Transmigrated as the Villain: I Will Destroy Fate

Chapter 179: Meeting [1]

Instantly, a practiced smile fixed itself onto Ronan’s face. It was the same one he had used countless times before – polite, warm, and diplomatic. The smile of a reasonable noble heir, not someone calculating how to survive the people in front of him. But this time, the expression felt foreign. It took work to arrange his features this way, a conscious strain that pulled at muscles he had once used with thoughtless ease. Before the battle, before Mesmer, before Yeon Li’s bargain, it had been second nature. This was weird. It was not as if in his previous life these expressions came unnaturally. In fact they were very natural. However, now it felt different.

Now it felt like wearing another man’s skin.

He performed it anyway.

He gave Seraphina a slight, reassuring nod, then turned his full attention to the man seated at the center of the room. Before sitting, he bowed his head, a smooth and respectful gesture befitting his station.

"Your Majesty."

"Sit," Theron Valon instructed. His voice was a low rumble, even but carrying an undeniable weight, like a distant thunder.

Ronan obeyed, sinking into the plush chair opposite the king, his posture relaxed, his hands resting calmly in his lap.

He took control of the conversation instantly.

"I must admit, I am surprised," he said, framing the question with perfect deference, even as it remained the first read word of the conversation. "To what do I owe the honour of a personal audience, Your Majesty?"

Theron did not answer right away.

He simply studied Ronan, his gaze heavy and analytical, as if Ronan were a piece on a board being examined by the player who owned the entire game.

He felt small under it.

Of course Ronan felt small under it.

This was a Rank 6 initial-stage expert, the effective ruler of the human continent.

Even Mesmer, a Rank 6 middle-stage demon in his prime, was sealed now, his output throttled closer to Rank 4, maybe Rank 5 if pushed.

Theron was not throttled. He was not sealed.

Seraphina shifted in her seat, her nervousness palpable.. Arthur, by contrast, did not move at all. His expression remained a placid mask of polite interest, and that stillness unsettled Ronan more than anything Theron had done so far. Theron’s power was obvious, a weight in the room anyone could feel. Arthur’s attention was quieter. Harder to measure. Ronan filed the thought away and did not let it show on his face.

The silence stretched. Then Theron reached behind him.

Though Ronan’s mind knew it was nothing – that a king would not draw a weapon in a private lounge at Luminara Academy – his survival instincts flared with a violence that shocked him.

Bolt. Leave. Get away.

He had never felt this in front of his own father, a Rank 5. He hadn’t felt it even facing Mesmer at his sealed strength. This was different. This was the apex predator of the human continent, three feet away, and every cell in his body screamed at him to run.

He ignored it. He stayed perfectly still.

Both his hearts kept a steady, calm rhythm, shielded by something far older and colder than his own composure. The thought brushed against his mind like a phantom limb. Could Theron sense it? His second heart? Could he sense the leech? A man of his rank should notice something wrong – an altered core, a foreign presence coiled where a soul should be alone. But the king’s face gave nothing away.

He wasn’t questioning Ronan about that. So Ronan said nothing.

Theron placed a small, familiar object on the polished table between them. A necklace. A silver chain holding a single, unadorned pearl. Seraphina’s necklace.

Ronan recognized it instantly.

"Do you know what this is?" Theron’s voice was level, but an unseen pressure pressed down on the air. A reminder that the answer Ronan gave mattered.

"I do not, Your Majesty," Ronan lied smoothly.

"Give me your account of what happened in the selection zone. Your side of it."

This was the test.

Ronan began carefully, constructing the narrative one piece at a time. The barrier had shattered. A demon had attacked, a woman of roughly Rank 3 strength, one he and Elara had fought together. He mentioned no names. Not Lilith. Not Mesmer. Not Yeon Li.

Then he reached the part involving the princess.

"We were searching for other survivors when we saw a flash of light in the distance. Not quite a pillar, but bright. We moved toward it and found Her Highness there, alive, with the body of Brutas Pollundini nearby."

Theron interrupted.

"The light you saw came from this." He tapped the necklace. "The ’Holy Protector.’ A Rank 5 artifact. It shields its host from fatal harm, once every seven days. A family heirloom."

