How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game Chapter 677: Unexpectedly Good?

As Alain melted away into the throng of people, Riley's eyes remained fixed on his vanishing form for several extra moments before he at last looked elsewhere.

He's sharp-minded, Riley mused to himself.

He ought to grasp precisely what I intended.

A subtle wave of contentment bloomed within his heart.

The warning had landed without any drama.

Sufficient force applied to ensure it lingered in his thoughts.

Yet... running into a figure like that in this place wasn't something Riley had foreseen.

That's my oversight, he conceded to himself.

Though this occasion had advanced ahead of the game's initial schedule, it remained a crucial plot point linked to one of the primary heroines—Clara's storyline, to be exact.

And as a heroine's path progressed, the villains tied to it inevitably emerged too.

This instance proved no different.

Alain Etrama Zelova.

The name sprang vividly to Riley's mind.

A secondary antagonist in Clara's chapter.

Not especially powerful by himself, yet cunning at his core—one of those shadowy foes who excelled through plots, deceit, and leveraging others' strength.

Similar to numerous adversaries in the tale, he served as a corrupted devotee... or more accurately, a mortal who had deliberately embraced demonic sway.

A classic pattern.

As the second prince of an expanding realm, Alain had spent his days overshadowed by the line of inheritance.

He wasn't selected as successor—not due to any shortage of ability, but because destiny had ruled otherwise.

His history, as Riley recalled, carried the weight of simple yet brutal misfortune.

Born to the realm's queen, Alain still found the king's favor directed toward another—the eldest prince, offspring of a cherished consort.

In spite of his "rightful" lineage, Alain endured neglect, dismissal, and steady marginalization while his elder sibling dominated the palace's focus.

His mother, weak and stricken with a fatal ailment, had held onto him as her last aspiration.

Seize the throne, she had implored.

Whatever the price.

And Alain had heeded her.

Fueled by envy, despair, and a twisted loyalty, he vowed to take the crown through whatever path required—even if it involved bartering his spirit, abandoning his mortal essence, and turning into a conduit for forces far more sinister than mere greed.

Truly a stereotypical narrative.

In the original tale, the prince hadn't sunk to such depths initially.

He had even withstood the taint early on, standing firm upon forging a pact with that specific Demon King.

The murmurs, the lures, the vows—they failed to claim him right away.

But mortals have boundaries.

No matter the strength of determination or the solidity of purpose, a human psyche could only withstand so much against a Demon King.

Hidden cravings you denied would be unearthed, refined, and returned to you until defiance lost all purpose.

Observing Alain's present condition, Riley discerned it plainly.

He's nearing his second transformation.

That accounted for the haste.

Until this point, Riley had largely overlooked Clara's circumstances.

Relative to the rest, she seemed... remote.

He hadn't delved deeply into each heroine's central events unless drawn in personally.

It stemmed partly from confidence—Lucas was destined to influence those journeys, after all.

Outcomes were meant to resolve favorably.

Or so the narrative assured.

But with that individual already present, certainty loomed large.

Clara attended the academy.

And Clara's presence meant Lucas's involvement too.

Riley sank into contemplation.

Meddling without care might unleash vast ripples—he'd witnessed how minor tweaks twisted happenings in unforeseen directions.

Yet simultaneously... the unfolding wasn't wholly organic.

To be frank with himself, the current developments owed at least some debt to his own meddling.

He had quickened the rhythm.

Propelled incidents ahead.

And now, repercussions were rising sooner than anticipated.

This stood as the outcome of it all.

Riley exhaled steadily.

All in all, handling Alain proved somewhat irksome, but he posed no true threat.

As a lesser boss, his might ranked low.

Against the protagonists, he scarcely compared.

Even entering his second phase, his best feat would be delaying Lucas briefly with deceptions or ruses.

Given Lucas's ongoing progress and battle prowess, defeat remained impossible.

Should Alain somehow summon his master—the so-called Demon King, actually the Demonic Queen—it altered little.

Riley held firm belief in that.

And besides, should turmoil ignite in the chamber now...

He had issued his caution unmistakably.

Whatever scheme Alain plotted at this assembly, he'd exercise enough wariness to spare Snow from entanglement.

And should he lack the wit to decode Riley's intent... then Riley would swiftly remove him from existence.

His queen included, if required.

Nevertheless, slaying Alain at this juncture offered scant reward.

Beyond minor gains, it yielded nothing substantial.

No...

Perhaps entrusting it to Lucas proved wiser.

Allowing him to confront a Demon King's underling—and ultimately the Demon King herself—independently could provide the ideal challenge.

A fitting trial.

A stride ahead.

Riley discovered real intrigue stirring within him.

He knew Lucas would triumph.

That went without saying.

But beholding it in person... observing Lucas tackle a Demon King through his own methods—

That was an event Riley yearned to see.

After weighing it, Riley halted briefly before reaching a firm choice.

I'll intervene only if absolutely required.

Acting immediately brought no advantage, yet inaction held none either. Ultimately, he opted for balance.

