Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

"How dare you lie to us?! Do you know who my father is?! Frobitna helvete! Snövalp!"

"I would've had you executed for scamming us if we were in the North! In fact, I'll bury you in the snow and let my dogs piss on your frozen corpse! Te isätande råtta!"

I frowned in utter confusion.

What were they even saying?

I had no idea what any of most of those last words meant. Or the ones before them, for that matter.

See, I was just heading back to my dorm when these three knuckleheads jumped in front of me and blocked my way.

They didn't even bother introducing themselves or what possible vendetta they had against me!

Instead, they just started hurling obscenities in my face. They were spitting curses like they were on a timer.

But half of their insults didn't even make sense to me since they kept switching back to their native tongue.

From the looks of them, though, I had a pretty good guess that the language they were talking in was Fröstväk.

How did I know? Simple. All three of them were fair-skinned, dark-eyed, with the faintest trace of blue around the edges of their pupils.

Those were the marks of the Frostborn — the people from the Northern Safe-Zone.

Yeah. The world's a lot different than it was five hundred years ago.

After the Third World War, when the Portals appeared, Earth was never the same.

The Awakened emerged soon after, and the strongest Hunters of that era built Safe-Zones to protect humanity from the Spirit Beasts spilling out of the Portals.

It was the darkest time in human history.

Humanity was caged into five major Safe-Zones, cut off from one another for decades.

No one dared step outside the Safe-Zones, because beyond lay nothing but radiation-filled nuclear wastelands and eldritch horrors.

It was hell on earth.

Surviving outside the Safe-Zones was impossible unless you had the power to fight those monsters.

So humanity raised huge walls and huddled together. They stayed within those walls for a long time.

It took numerous generations of strong Hunters to clear the outside world and establish a proper contact between the five Safe-Zones.

It was a slow climb, but civilization eventually recovered. And thanks to their newfound power and the resources they discovered, humanity's progress after that was explosive.

However, during the dark times, it was discovered that the Earth had undergone physical changes as well.

New landmasses had formed, while some of the old ones crumpled and collapsed into each other.

The Portals had influenced the geography of the world, reshaping it in unexpected ways.

The North was now covered in snow and had become an endless frozen expanse.

The East became a place of constant rain and lush forests.

The South turned into one vast desert, full of sandstorms and dunes, dry and unforgiving.

The West remained a relatively serene, balanced, and peaceful region.

And at the heart of it all, the Central was a mix of all these climates, stitched together into one.

But it wasn't just the Earth that had changed.

Forced into isolation within these Safe-Zones, humanity itself began to change as well.

Languages, cultures, and traditions blended as people were pushed together, united by necessity and survival.

Those who had once spoken entirely different languages or celebrated vastly distinct customs now found themselves unified under the same leaders, fighting the same battles to stay alive.

As the decades passed, this fusion gave rise to something new. Languages combined, creating hybrid dialects that felt familiar yet different.

Traditions intertwined, forming fresh practices that carried hints of the past while still being something entirely new.

Take the Frostborn, for example. They still held onto fragments of their Nordic roots, but centuries of mingling with other displaced groups in the north had transformed their culture into something unique.

And it wasn't just them.

Each Safe-Zone developed its own identity.

The North became a place of stoicism and endurance, its people hardened by the relentless cold.

The East thrived with vibrant traditions inspired by the endless rain and sprawling forests.

The South learned discipline and resourcefulness to survive the harsh desert.

And the West built a peaceful society, focusing on trade and development.

It wasn't about where people came from anymore. It was about where they survived. While bits of the old world remained, generations of struggle forged something stronger.

Something new.

Today, the languages of the old world have blended into five major ones.

The Northern Safe-Zone speaks Fröstväk, a mix of Scandinavian — mostly Swedish and Norwegian — with touches of Icelandic and Finnish.

In the South, the people speak Sahnli, a fusion of Arabic, Persian, and Turkish.

The East developed Arcanis, inspired by Latin and a bit of Greek.

In the West, where I'm from, people speak Mercánt, a language formed from Germanic, Dutch, Swedish, and English.

The Central doesn't have its own language. As the hub where all Safe-Zones meet, it uses the Common-tongue, which is heavily based on Mercánt and is mostly English.

