I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 98: Change in Status

"Status" muttered Ashok and his status window popped in front of him.

STATUS

NAME: Ashok Kumar Maurya (Adlet)

JOB: Priest

FACTION ALIGNMENT: Evil

BLOODLINE: Not Awakened

AFFINITY: NONE(CURSED)

STIGMA: [???]

SOUL TRAIT: GRAVITY, INVENTORY.

TRAITS: Focalism, Drug Resistance, Sole Survivor, Cursed One, False Monarch {Grade Increase}.

SKILLS: NIL

ARTS: NIL

SPELLS: NIL

SPECIALS: Blessing of Charisma.

STATS:

STR: F

AGI: F+

END: F-

MIND: F+

CHA: ASCENDED (Currently Sealed) --- > SS+

MANA CORE: F-

DIVINE ENERGY: F -> F+

Seated comfortably within the enchantment-stabilized carriage, Ashok's gaze flickered briefly as he reviewed the definitive changes reflected in his status panel.

The two most notable improvements caught his attention almost immediately—the Grade Increase of his Trait and the two sub-rank advancement of his Divine Energy.

"Divine Energy is still not usable in any way, so it's out," he muttered to himself, dismissing the improvement for now as inconsequential.

Ashok's focus shifted to the Trait, an ability that carried far more immediate relevance. The Trait, one that had been forcefully bestowed upon him by the whims of the World itself, had once felt like an unwanted burden.

However, after coming out of the Duke's mansion alive with the deeds he had done, Ashok found himself adapting to it—perhaps even enjoying the subtleties of its influence.

The Trait had proven to be more than an abstraction.

Its effects were tangible, weaving through the fabric of his actions and demeanor. It subtly altered his way of speaking, his body language, and even his general behavior—all calibrated depending on the level of attention he commanded from those around him.

At first, this manipulation of his natural self had felt disconcerting, as though he were surrendering control to something beyond him.

But now, with its prolonged activation during his time in the mansion, Ashok had come to a critical realization: this malleability could also be used to his advantage.

Ashok opened the Trait's Description

False Monarch

Grade: Intermediate

Description: The User inherited this trait from the previous owner of the body because of ME. The trait is given to those who are born with the destiny to rule but can never get a Throne.

Effect: Depending on the Level of Attention the User receives, the User's speech and actions will change to that of a Monarch.

Additional Effect: Depending on the Level the Attention, the User's words have the slight chance to amplify the emotions of the listener.

Remark: KEEP IT UP! JUST LIKE A FOOL SHARPING THE AXE ONLY SO THE BLADE FALL ON HIS OWN LEG.

The taunting remark, as always, seemed to mock Ashok's existence and choices, but instead of frustration, it provoked a moment of idle curiosity in his mind.

'Does the World Will seriously have that much free time to write such remarks? When it's teetering on the brink of destruction, shouldn't it have other priorities?' The thought brought a faint, fleeting smirk to his lips, the irony of it all not lost on him.

Ashok's knowledge of the game's events loomed large in his thoughts. He knew what the future held for this world: a bleak cascade of death and devastation.

The list of adversaries was long and unforgiving—HellBringers, Cultists, Witches, Fallen Gods, and ultimately, his own Soul Partner. After all Morrathis was the Hidden Final Boss, who summoned the Abyss onto the mortal plane.

For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of letting this sarcastic, doomed world collapse under its own weight. 'Would it really be so bad to let it all end?' he wondered, his gaze fixed on the blur of scenery outside the window.

If the World got destroyed then he can't fulfill his goal roaming in the space. The conclusion was immediate the World can't get destroyed.

As Ashok indulged in his thoughts, contemplating the World's fate while still far from possessing the power to enact such decisions(simply wasting time after confirming his status), the carriage carried him ever closer to the Portal.

Meanwhile a few moments ago in the Duke's mansion,

The moment Ashok had passed through the grand gates, the Duke, with his characteristic solemnity, left his daughter's room.

She was in the care of the Head Butler, whose duties now included channeling mana without rest—a thankless task that weighed heavily on his already embittered pride.

The Duke's footsteps echoed purposefully through the halls as he made his way back to his cabin, his mind already consumed with the promise he had made to Ashok. The room bore the scars of the Great Witch's earlier attack.

