How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

“It seems you’ve grown more… unexpectedly than I could have imagined,” the Duke murmured under his breath, his crimson eyes watching the distant figure of Riley as he exited the castle grounds.

The winter wind brushed against the windowpanes, but the Duke didn’t move from his spot.

His arms folded behind him, posture straight, yet there was a thoughtful curve to his brows.

He had always known Riley would grow strong someday.

The boy had a sharp gaze, a deep reservoir of potential that simply needed the right pressure to evolve.

Still, to hear him speak such bold words—to nonchalantly mention the possibility of killing the head of the Gyeoul clan—was not something the Duke had ever anticipated.

A low chuckle escaped his throat, amused and bewildered at once.

“I might kill the clan head, huh…” he echoed to himself with a smirk. “I guess he really does see you as someone he can defeat fairy easily.”

With a quiet exhale, he turned away from the window, his eyes lingering on the now-empty sofa in the center of the room.

Silence hung in the air for a moment—until it shattered with a resonant voice, deep and amused.

“Hah! You really believe in the ramblings of a child now, Luther? Or has his little display of bravado gotten the better of your judgment? The brat knows nothing of me…”

The voice slithered from the shadows like smoke, and in the next instant, dark mist gathered at the center of the room.

Slowly, a figure took form—cross-legged and entirely at ease on the Duke’s sofa.

He wore a sleek black kimono, patterned subtly with violet streaks that shimmered under the light.

His hair was long, dark, and tied loosely, and his eyes—unnaturally deep purple—glimmered with mischief and calculation.

Sparks of violet lightning arced around his shoulders now and then, fading as quickly as they appeared.

Despite his youthful, almost unnervingly handsome appearance, the sheer weight of his presence betrayed his age.

This was no ordinary man—it was the infamous head of the Gyeoul clan.

The Duke snorted but didn’t look surprised.

“Haha. It would’ve ruined the moment I shared with my son if I acknowledged your unwarranted intrusion,” Luther said, stepping away from the window with an air of practiced calm. “So I let you linger. Consider it a courtesy.”

The clan head raised a brow, smirking. “So you already consider that brat your son, huh?”

“Well,” the Duke replied evenly, “he is my daughter’s fiancé. The man she loves—deeply. What else should I consider him if not family?”

The clan head leaned back into the cushions, a flicker of mock disdain on his face.

“Tch. Anything goes as long as it’s for your daughter, huh? You’re such a daughter-con, it’s almost painful to watch.”

Luther merely smiled.

“So, to what pleasure do I owe this unexpected visit?” the Duke said calmly as he approached his guest, voice laced with an unmistakable air of dry sarcasm. “For the great and grand Clan Master of the Gyeoul clan, Beon Gyeoul himself, to personally step foot into my residence without any prior notice… surely, the stars must’ve shifted.”

Beon clicked his tongue, settling more comfortably into the plush sofa as he crossed one leg over the other.

Sparks of faint violet still clung to his presence like lingering smoke.

“Tch. That sarcastic tone of yours still doesn’t match that disgustingly graceful face or honeyed tongue. Honestly, I can’t believe I once took you in as my student. You used to have manners, Luther.”

The Duke arched an elegant brow. “And isn’t it common courtesy to give your host a heads-up before barging into their home unannounced?” he replied coolly. “If you had the decency to arrive with prior notice, I might’ve prepared something.”

“Might’ve, huh?” Beon snorted. “So there was still a chance you’d do nothing at all.”

“Precisely.”

Beon narrowed his eyes. “Tsk. Don’t smile when you say that. It makes you look creepy. That overly handsome face of yours doesn’t match your vibe—it’s unnerving.”

Luther let out a soft chuckle. “Says the man who looks younger than half the Empire despite being old enough to babysit the current emperor.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Beon replied with a smirk.

With a shake of his head, the Duke finally took the seat across from him, folding one leg over the other as he leaned forward ever so slightly. “So? Why are you here, really?”

Beon leaned back with a huff, arms resting on the back of the sofa. “Isn’t it obvious? That damn brat already gave you the context, didn’t he?”

“The marriage proposal?” the Duke asked, tone even.

Beon’s eye twitched. “It’s not a marriage proposal. Don’t you dare call it that. If anything, he’s asking for a death sentence! That stinking, shameless playboy had the audacity to send me that ridiculous letter. And to make it worse—he had my poor, innocent granddaughter carry it around like it was nothing! I swear, his debaucherous energy probably corrupted her the moment he breathed in her direction!”

