Player Chapter 31. Jealous?
Riven froze mid-bite. "Jealous?" His eyebrow twitched. "I'm thinking about my reputation here."
Elena blinked softly.
Eric folded his hands on the table, trying not to smile. "Your reputation?"
"Yes," Riven said with deadly seriousness. "That fake vampire is a dude. Older than me. And I put him on the front. Guarding him. Like my girlfriend."
Elena almost coughed.
Eric's lips trembled.
"And not to mention," Riven continued, stabbing his fork at the air for emphasis, "the chain."
"The chain was necessary," Eric pointed out.
"Of course, it was necessary. He's our witness. I had to secure his position." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling like a man betrayed by destiny. "But," he said darkly, "I just heard two acolytes whispering in the corridor."
Elena's shoulders stiffened.
"They said," Riven went on, voice lowering into tragic drama, "that I might have a weird kink involving older men, chains, and horses."
Silence.
Then…
Eric lost it.
He covered his mouth, trying to contain his laughter, but failed miserably.
Elena pressed her lips together so hard they almost disappeared.
"My reputation," Riven said gravely, "is screwed."
Eric wiped the corner of his eye. "You're exaggerating."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I am single, Prince."
"So?"
"So this matters."
Elena finally let out a small, helpless laugh.
Riven looked at her instantly. "Oh, you're laughing too?"
She tried to compose herself. Failed. "You do realize," she said softly, "that people were more focused on the fact that you dragged a chained fake vampire into town covered in blood."
"That's secondary," Riven said. "The chain positioning is the real issue."
Eric leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "You fought dozens of monsters today."
"And a dragon," Riven added casually.
Eric paused.
"…What?"
"Nothing."
Elena's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You said that earlier too," she said carefully.
Riven immediately waved it off and cleared his throat and stood up slightly, tugging at his torn sleeve.
"Anyway. Know a place to fix gear? Or maybe buy new ones? Because I need it. I can't go on like this."
His shirt had at least three slash marks.
One sleeve was half ripped.
His coat looked like it had been through a small war.
Elena nodded. "I know a place in town. A good armory place."
Riven brightened immediately. "Nice. Can you-"
"I will take you there," Eric cut in smoothly.
Riven paused.
He looked at Eric.
Then at Elena.
Then back at Eric.
"The Saint needs to be here," Eric added calmly.
There it was.
The shift.
The protective tone.
Subtle. But clear.
Riven leaned back slightly, studying him.
"You're afraid they'll target her."
Eric didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"You said it yourself," Eric continued evenly, "this is a crusade against her."
Elena opened her mouth slightly.
Then closed it.
Her fingers tightened faintly against the edge of the table.
She didn't like being spoken about like that.
But she also didn't deny it.
Riven watched both of them quietly.
The silence stretched just enough to feel heavy.
Then he shrugged lightly.
"Fine."
He grabbed the last piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth.
"I'll have you come with me, Prince."
Elena looked between them.
"You two sound like you're about to duel."
"We're not," Eric said smoothly.
"Not yet," Riven added casually.
Eric laughed softly.
Elena exhaled slowly, watching the tension ease.
It was strange.
They were talking about assassinations, conspiracies, crusades.
And yet the atmosphere had turned absurdly normal.
They finished the rest of their meal quietly after that. The food was already lukewarm, but no one complained. The clink of cutlery against plates felt grounding, ordinary. It helped. Something about eating together made the world feel less like it was cracking open beneath their feet.
Eric wiped his hands and stood first. "We'll visit the armory store in the morning," he said.
Riven stretched slightly in his chair. "Fine. Morning it is."
They parted ways shortly after.
Eric headed toward the guest wing.
Elena lingered a moment in the hall before turning down the corridor toward her room, her thoughts quieter but not lighter.
And Riven… Riven walked back to his own room like a man who had just fought a dragon, negotiated milk, and argued about horse-related rumors in one single day.
Which, to be fair, he had.
He stepped inside his room, locked the door behind him, summoned his Pocket Dimension skill and stepped inside.
