I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 766: [The Rewritten Lost Past] [6]

One month had elapsed since Amael offhandedly proposed that the surest way to halt the raging Holy War lay in the elimination of its mightiest warriors and sovereigns alike.

During that span, Lisandra and Alphonse's appearances grew markedly rarer. At most once or twice a week now, far from the almost daily routine he'd unintentionally grown used to. The campfire carried a different vibe on evenings without them—not intolerable, scarcely noteworthy, yet... hushed in a manner that stood out more than it ought.

Amael, who'd devoted much of his existence to embracing isolation and guarding it fiercely, felt a subtle irritation upon realizing he truly missed their presence. Lisandra's nonstop chatter about her grievances. Alphonse's habit of dropping a startling remark mid-debate, then seeming faintly astonished by its effect. Those fireside talks that, sans any pact, turned mundane days into highlights.

He'd developed an attachment to them. Silently, unintentionally, unnoticed until their scarcity highlighted it.

He tucked that realization aside, avoiding direct scrutiny.

The day began routinely enough. He'd risen, completed his morning rituals, finished cleaning up, and now stood shirtless before the unlit campfire under the balmy dawn glow, deeming the fine weather and lack of urgencies perfect for an extended, undisturbed snooze.

The heavens shone vividly. The woods lay serene. The sun already delivered comforting warmth.

He'd just started settling onto the log when footsteps sounded.

He lifted his gaze lazily.

Lisandra and Alphonse emerged from the trees—a peculiar sight, as they always arrived after dark, never by daylight.

Yet that paled against the oddest detail.

They wore simple outfits head to toe, utterly nondescript garb that betrayed no rank, drew no eyes, invited no familiarity. Thick cloaks shrouded them despite the mild morning air. Each bore a bulging pack on her back, seams taut from the load.

Amael propped up on one elbow, gaping.

"What are you doing here?" he inquired.

Lisandra extended a hand toward his upper chest, averting her face abruptly.

"For Eden’s sake," she snapped, "put something on."

"I’m fairly certain you’ve already seen me without a shirt," Amael replied, rising fully.

"Yes! That doesn’t mean I want to keep seeing it!"

"Then why do you keep stealing glances?" He teased, lips twitching despite himself. "You, and Alphonse over there."

"We are not—" Lisandra spun fully, presenting her back. "We are absolutely not doing that!"

Amael snatched his shirt from the nearby log and slipped it on.

"Alright," he announced, adjusting the collar. "Why show up midday disguised to evade notice, packs bursting on your backs?"

Both turned to confront him.

"Because we’re leaving," Alphonse stated plainly, nodding faintly.

Lisandra's face lit with a broad, authentic, mildly victorious grin. "We are officially dead."

Amael eyed her. "...Come again?"

"We did it," Lisandra declared. "Your plan. We pulled it off. It required a month to align every element—ensuring believable demises, handling the fallout, arranging matters so neither realm had cause to persist in battle and faced ample domestic woes to occupy them." She gestured expansively, unveiling the masterpiece. "But yesterday night, we clashed on the battlefield, battled fiercely, and perished. Dazzlingly. Utterly persuasively."

Alphonse’s faint smile lingered, perhaps intensifying subtly.

No further conflict. No crowns. No serving as tools for those who dreaded rather than honored them. Simply over.

Amael regarded them briefly, truly startled despite expectations. He'd floated the notion casually, detached from outcomes. Deep down, he'd figured they wouldn't commit.

Yet they had.

"Well," he uttered, pivoting to the firepit. "Congratulations."

"That’s it?" Lisandra's tone spiked. "We halted a war, Amael. A genuine, devouring Holy War consuming the continent. And that's all—congrats?"

"That’s good for you," he responded, easing onto the log and grabbing his fire kit.

"Then, when are we going?" Alphonse queried, drawing nearer.

Amael glanced upward.

Both loomed above, gazing expectantly.

Comprehension dawned swiftly.

Instinctively prioritizing self-protection amid looming complexity, he feigned ignorance.