Yet, the Duke paid them no heed. To him, such damage was insignificant—a temporary inconvenience that would be mended in days. What mattered now was fulfilling his commitment.

The Duke settled on the sofa and took out a communication orb from his storage ring.

Updat𝓮d from freewēbnoveℓ.com.

The communication orb he retrieved from his storage ring was visibly different from the one he had handed to Ashok earlier.

This orb bore the Southern Duke's house insignia, etched elegantly across its surface, accompanied by faint shimmering lines—a design attuned to a specific mana wavelength.

Such an enchantment ensured that whoever received the call would instantly recognize the prestigious origin of the communication.

The Duke channeled his mana into the orb, activating its magic and initiating the connection. The surface pulsed faintly before stabilizing, indicating that the call was being transmitted. After a brief pause, a polite, measured old voice emerged from the other side

"It's been a long time, Southern Duke," the voice said.

The voice carried the weight of deference, his tone bordering on overly submissive as he addressed the Southern Duke.

"Yes, it has been a long time, Vice Dean. I would like to speak to the Dean," the Duke stated firmly, his commanding tone leaving no room for ambiguity.

The Vice Dean's voice remained polite yet firm, carrying an air of mild apology as he reiterated, "I am sorry, Duke, but the Dean is busy at the moment. You could convey your message to me, and I will relay it to the Dean."

"It's urgent," the Duke stated, his commanding tone leaving no room for negotiation or further questioning.

The Vice Dean, recognizing the weight of the Duke's terse command, did not dare to defy it. "Please wait a moment! I will get the Dean," he said hastily, his voice carrying the urgency of someone acutely aware of the consequences of hesitation.

Without further delay, the Vice Dean hurried away to summon the Dean, leaving the magical communication orb temporarily silent.

The Duke sat still, his posture composed, as the quiet hum of the orb filled the room.

The silence was soon broken by a voice from the other side, sharp and unmistakably annoyed. "Who is so important on the other side that you have to drag me away while I was having lunch? Tell them, whosoever it is, I will talk after lunch," came a annoyed female voice from the other side.

"Dean, the Duke is on the other side." Said the Vice Dean.

The Dean's voice carried an air of mild curiosity, her sharp tone reflecting her impatience.

"Which one? Eastern or Western?" she asked, evidently not even considering the possibility of the Southern Duke. After all, he rarely contacted her directly, preferring to delegate communication to the Vice Dean in most matters.

The Southern Duke, listening to their brief bickering from the other side, felt a fleeting urge to interject but decided against it. His experience with Ashok had tempered his patience somewhat.

"It's the Southern Duke," the Vice Dean said, his tone firm yet tinged with urgency.

The voices remained clear on the other side, owing to the placement of the communication orb near them.

The communication orb lacked the feature to put calls on hold and the Vice Dean, already cautious in his interactions, did not possess the audacity to end the call of the Southern Duke outright.

As the communication orb resonated in silence for a fleeting moment.

BOOM!

The quiet was abruptly shattered by a resounding sound emanating from the other side.

The Dean's voice followed immediately, its tone now crisp and feigning cordiality. "It's a pleasure, Southern Duke," she said, her earlier annoyance now veiled by a layer of professionalism.

The Duke, unfazed by the sudden shift in tone, delivered his response with a pointed subtlety that spoke volumes. "It's a pleasure. I didn't know that the Dean loved food this much," he remarked, his calm and composed voice.

The implication was clear—he had been privy to their earlier conversation, and he wasn't above acknowledging it.

The Duke, observing the Dean's brief silence, decided to press forward, his tone steady and businesslike.

"Well, personal affairs aside! I would like to talk about one of your new freshmen who was with me moments ago."

The Dean's voice returned, now tinged with genuine surprise. "With you? A new student was at your place and didn't come to the Academy."

It was clear that this was an unprecedented occurrence for her—something entirely outside the norms she had come to expect over the years.

Without missing a beat, the Duke continued, his voice maintaining its authoritative edge. "The student said his name was Adlet."

COUGH!

COUGH!

The sound of intense coughing and staggered footsteps echoed from the other side of the communication orb, revealing the aftermath of the Dean's fury.

It was evident that the Vice Dean had suffered a significant reprimand for his lack of foresight. The Dean had blasted the Vice Dean because he didn't warn her beforehand that the Southern Duke was on the call which irked her, and her irritation had clearly been redirected with full force toward her subordinate.