So he teleported.
The world folded around him, the bedroom vanishing in a blur of crimson curtains and candlelight, and then he was somewhere else entirely. The air was cooler here, stiller, with a faint scent of water and stone. John blinked, his yellow eyes adjusting to the dimmer light, and looked around.
He was in a throne room. A massive, awe-inspiring throne room that he had never seen before, which meant the system had been busy while he was off playing hero. The floor was black marble, polished to a mirror shine, and beneath it, visible through cleverly placed gaps and channels, was water. Dark, still water that reflected the ceiling above, creating the illusion that the entire room was floating on an underground lake. Pillars rose on either side, thick columns of black stone veined with gold, their capitals carved into snarling dragon heads or maybe demon faces, it was hard to tell in the low light. Torches burned in iron sconces, their flames casting dancing shadows across the walls, but the primary illumination came from somewhere above, a soft, ambient glow that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.
John was elevated. He stood on a raised platform at the far end of the room, twenty stairs leading down to the main floor. The throne itself was behind him, a massive construction of black marble and gold filigree, its backrest carved with scenes of conquest and domination. It looked like something a dark lord would sit on while plotting the downfall of kingdoms. John made a mental note to try it out later.
But first, the bodies.
The drugged noblewoman was huddled on the floor at the base of the stairs, her blue silk dress still bunched around her waist, her legs bare, her panties still half-pulled down. She was shivering, her arms wrapped around herself, her dark hair a tangled mess. Beside her, laid out in a neat row like someone had taken the time to arrange them, were three corpses. The serving woman that Alrick had killed, her throat still gaping, her eyes still wide. Alrick's body and head, separated but placed together, the head resting on the chest like a grotesque pillow. And Zedrik's body, also headless, with his head tucked under his arm like a football.
John stared at the scene for a long moment, then looked up at the ceiling. "System. You did something actually useful for once. I'm impressed."
A blue screen flickered to life in front of him.
Don't sound so surprised. I have my moments.
"Yeah, yeah. Where exactly in the mansion is this? I don't remember building a throne room."
This is the throne room under the central tower. In the basement. You didn't build it. I did. While you were off playing goblin chief and fucking your summons.
John raised an eyebrow. "You can do that? Just... add rooms?"
I can do a lot of things. You never asked.
"Fair enough." John looked around again, taking in the pillars, the water, the throne. It was impressive. More impressive than anything he'd designed himself, if he was being honest. The system had taste. "I'll have to remember to ask more often."
He turned to say something else, and that's when he realized he was still naked.
His goblin form had vanished when he teleported, replaced by his attractive non-goblin body. The husk avatar. Black hair, yellow eyes, six-foot-three of lean muscle. But no clothes. Not a single scrap of fabric. His cock, still soft but substantial, was just... out. Hanging there. On display.
John's face went red. "System! Give me clothes! Now!"
What kind?
"ANY FUCKING KIND! I DON'T CARE! JUST COVER ME!"
A flash of blue light, and suddenly John was wearing an outfit. It was... a lot. Black pants, tailored perfectly to his long legs, tucked into knee-high boots of polished black leather with silver buckles. A white silk shirt, loose and flowing, with wide sleeves that cinched at the wrists. Over that, a long black coat, its tails reaching almost to the floor, embroidered with silver thread in patterns that looked like constellations. A silver chain hung from his neck, thick and heavy, with a pendant shaped like a stylized skull. And on his hands, black leather gloves with silver rings on every finger.
John looked down at himself, then back up at the screen. "This is... very edgy."
You're an overlord. Edgy is the brand.
"Yea but now it looks liek im about to sing "because tonight is the night that i will falll for youuuu, over againnnn" He smoothed down the front of the coat, adjusted the chain, and turned to face the noblewoman.
She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open. She had been picking at the hem of her dress, too terrified to even notice that he'd been naked a moment ago. But now she was looking at him, and her face was pale, and her whole body was shaking.
John didn't really know how to calm a sobbing woman. He had no experience with this. Back in his old life, the only women he'd talked to were cashiers and the occasional classmate who wanted to borrow a pencil. He wasn't equipped for trauma and tears and terrified civilians.
"Um," John said, his voice awkward. "Please calm down? It's okay. You're safe now."
The woman just cried harder, her sobs echoing off the stone walls. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving.
John winced. "Really. It's fine. Those guys are dead. They can't hurt you anymore."
More sobbing. Louder this time.
John sighed, running a hand through his black hair. He cleared his throat, straightened his spine, and dropped his voice to the deepest, most commanding register he could manage. "Stop."
The woman froze. Her hands dropped from her face, and she looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. Her mouth was covered by one trembling hand, stifling the sobs. She was convinced, John could see it, that if she made another sound, he would kill her. That she was standing in the presence of something far more dangerous than Zedrik or Alrick had ever been.
John sighed again, letting his voice return to its normal pitch. "You should stop being scared. I'm not going to hurt you."
The woman's composure shattered. She dropped to her knees, pressing her forehead to the cold marble floor, her whole body prostrating itself before him. "Please," she begged, her voice muffled by the stone. "Please don't kill me. Please don't rape me. I'll do anything. Anything you want. Just please let me live. I have children. A husband. They need me. Please, I'm begging you."
John's stomach turned. "No. No, I'm not that type of person. I've never raped anyone in my entire life."
He paused. Thought about Elrin. The drug. The way the noble had been completely out of it when John had carried him to Marrianetta's torture room. The way he'd fucked him while he was unconscious, then again while he was drugged, then again while he was conscious but broken.
"Well," John amended, his voice smaller. "Apart from Elrin. But that was different. He deserved it."
The woman's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face twisted with fresh horror. "So you have raped someone," she whispered, and then she was sobbing again, even harder than before, curling in on herself like a wounded animal.
John threw his hands up in the air. "It's not the same! He deserved everything he got!"
The woman wasn't listening. She was just crying, her body shaking, her breath coming in short, hysterical gasps.
John tried again, softer this time. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned that. But I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I'm going to help you. I'm going to get you home to your family. Just... please stop crying."
Nothing. Just more sobbing.
Ughhh. No matter what he said, she cried. He couldn't win.
John sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and let his body shift. The tall, muscular frame shrank. The black hair dulled. The yellow eyes faded to a muddy brown. When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his chud form. Five-foot-eight. Soft and doughy. Greasy black hair. Taped glasses. The whole pathetic package.
The overlord clothes looked ridiculous on him now. The long black coat dragged on the floor, the sleeves hung past his fingers, the silver chain clanked against his belly. He looked like a child playing dress-up in his father's wardrobe.
John walked down the twenty stairs, his boots clicking awkwardly because they were too big for his chud feet, and stopped in front of the woman. She was still curled up, still crying, but she had lifted her head slightly, watching him through a gap in her fingers.
"Please," John said, and his voice came out softer now, more innocent. It was the chud voice. The voice of the loser who couldn't get a date, who spent his nights watching anime and crying into his ramen. There was no threat in it. No power. Just... patheticness. "Please stop crying. I'm not going to hurt you. I swear on my mom's life."
The woman's sobs slowed. She looked at him, really looked at him, and something in her expression shifted. The fear was still there, but it was mixed with confusion now. This wasn't the terrifying overlord who had decapitated two men with invisible threads. This was just... some guy. A short, fat, awkward guy in clothes that didn't fit.
She sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and didn't run away. It was progress. Small, but progress.
John let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.