Lies, Ronan thought. Almost everything he just said. That artifact was rank 7, but sealed.

Ronan let his eyes widen at the perfect moment, a carefully performed shock, his gaze drifting from the king to the artifact as if only now connecting the pieces.

"So that light was...?"

Theron gave a short, sharp nod.

"It was. You will keep your knowledge of this artifact a secret."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Ronan paused, just long enough to seem thoughtful rather than defiant. "But if I may be so bold as to ask – why?"

The king’s eyes narrowed, a silent warning. "You do not need to know. Only that it is important, and that you will not speak of its existence to anyone. Do you understand?"

"Completely, Your Majesty." Ronan inclined his head, his expression firm. "No one will know."

"Good." Theron said. "That is all."

Theron vanished. No shimmer of mana, no distortion of space – there, and then not.

Arthur smiled at Ronan, then said, "Good to meet you, Ashbourne. And you, baby sister, see you around."

And with that, he, too, left the room.

Ronan let out a small, visible breath, mostly for Seraphina’s benefit. Internally, he was already sorting through it.

The meeting had been about the artifact. Not the demonic transformation. Not Yeon Li. That meant one of two things. Either Seraphina had told her father everything, and Theron was watching him quietly without revealing it, or she had built a story that left out the parts that mattered most.

"Ronan."

Her soft voice answered the question for him.

He turned to her and stood, putting on the warmest smile he could manage now that the king’s presence no longer pressed down on the room.

"Princess," he said, then corrected himself. "Seraphina."

She started to speak, but he cut her off, closing the distance and pulling her into a hug.

"I’m glad you’re safe," he said, his voice low.

She froze for a heartbeat, then softened against him, her arms coming up around his back.

"I’m glad you are too," she said, her voice thick. "I thought... I thought you were dead."

"I thought the same." He broke the hug, keeping his hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. Better to set the hook now, while she was still reeling. "There are things I need to explain."

Her eyes widened.

"Can we meet later? Somewhere private?"

She hesitated, more vulnerable than he had ever seen her. Then she nodded.

"I have... a lot of questions." Her voice dropped to a whisper too faint for Arthur to catch. "I didn’t tell them. About what I saw."

Ronan lifted a finger and pressed it lightly to her lips.

He didn’t need to say anything. She understood. Not here. Not now.

"For now, just act normal," he murmured. "I’ll inscribe a message and a meeting place at the next Runic Arts Club meeting, and hand it to you casually."

"I... okay."

Seraphina’s expression was indiscernible, but if Ronan could pick out one of the emotions showing on her face, it was relief.

The moment he left the room, the smile vanished.

The guards who had brought him were still waiting outside, their faces impassive.

He gave them a curt nod and walked away without looking back.

—

Elara paced the frigid alley, tapping her foot against the grimy cobblestones.

First it was anxiety. T

hen irritation.

Now the biting wind just made her angry. She shivered, and her scowl deepened.

That idiot. That stupid bastard woke up and didn’t even tell her. Instead she’d heard it secondhand – gossip, of all things – that he was apparently dating Aura Acheron now.

The idea made no sense, and yet it made perfect sense, because it was exactly the kind of ridiculous, infuriating thing Ronan would do the moment he regained consciousness.

And then he had the audacity to summon her here, to this freezing, gods-damned alley, like she was some shady informant.

Wait, was she a shady informant? She lied to the Academy for him.

Oh my god, she was a shady informant.

She told herself she was just angry. But underneath it, other things churned – relief that he was awake, fear that hadn’t fully faded since the invasion, and a deep, burning frustration that he was hiding so many things from her that directly affected her.

The image of his ruined, blackened arms refused to leave her mind.

She tapped her foot harder. Where is he?

Footsteps, finally, crunching against the loose gravel at the alley’s mouth.

Her face lit up despite herself.

"Ronan, you absolute–"

But it wasn’t him.

A girl stepped out of the shadows, blonde hair catching what little moonlight reached the alley, framing a heart-shaped face with a kind, almost beatific expression. A gentle, holy aura clung to her.

Grace Light raised one hand in a small, hesitant wave.

"Elara? Can we talk?"