He was fuming now, tossing out accusations laced in protective grandfatherly rage.

His violet eyes glowed faintly with electricity as he gestured wildly, mumbling all manner of insults under his breath.

The Duke simply watched, lips pressed into a thin line of amusement.

He didn’t bother interrupting.

“—And don’t even get me started on the way he expressed his feelings for her in that cursed letter, you could just smell and see the smug thick faced Cringeness behind it ugh! I bet he’s the type to break ten hearts before breakfast and act like it was fate’s doing—”

“You call me a daughter-con,” Luther finally cut in, eyes gleaming with subtle mischief. “But I think you’re far more obsessed with your granddaughter than I ever am with my daughter.”

Beon froze mid-rant, his hand still in the air, mouth slightly open. Then he clicked his tongue again and muttered, “…At least I have a valid reason. Seo’s still pure and sweet. Your daughter already fell for that snake.”

“Careful, now he’s still my son…” the Duke warned with a thin smile. “And that ‘snake’ might be your future grandson-in-law.”

“Hah! Not unless he can take my head—and I’m not giving it up that easily.”

They stared at each other for a long second before both old monsters let out small chuckles, the air easing just slightly between them.

Despite their clear distaste for each other’s personality, they could agree on one thing—at least when it came to family.

Their values, no matter how twisted or sharp-edged, stemmed from the same source: a deep, immovable love for their own blood.

That much, at least, needed no debate.

“So,” the Duke began, tilting his head ever so slightly, “you came all the way here just to check on my son? You could’ve simply introduced yourself formally. You’re already in the castle. Riley seems to be waiting for you, too.”

Beon scoffed, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa while his fingers traced lazy circles in the air.

“I did plan to meet him this morning, believe it or not. But the timing didn’t line up. He was too busy going through the streets, kissing girls like some damn prince out of a cheap romance novel.”

“Kissing… girls?” the Duke echoed, one brow rising.

“Yeah. I caught him red-handed. One was a golden-haired beauty, the other had white hair—eerily similar to yours and your daughter’s looks. Though,” Beon clicked his tongue, “I dare say they might’ve been a bit more beautiful.”

The Duke blinked slowly, the corners of his lips twitching with quiet amusement.

Gold and white… He could already guess who they were.

Based on the descriptions alone, it was hardly a mystery.

What surprised him more was the fact that they had kissed him so publicly.

Bold girls, those two.

Not that it bothered him.

He gave a small nod, contemplative and unfazed.

“Even after knowing that,” Beon pressed, squinting at the Duke, “you’re still willing to accept him as your daughter’s partner?”

Luther exhaled lightly through his nose, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Well, the boy is full of surprises. He’s genuine, in a strange sort of way. Honest about who he is. I can’t say I hate that.”

“Stop.” Beon raised a hand, grimacing. “No matter how many pretty words you throw around to defend that audacious little bastard, it doesn’t erase the fact that his nerve has already got the better of me.”

“Well,” the Duke said with a soft chuckle, “I suppose there’s nothing I could say that would change that, then.”

Beon narrowed his eyes, but a smug smirk crept onto his face nonetheless. He took the jab as a compliment, even if he didn’t admit it aloud.

“Still,” he muttered with a huff, leaning back against the sofa, “if Bom hadn’t been there to stop me, I might’ve lopped that brat’s head off right there in the middle of the street.”

The Duke let out a dry chuckle, but the air around him shifted slightly—his expression turning calm yet cold, as if a line had been crossed. His voice, though soft, cut like steel.

“Well, I’m glad you were able to hold back, at least. Because if you had gone through with it—and made my daughter cry…” He met Beon’s eyes without blinking. “Your entire bloodline might’ve ended in that moment.”

The room stilled.

Even the ever-snide clan master of the Gyeoul clan found himself momentarily speechless.

Beon opened his mouth to retaliate with a sarcastic jab—maybe something about the Duke’s melodramatic flair—but he quickly shut it.

Because he couldn’t take those words as a joke.

Not from him.

In a figurative sense, the Duke’s influence alone was enough to crush nations.

But in a literal one?

Beon knew firsthand just how terrifying Luther could be when truly provoked.

The boy he once taught to hold a sword—the quiet, observant noble with too much talent and too little interest in using it—had grown into something monstrous.

Something not even he could define anymore.