"No idea what you mean," he claimed amiably. "But I’m staying here."

Lisandra blinked. "We can’t stay here—we’re dead, Amael. We must flee the continent completely. That’s the scheme. You can’t linger in the woods near your ‘death’ site without eventual detection."

"I don’t recall," Amael countered, "any clause in my plan volunteering me for a subsequent group journey. That bit’s absent from my recollections."

Silence crashed down among them like a plummeting boulder.

"...What?" Lisandra uttered.

"You’re staying," Alphonse affirmed.

"Yeah," Amael verified.

"Why?" Lisandra gawked. "You’d prefer solitary forest life over joining us?"

"When did I say that?" Amael retorted.

"Then why won’t you come?" she demanded, voice rising in exasperation.

"Why do I have to?" he shot back.

"Because...because maybe—" Lisandra huffed irritably. "Maybe you’d enjoy yourself for once instead of idling here? Maybe you’ve isolated too long for anyone’s good? Maybe because we’re asking?"

Amael peered up at them.

"You actually thought I’d come with you?"

"You were the one who said we’d have to leave," Alphonse pointed out. "That if we faked our deaths, we’d need to depart. Couldn’t remain."

Clearly, Amael had outlined it, and in ensuing nights post-idea, he'd shared destinations, world lore, and tales.

Naïve perhaps, but both assumed he'd join, given his animated delivery.

Amael winced, recalling his fervor—it did sound like he'd adventure alongside.

"I said that, yes," he conceded, nodding. "So you’d best depart swiftly, before Michael links it to me, sparing me the hassle. He’ll manage somehow." He seized his poker and faced the fire anew.

Moments passed uneventfully.

Suddenly, azure flames burst across the pit with a fierce hiss.

Amael leaped up, recoiling from the vivid blue inferno that devoured his meticulously stacked campfire in a single surge. He gaped at the ruined setup—logs, layout, uncooked meat—all vanished—then shot Lisandra a stunned look.

She wheeled away already.

"Enjoy your lonely existence then, Amael. Come on, Alphonse. He doesn’t care. You witnessed it. We’ll proceed solo." Then, softer, nearly muttered: "I can’t believe I even felt...whatever. Never mind."

"Felt what?"

Amael blocked her path ere she concluded.

"Kyaa!"

Lisandra's yelp struck Amael as adorably feminine, prompting his smile.

She staggered back slightly, cheeks blazing as awareness hit, and lashed out with a punch to mask the mortification.

Amael intercepted her wrist effortlessly.

Her blow halted midway.

"What did you feel?" he pressed.

Lisandra gazed upward, aflame with blush.

Then it poured forth.

"We just thought you were like us!" she blurted, words cascading. "Someone who got it! And we figured maybe together—all three—we’d thrive more than separate! It wasn’t awful, right?! Those nights together?! You loved it, I know! Any guy would with princesses like us! Admit it, quit pretending you didn’t, stop acting like you don’t—!"

She halted. Registered her outburst. Blushed deeper if possible.

"Your words pack a punch," he remarked mildly. "Or is that your joint spin on these months?"

Amael freed her wrist as Lisandra averted her eyes.

"I did enjoy it," he admitted softly. "Your company, both of you."

Alphonse, observing from afar throughout, met his gaze. "You did."

"I did," he affirmed, nodding.

"Then..." She advanced a step, narrowing the gap, tilting her head to lock sapphire eyes on his. "Why won’t you come with us?"

Amael paused before resolving.

"My terms," he stipulated. "On my conditions, by my rules."

Alphonse's demeanor shifted. The wary glint yielded to hidden warmth, awaiting this precise moment.

"Anywhere away from this," she agreed, smiling.

A subtle smile, unprecedented on her.

Amael's pulse stuttered noticeably, as it had sporadically around either, though he dismissed it deliberately.

Yet now, he opted briefly for self-indulgence.

He returned the smile.

Authentically, he couldn't recall when the future last beckoned appealingly, rather than inexorably approaching.