The small space was exactly as he left it this morning.
Bed unmade.
Chair slightly tilted.
He stood there for a few seconds.
Then tilted his head.
"Why is it still like this?"
[You need a servant to clean your room.]
He blinked.
"Excuse me?"
[Rank E does not include automatic housekeeping.]
He cringed. "And I already ranked up. I should get something, right?"
A faint shimmer pulsed in the air.
[Yes.]
He straightened slightly.
[You have unlocked unlimited spices and appliances in the kitchen.]
"…What."
[You have unlocked a basic crafting room.]
He paused.
"Wait."
A faint glow formed against the far wall.
A door appeared.
He stared at it.
"…Oh."
He walked over slowly and pushed it open.
The room inside was small but clean. Wooden workbench. Tool racks along the walls. A basic forge setup in one corner. A grinding wheel. Shelves lined with empty jars. Mortar and pestle. Basic alchemy stand. A few labeled compartments for materials.
Not flashy.
Not luxurious.
But functional.
He stepped inside, eyes scanning everything.
"This is mine?"
[Correct.]
He ran a hand over the workbench surface.
Solid.
Stable.
His lips curved slightly. "Meaning I can craft something."
[Within material limits.]
He turned in a slow circle, mentally calculating possibilities.
Custom blades.
Armor modifications.
Potion experiments.
He almost laughed.
"Oh. This is good."
He stepped back out into his room and closed the crafting door gently.
Then paused.
"…Right."
He snapped his fingers lightly.
"The roulette. I want to spin it now."
The translucent roulette wheel appeared before him, hovering in midair.
He cracked his neck slightly.
"Okay. Let's go."
The wheel spun.
Fast.
The segments blurred into color.
He folded his arms, watching it slow.
"…Come on."
It ticked past Ultimate.
Ticked past Buff.
Slowed.
Slowed.
And stopped.
AOE.
His eyes sharpened.
[You have obtained a new skill.]
Text flared brighter than usual.
[Mana Blade Rain (Area Skill) ]
[Summons hundreds of floating magic blades. Launch blades at enemies. Can defend allies. Very flashy skill.]
His eyes widened at that last line.
"Very flashy."
He grinned.
"Oh, I like that."
He immediately imagined it…
Blades forming in the air behind him like a halo of death.
Hundreds of shimmering weapons.
Descending like divine punishment.
He could already see the dramatic pose.
He placed a hand on his chest dramatically. "Yes. This spells 'Riven was here'."
[It is mana-intensive.]
"Worth it."
[Cooldown: Moderate.]
"Still worth it."
He looked upward slightly.
"Say my thank you to Astraea."
[Message acknowledged.]
He stretched his shoulders and let the roulette dissolve.
"What a day."
He walked toward the bathroom and started unbuttoning what was left of his shirt.
The dried blood cracked slightly as the fabric shifted.
He winced.
"Yeah, bath first."
Hot water filled the small tiled space of his Pocket Dimension bathroom. It was absurdly modern compared to the medieval world outside. White ceramic tiles. Glass shower panel. Chrome fixtures. Steam rising.
He stepped under the water and hissed softly.
"Worth it," he muttered.
Blood washed away in thin red streams, circling down the drain. The smell of iron faded. His shoulders relaxed.
He finished washing, dried off, and walked back into the bedroom area in just a towel. He opened the wardrobe. As usual, it only provided variations of clothing from the era he was currently in.
Tunic. Leather trousers. Light boots.
He clicked his tongue.
"No hoodie yet."
[Wardrobe expands with Rank progression.]
He pulled on a clean tunic, dark charcoal, and laced it properly. It fit well. Simple. Adventurer-standard. Not flashy.
He ran a hand through his hair and then glanced at the bed.
Still messy.
He stared at it for a few seconds.
"I really need a servant."
[Confirmed.]
"Don't encourage me."
He sighed and fixed it himself, pulling the sheets tight and adjusting the pillow. It felt weirdly grounding. A small act of control after a chaotic day.
Then he stepped into the kitchen.