-in-slot' without needing to be inspected.

A cry had already gone up from somewhere in the crowd: "I want to have the Lord's babies!"

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!!"

"This is so badass! He's so cool!"

"So that's the Lord of Frostfell? The pressure is terrifying! I can actually feel my chest getting tight in a video game!"

"SCREENSHOT! EVERYONE, SCREENSHOT!"

"That's it, from this day forward, I'm the Lord's dog!"

"Umm, weren't you the Saintess's dog like ten minutes ago?"

"The Saintess has too many dogs! But if I pledge my loyalty to the Lord right now, maybe I can become his top enforcer!"

"Yeah, keep dreaming."

"Hey guys… imagine the loot he'd drop if we killed him."

No one knew who said it, but the thought resonated with nearly every player.

That's right. If they could kill the Lord of Frostfell, his incredible equipment, his skills… wouldn't it all be theirs for the taking? They'd be set for the rest of the game!

As this thought spread, the players' gazes shifted from shock and worship to raw, simmering greed. A portion of them turned their eyes toward Riven.

Riven's eye twitched. Why are they all looking at me? A cold knot of panic was forming in his stomach. His precognition yesterday had shown him none of this. The plot was supposed to end with the death of the Silversky Town mayor. Where in the hells did this Lord of Frostfell come from? And more importantly, he looked absolutely unbeatable.

Listening to the players' murmuring, Alistair's own eye began to twitch. The natives of this continent couldn't understand the players' speech, but Alistair, having lived in America for many years, understood their English perfectly.

Seriously? he thought, his good humor evaporating. I haven't even moved, and they're already planning how to divide my gear? I ought to crush their skulls.

Alistair let out a cold snort and drew the greatsword from his back.

"I am Alistair Goldenlion, Lord of Frostfell. Invaders," he declared, his voice booming across the plaza, "you will pay the price for your ignorance!"

Before his words had even faded, he leaped from the balcony. He held the greatsword in a two-handed grip, bringing it down on the players below.

ROOOOAR—

The majestic roar of a lion thundered through the air as a massive, phantom lion of golden energy appeared behind Alistair. Its mane flowed like fire, its muscles coiled with power, and its raised claws merged as one with the descending blade.

BOOM—!

A furious shockwave erupted from Alistair's landing point. The sound of his aura-infused greatsword smashing into the earth was so powerful that it deafened every player nearby.

When the wind died down and the dust settled, they saw a crater, more than ten yards in diameter and a yard deep, where the Lord had landed. The crater was littered with the mangled corpses of players. Beyond it, dozens more lay dead or dying, thrown by the blast.

Most of them never knew what hit them. One moment they were standing there, the next, their world went black and they were ethereal energy-forms, floating above their own bodies. They were now in a death penalty cooldown, after which they could spend experience points to resurrect.

The players reacted quickly. Though stunned by the devastating attack, the survivors were already organizing a counter-offensive, while those whose timers were up were respawning and running back.

"Mages, fall back! His AOE is huge! Warriors, get in there and hold the line!"

Dozens of warriors charged forward with a roar, shields and swords raised, fearlessly rushing the man in the crater.

Alistair just scoffed. He stomped his right foot, shattering the stone beneath him, and his body shot forward like a high-speed train. Any player in his path was sent flying backwards, coughing up blood as their health bar vanished, unable to even utter a sound.

The players swarming him felt a blur of motion, and suddenly the Lord of Frostfell was standing in their midst. The golden aura burned in his eyes, and his cold, oppressive gaze was so intense it seemed to root them to the spot.

His greatsword became a whirlwind of destruction. With a few wide, sweeping arcs, he unleashed several door-wide waves of force that crossed and converged, physically vaporizing a whole crowd of warriors, along with their swords and shields.

"Warriors, spread out! Use a triangular formation, don't clump toge—huh?" The player acting as a commander stopped mid-sentence. The warriors he was commanding were now a cloud of several dozen floating souls.

In the brief window bought by the warriors' heroic sacrifice, the mages had finished their incantations. A spectacular, dense barrage of low-level spells—fireballs, wind blades, water jets—streaked through the air toward Alistair.

He paid the attack no mind. The players were still far too weak. A volley of this magnitude couldn't even scratch his defenses. But he knew their rate of growth was terrifying. If he didn't seize every opportunity to increase his own power, his chances to bully them like this would become fewer and fewer.

Ignoring the pathetic spells splashing against his aura, Alistair leaped, a meteor of silver and gold, landing amidst the squishy mages. A few horizontal sweeps of his greatsword, a couple of basic attacks, and the entire backline was swiftly annihilated.

In the span of a few breaths, every player on the battlefield was dead or dying. Some of the first to fall had already revived, but they kept their distance, watching the carnage from afar.

Because one man was still standing. The protagonist, Riven.