"When are we leaving?!" Lisandra shattered the instant, buzzing with thrill as Amael turned.

Both radiated that energy, poised at a vast threshold, half-doubting its reality—two women long mere icons for others, now authentically free.

Unburdened and liberated. Eager to explore a world unmarred by destructive duties.

And oddly, enthusiastically, with Amael—who knew the globe intimately—as companion.

He'd prove the ideal navigator.

......

"What are you waiting for?"

Amael eyed Lisandra and Alphonse calmly, quizzically. He'd packed essentials—scant, as his life crammed into a spatial ring—and stood prepared.

The travel method, though, demanded debate.

He'd clarified twice: Flight outpaced terrestrial options, silenced carriages, and crucially, he could cloak them fully while bearing them. No tracks. No signs. Nothing for Michael or pests to pursue.

But it required him transporting them—one piggyback, one cradled.

He'd laid it out, now awaiting their resolution.

Lisandra froze rigidly—an anomaly for her—gaze dipping to her bosom.

She faced a dilemma.

Back seemed marginally less mortifying. Theoretically. Yet her figure ensured he'd sense it throughout flight, forcing prolonged awareness sans escape.

Front entailed nestling chest-to-chest, confronting his face or desperately avoiding. Either screamed humiliation.

No ideal choice. Merely lesser evils.

"W—We can fly by ourselves!" she burst out, knowing it stretched credibility.

"I’m faster," Amael deadpanned. "And I can hide our presence completely. You can’t." He eyed her wearily. "I’ve explained. Twice. I won’t risk Michael or troubles tracking us. Destination stays secret via my transport."

Lisandra parted her lips.

Alphonse advanced.

"I’ll be carried," she declared crisply, unhesitating.

Lisandra whirled, pure incredulity at her poise—words aside, the shameless delivery. Where hid such composure?

Realization struck; she clutched Alphonse's arm preemptively.

"Syl." Her tone hushed, cheeks tinting. "Please. Let me have the front."

Alphonse blinked.

"It’s...it’s less," Lisandra stammered on. "The back’s worse, believe me—for reasons, just worse. For me. You get it. Please."

Alphonse assessed her, then glanced fleetingly at Lisandra’s chest.

"He might feel them anyway," she noted, "angle-dependent."

"It will be less!" Lisandra countered. "And you—" She waved at Alphonse’s figure. "you have less!"

Alphonse's brow furrowed slightly.

Lifelong male treatment had soured her on minimizing womanly traits now embraced.

"I do have breasts," she stated, peering downward. Merely expertly concealed. Lisandra boasted more, always.

"Can you two quit sizing up your chests and decide?" Amael interjected from behind, openly having overheard.

Lisandra emitted an indignant noise she'd deny later and surged ahead.

"I’m taking the front!"

She halted a foot from Amael, stiff, arms pinned, fixating near his collarbone.

Amael bypassed her hesitation.

One arm scooped under her knees, the other behind her back—he hoisted her effortlessly, feather-light.

"Ahh!"

The startled squeak escaped unchecked as terrain vanished, leaving her suspended in his hold—back on one forearm, legs across the other, wholly reliant on his strength and balance.

She glimpsed skyward briefly, then met his near face, amusement twinkling subtly.

Fists clenched at her sides. No clinging like a damsel. She was a Demigod. Guardian Spirit vanquisher. She’d endure carriage.

Self-deception rang hollow; both recognized it.

Ultimately, fists rose to shield her scorching visage—a makeshift fix.

Amael stood momentarily stunned by Lisandra's display, his resolve straining against the allure.

Alphonse then positioned behind, graceful as ever. Hands on shoulders, arms encircling his neck loosely.

"Is this alright?" she murmured near his ear.

"Yeah," Amael affirmed. "Hold on tight."

"I will," Alphonse whispered.

Her breath's warmth grazed his neck...intensely.

Undeterred, he concentrated.

Adjusting stance to secure them—Lisandra cradled, Alphonse clung—he ascended smoothly.

And surged forward instantly.

Course locked.

An island veiled even from Gods.