Common-tongue was the language we used daily, and the only one officially allowed at the Academy — which, honestly, was probably for the best.

I had serious doubts anyone here could keep up with the linguistic gymnastics if everyone decided to speak their own language.

Like this Frostborn trio in front of me.

"Are you listening to me, you–"

"Alright, stop!" I interjected, cutting off the tall, aristocratic boy before he could keep cursing me like I'd just kidnapped his family. "Who the fuck are you people? And what exactly did I do?"

The three of them exchanged baffled glances.

After a few seconds, one of them, a girl with strawberry-blonde hair, blinked several times before speaking in that throaty accent of hers, "You don't remember us?"

I frowned. "Why would I remember a bunch of lunatics I've clearly never met?"

"L-Lunatics?" The tallest of them, probably their unofficial leader, looked at me as if I'd just insulted the entirety of his noble lineage. "Did you just call us… lunatics?"

I waved a hand vaguely around us. "Yeah, I did. You're blocking my way, yelling at me for the past ten minutes, and talking about pissing on my frozen corpse. Sounds pretty lunatic to me."

The leader's face twisted in indignation. "We come from some of the most powerful and respected noble families of the North! We are not lunatics, you—"

Then, the quietest one amongst them, a shorter boy who'd been silent up until now, raised his hand to stop his foul-mouthed friend. "M-Maybe we should just explain…"

The leader shot him a glare, and the short boy trembled.

He clicked his tongue and turned back to me. "There's no need to explain anything! He knows what he did!"

I furrowed my brow. "Uh, no, I don't?"

And then they started cursing me again.

It went on for another ten minutes before the shorter boy somehow managed to calm them down again.

He turned to me with an almost apologetic expression and took a deep breath.

"M-My name's Ivan," he said, pointing to himself.

He was small, thin, with dark brown hair, and wore glasses so large they practically covered all his face, giving him an owl-like appearance.

He gestured to his taller friend, who looked exactly how an entitled brat was supposed to look — rusty red hair, sharp face, and that air of superiority.

Ivan introduced him as Viktor.

Finally, Ivan pointed at the petite girl with strawberry-blonde hair and a fairly pretty face.

Her name was Irina.

"And how exactly have I wronged you people?" I asked, not particularly invested in the answer.

Ivan fidgeted nervously with his fingers. "Uh… you b-borrowed some m-money from us…"

Before he could finish, Viktor exploded again. "Borrowed?! This scum outright scammed us! He told us he was the son of the Golden Duke when he was already been disowned by his family!"

"Do you even know the position you're in?!" Irina added angrily. "You have no political backing! What will you do if we sue you for fraud?!"

Oh, now I remembered them!

These were the idiots I'd extorted on my first day at Ascent. They had come back for their money, it seemed.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to follow their twisted logic. "You want to sue me over money… that you gave me willingly? Sure, go ahead. But you're going to lose."

"We didn't willingly give you anything!" Viktor shouted, stepping closer to sound threatening. "You said you were the Golden Duke's son and forced us!"

I tilted my head, a faint small smile tugging at my lips. "But I am the Golden Duke's son. So, what's your point?"

They all froze for a moment, processing my words as if they couldn't quite understand what I'd just said.

Viktor stammered, eyes wide with confusion. "Y-You… But you're… You're disowned?"

"And I'm still his son," I shrugged. "I have his last name. You see how your case won't hold up in court now, right?"

Irina looked even more confused than Viktor. "But you still… you still deceived us! We can take this to the Cadet Council!"

I laughed. "I doubt President Morrigan has time to deal with petty cases like this. Look, let's make it simple. Take the money and go."

I pulled out my Ace badge and flipped it over for them. At the back of my badge was a code linked to my online wallet. "Request whatever amount you want. I'll allow it."

The three of them stared at the badge in dumbfounded silence.

"You're giving it back? So easily? Even after… even after we cursed you like that?" Viktor asked, his voice still low and incredulous.

"Sure," I shrugged again. "I told you, Theosbanes always settle their debts."

They remained frozen, unsure whether to accept or decline the money I was suspiciously willing to return so easily.

Finally, Irina shot me a glare and scanned the code on my badge. "Fine. We'll take it."

Viktor muttered something under his breath, and with that, the trio turned and walked off.