Chapter 1

Destiny Slayer was an RPG that had sparked buzz for its gorgeous graphics and the kind of frustrating, inconvenient design that missed the mark on player comfort.

The core premise should have been simple: an empire plotting world domination and attempting to use demonic power, opposed by a kingdom fighting back.

There were plenty of characters that made you want to complain about why they wouldn’t join your party, and far too many developments that made you click your tongue and wish for a save point right then and there.

The prevailing rumor was that it sold purely thanks to its handsome character designs, and honestly, even I thought so.

It gathered male players with cute girl characters while pulling in female fans by putting numerous gorgeous men front and center.

…Why was I suddenly bringing this up, you ask? Because it seemed I had been reincarnated as Rasta, a prince of the evil empire.

The fact that the catalyst was the shock of falling out of bed in my sleep and hitting the back of my head hard felt entirely fitting for Luster, I thought as I looked at the blonde hair and sharp, ill-tempered blue eyes staring back at me from the mirror.

Rasta was the fourth prince of the empire, positioned as a minor villain early on who meets his doom in the early stages of the game.

His role was probably to introduce players to the idea that “this is what the imperial family of the evil empire is like.”

Of all people, why Rasta… I didn’t want to die just yet.

Judging by my appearance, I was probably around twelve years old right now, but at this rate, I’d be dead in about five years.

And there were only two choices: either meddle with the main character and get executed as a disgrace to the imperial family, or get captured by the kingdom and executed.

As a minor early-game villain, he had low stats and was universally disliked, and he only had about one person you could truly call an ally.

“Lord Rasta? Is something the matter?”

Hearing a female voice, a young girl walked into the room.

The name of the girl with silver hair, youthful beauty, and black dog-like ears slipped out of my mouth on reflex.

“Gina.”

“Yes.”

Gina was a werewolf girl that Rasta had picked up on a whim.

She was the epitome of a loyal retainer who would never betray him no matter what future he walked toward.

When Rasta was executed, she would blame herself for failing to save her master and invariably take her own life.

Unlike Rasta, her high stats made her a headache for players, and her fierce loyalty coupled with her beauty earned her a dedicated fan base.

One of the reasons the game was accused of missing the mark on player comfort was the fact that “Gina can never be recruited.”

I had found it frustrating back then, but to me, now stuck as Rasta, her presence was immensely appreciated.

She was the only one I could trust—someone who served Rasta wholeheartedly with zero two-facedness and would commit suicide if he died.

To put it bluntly, Rasta had no allies other than her.

“Do you want to sleep together?”

When I spoke up to brush it off, Gina stared at me with her green eyes for a moment before nodding.

“If that is what my lord desires.”

There was no way a lump of absolute loyalty like her would ever refuse.