Observing from afar served as the securest path presently.

If that fellow seeks a host for his queen... could he be targeting Clara?

The idea sparked mild amusement in him.

For an instant, Riley felt tempted to trail Alain.

A portion of him craved viewing the sequence he'd known only from gameplay unfold in reality.

To experience it firsthand, to verify the recollections he held.

But he dismissed the notion with a head shake.

That instant was Lucas's domain.

Lucas's saving moments were reserved for the heroines exclusively.

Riley had zero desire to encroach. Moreover, based on observations thus far, no substantial bond had formed between Clara and Lucas.

Her instantly developing feelings post-rescue seemed improbable.

Even so, it would ignite a spark.

This marked the pivot.

The instant when Clara, with her keen, commerce-savvy, cunning-as-a-fox intellect, would start regarding Lucas not merely as an individual—but as a prospect meriting attention.

For the moment, Riley faced another duty.

I need to honor my dear one's desire.

His sight wandered over the bustling chamber, alive with shifting forms, subdued exchanges, and veiled motives.

Since Snow desired him to master such societal navigations, he saw no cause to deny her.

If this aligned with her hope, he'd execute it thoroughly.

With that resolve, Riley advanced, surveying the assembly to select his initial contact.

Before long, Riley's attention fixed on a figure who appeared... approachable.

Not excessively wary, not mired in intrigue—just a neatly attired, mature trader sipping his beverage calmly by the room's periphery.

Riley took the initiative.

"Hello."

"H–huh?"

The fellow jumped a touch before peering closely.

"Y-you are... a-aren’t you Lord Riley Hell?"

Riley chuckled gently.

"I value the respect, but relax, please. And I’m not a lord yet."

The trader stiffened.

His face all but broadcast that with such aura and stature, you could already claim the title.

Riley opted to disregard the silent sentiment.

Detecting the fellow's unease, he deftly steered the discussion, delivering courteous, captivating observations—casual notes on the venue, the occasion, and the vibe.

Just right to alleviate the strain, just enough to let the trader unwind.

Shortly thereafter, formal greetings ensued.

The trader adjusted his stance, confidence returning to his tone as he described his commerce.

Riley attended, affirming at key points, replying with measured curiosity to sustain the dialogue.

It unfolded swiftly.

"Hoho! So, you’re keen on such matters too, Master Riley?"

"Well," Riley answered offhandedly, "they are excellent investments."

"Hahaha! I knew you’d understand!"

The trader bellowed with mirth, evidently delighted.

"Back in my days—"

As the trader dove into his anecdote, Riley only registered afterward.

Additional faces had appeared.

A modest cluster had formed around them organically—fellow traders, lesser aristocrats, aides—attracted by the smooth exchange and the trader's mounting zeal.

They integrated gradually, contributing remarks, chuckles, and personal accounts.

...How did this come about?

Riley couldn't pinpoint it.

He hadn't sensed the transition at all.

At some juncture, the talk had expanded past the pair, evolving into its own modest gathering.

In the midst, Riley grasped that roughly half the words sailed past unheard—titles, timelines, embellished yarns, and trivial facts merging into haze.

Yet, this formed part of the exercise.

Thus, he concentrated on the cadence instead.

The breaks.

The responses.

The manner in which folks inclined closer or withdrew.

Though not every phrase sank in, he comprehended the current—and presently, that sufficed.

I ought to slip away shortly...

Riley arrived at that with quiet approval.

This had served as... rehearsal, sort of. Clumsy, boisterous, and largely futile—but rehearsal all the same.

Socializing, he reflected with dry humor.

And upon reflection—

If Lucas attended, then Janica likely lurked in this space too.

The notion had scarcely completed when—

BOOOOMMM!!!

A ferocious blast ripped through the atmosphere behind him, flinging luminous fragments and sparkling, star-resembling particles throughout the chamber.

The blast's force surged wide, shaking suspended lights and prompting cries from attendees as protective shields ignited belatedly.

"You bastard!"

The bellow issued from a youth whose very look shouted trouble.

His frame bulked out excessively for his years, sinews crammed so thickly they bulged against his elegant attire.

His cropped hair, angular traits, and imposing build lent him the air of a menacing brute over a refined visitor.

Kagami Kento.

He flexed his knuckles deliberately, magical energy and presence emanating in heavy surges.

The binding spells that lunged at him crumbled at once, while crisis runes etched in the space sputtered ineffectively, powerless to hold him back.

At his base sprawled a form.

Prince Alain.

Or what survived of him.

One side of his visage lay utterly demolished—no, pulverized—as though a soft dessert had met irresistible might, tissue and skeleton mangled irreparably. His frame jerked subtly, power seeping in chaotic bursts.

...Is he even alive?

Riley regarded the spectacle wordlessly.

He recognized that surprises invariably cropped up the instant he began forecasting—but even so.

Damn.

Gradually, Riley directed his view toward Kagami, experiencing an uncommon twinge of true confusion.

Why is this fellow even present?