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

While Alain melted back into the throng of attendees, Riley's eyes remained fixed on his fading silhouette for several extra moments before he at last averted them.

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

He ought to grasp precisely what I intended.

A subtle wave of contentment warmed his heart.

The warning had landed without any drama.

Precisely the right amount of weight 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 original schedule, it remained a pivotal moment linked to a central heroine—Clara's path, to be exact.

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

This case proved no different.

Alain Etrama Zelova.

The name sprang vividly to Riley's mind.

A mid-tier foe in Clara's storyline.

Not overwhelmingly powerful by himself, yet sly and underhanded—one of those shadowy schemers who excelled through plots, deceit, and leveraging others' strength.

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

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 against him.

From what Riley recalled, his past was heartbreaking in the most straightforward and brutal manner.

Alain had entered the world as the son of the realm's queen, but the monarch's favor had gone to another—the elder prince, offspring of a cherished consort.

In spite of his "trueborn" lineage, Alain found himself neglected, dismissed, and steadily marginalized while his sibling dominated the palace's attention.

His mother, weak and suffering from a fatal ailment, had held onto him as her last chance.

Seize the crown, she had implored.

Whatever the price.

And Alain had obeyed.

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

Truly a tired old tale.

In the beginning, the prince hadn't sunk to such depths.

He had even fended off the taint initially, standing firm upon forging a pact with that specific Demon King.

The murmurs, the lures, the vows—they didn't claim him right away.

But mortals have boundaries.

Regardless of willpower's strength or determination's solidity, a human psyche could only withstand so much against a Demon King.

Hidden cravings you'd denied would be unearthed, refined, and returned to you until fighting back felt futile.

Observing Alain's present condition, Riley could sense it.

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 any heroine's core events unless they touched him directly.

Some of it stemmed from confidence—Lucas was destined to factor into those arcs, after all.

Outcomes were meant to resolve favorably.

Or so the narrative assured.

However, with that individual already appearing, it was certain.

Clara attended the academy.

And if Clara was present, Lucas must be entangled too.

Riley sank into contemplation.

Meddling recklessly might unleash huge ripples—he'd witnessed how minor tweaks twisted happenings in unforeseen directions.

Yet simultaneously... the current setup didn't feel wholly organic.

To be candid with himself, the unfolding events owed at least some to his own meddling.

He had quickened the rhythm.

Propelled incidents ahead.

And now, repercussions were emerging sooner than anticipated.

This stood as the outcome of it all.

Riley exhaled deliberately.

All told, handling Alain might prove irritating, but he posed no true threat.

As a lesser boss, his power ranked low.

Against the protagonists, he hardly compared.

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

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

Should Alain somehow summon his master—the alleged Demon King, actually the Demonic Queen—it wouldn't alter the result much.

Riley felt assured of that.

Besides, should turmoil break out in the chamber immediately...

He had issued his caution unmistakably.

Whatever scheme Alain plotted at this assembly, he'd at minimum proceed warily to avoid dragging Snow into it.

And should he lack the wits to decode Riley's intent... then Riley would swiftly eliminate him without remorse.

Including his sovereign, if required.

Nevertheless, slaying Alain at this juncture offered scant reward.

Beyond minor gains, it wouldn't yield true value.

No...

Perhaps handing this over to Lucas was wiser.

Allowing him to confront a Demon King's underling—and ultimately the Demon King herself—solo could provide just the challenge he required.

A true trial.

A advancement.

Riley discovered a real spark of interest.

He knew Lucas would triumph.

That went without saying.

But observing it up close... seeing Lucas tackle a Demon King in his unique style—

That was an event Riley yearned to behold.

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

I'll intervene solely if it turns critical.

Stepping in now brought no advantage, yet inaction held none either. Ultimately, he opted for balance.

Observing passively remained the most secure path for the moment.

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

The idea brought a faint amusement.

For an instant, Riley itched to trail Alain.

A portion of him craved viewing the sequence he'd only known 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 heroic saves were reserved for the heroines.

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 connection.

This marked the pivot.

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

For the present, Riley had another duty.

I need to honor my dear one's wish.

His vision swept over the bustling chamber, alive with shifting forms, subdued chats, and veiled motives.

As Snow desired him to master these social arenas, he saw no cause to deny her.

If this fulfilled her desire, he'd handle it thoroughly.

With such resolve, Riley advanced, surveying the assembly to pick his initial contact.

Before long, Riley's attention locked 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 initiated the approach.

"Hello."

"H–huh?"

The fellow jumped a touch before narrowing his eyes at him.

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

Riley chuckled gently.

"I appreciate the formality, but please, be at ease. And I’m not a lord yet."

The trader stiffened.

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

Riley opted to overlook the silent sentiment.

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

Sufficient to lighten the strain, sufficient to let the trader relax.

Not long afterward, 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 adequate curiosity to sustain the exchange.

It progressed swiftly.

"Hoho! So, you’re interested in that sort of thing as well, 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.

Others had arrived.

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

They integrated gradually, tossing in remarks, chuckles, and personal accounts.

...How did this escalate?

Riley couldn't pinpoint it.

He hadn't sensed the transition at all.

At some juncture, the talk had expanded past just them, evolving into a compact gathering of its own.

In the midst of it, Riley noticed he was allowing roughly half the words to glide by unheard—titles, timelines, overblown yarns, and trivial facts merging into a 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 forward or withdrew.

Even without catching every phrase, he followed the current—and that sufficed presently.

I ought to slip away shortly...

Riley arrived at that with mild approval.

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

Social mingling, he reflected with dry amusement.

And upon reflection—

If Lucas attended, Janica probably lurked in this space too.

The notion had scarcely completed when—

BOOOOMMM!!!

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

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

"You bastard!"

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

He boasted an overly massive frame for his years, with muscles so thick they bulged against his elegant attire.

His cropped hair, angular traits, and imposing stature lent him the air of a menacing brute instead of an elite visitor.

Kagami Kento.

He flexed his knuckles deliberately, waves of mana and aura emanating from him in suffocating surges.

The binding spells that lunged at him crumbled on contact, while the hall's etched safeguards sputtered ineffectively, failing to hold him back even a fraction.

At his base sprawled a form.

Prince Alain.

Or what was left of him.

One side of his visage lay utterly demolished—no, pulverized—like a pudding slammed by immense might, with tissue and skeleton mangled past repair. His frame jerked subtly, mana spilling in chaotic bursts.

...Is he even alive?

Riley regarded the spectacle wordlessly.

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

Damn.

Gradually, Riley turned his attention to Kagami, experiencing an uncommon twinge of true confusion.

Why is this fellow even present?