World’s Strongest Became the Game’s Weakest Villain

The breeze of war calmed down in an instant.

Out in the Chardonnay planes, deep inside the camp of the Pinot Kingdom's forces, the meeting of commanders and leaders received a news that made all of them stop in their tracks.

"W-who did you say was kidnapped?" The commander-in-chief asked his adjutant. "Which… prince?"

"Prince Albert, my lord. Prince Albert has been taken into the enemy encampment."

"Haha…'

A laugh rang out.

Dry, chilly, the laugh swept over the tent.

"Hahaha…"

Another.

The adjutant swung his head in surprise.

"HAHAHAH!"

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In the blink of an eye, all the commanders started guffawing. Some held their heads with their hands while others pressed their sides as all of them laughed grandly.

What was this? Mutiny? Betrayal? Had war made the commanders go insane?

Before the adjutant could say anything, the commander in chief turned to him and smiled.

"Ring the bells, adjutant!" The commander spread his arms wide, a bright smile plastered on his face.

"We've won this war."

***

The sounds of dirt dragging through resounded in the Traube encampment. The clunks of chains as they ran against jagged paths and uneven stones sounded like uneven bells as a single knight dragged someone by the legs.

The knight pulled the person along. The brown haired captive did not resist, even when his back screeched against the ground and stones dug through him, he only yawned with an expressionless face.

"Son of a bitch…" the knight muttered. He passed by the many tents and trenches and moved closer to the his commanders. "Now you'll know what it feels like to have your home taken."

The knight turned back and spat.

A ball of saliva arched through the air and fell on the captive's face. With his hands cuffed up and placed behind his head, the young captive couldn't even wipe it away.

"Tsk. Fucking crazy bastard," the knight shook his head and continued onward.

He pulled the captive's legs and dragged him against the ground.

Suddenly, the weight he had been dragging along lightened.

"What—" The knight turned back, and a thick stone came hurtling toward his neck. The knight tried to evade, but the stone was already moving in the same path as him.

"Ahk!" An impact crashed into the knight's neck, crushing his Adam's apple. The grip on the captive's legs loosened.

At the same time, the stone bounced off the knight and landed back in the captive's hands.

The captive whistled. His legs wrapped around the knight's torso, and with a single twist, he had brought the knight to the ground while he stood up.

It all happened too fast, too sudden for the others to react.

As the soldiers in tents noticed how their companion had been brought to the ground, the moved.

One rushed at the captive standing atop the knight. The soldier drew his blade out and charged right at him.

A stab, then a swing to the right. The captive dodged all of the soldier's moves with minimal movement. He brought his face closer to his mouth and suppressed a yawn as the soldier kept swinging his sword.

As if it were phasing through him, as if it could never reach him, the blade didn't as much as graze the captive's hair.

"Done?" The captive asked.

The soldier, stunned, pulled his blade back for one final blow—

"Ah!" The captive tossed the stone again.

Shrugging, he kicked the downed soldier in the face and raised his hands high in the sky.

"About time…" the captive muttered, his voice low.

Dozens of arrows came tearing through the skies and straight toward him. The captive remained unmoving, his hands turned up.

The arrows passed him by without ever touching him.

All of them missed.

Just one, one arrow came hurtling toward his head. The arrow crashed against the chains of the captive's cuffs and broke through them in a go.

"W-what in the world?!"

"Get him!!"

The soldiers were too stunned to speak.

Shaking his hands, the captive turned a lazy gaze over the approaching soldiers and knights before shifting to the long-ranged attackers further at the back.

"Hm, how boring," the man's words fell on deaf ears.

The soldiers neared him at last. Dozens of swings and attacks came thundering toward him, but with just the slightest movements, the captive dodged all of them.

He moved closer to a few of them and blocked the others' sights. Before their attacks could fall on him, he swerved his body with the precision of a gymnast and the attacks landed on friendly forces.

Over and over, without even swinging his arms, the captive started shaving down the number of enemies.

"So predictable…" he said, suppressing another yawn.

Then, the captive hopped over the stubs of the arrows embedded in the ground and kicked off. He jumped over the soldiers' heads and landed away from the encirclement.

"Come along, losers, it's just one guy." A smile spread on the captive's face. "Let's keep things spicy, yeah?"

He kicked off the ground, the captive's feet soared through the encampment as he rushed ahead. No stray sword or log, no large boulder or tent, nothing in the cramped encampment could impede his perfect movements as he ran without slowing down. Hopping over the crates and knocking down the others.

It was as if he could see the entire camp in the back of his eye. As if he was as used to it as he was to his palm.

The captive ran through some tents. One soldier stepped out with a small torch in his hands, confused.

"Oh? Morning."

"What—"

—Thwack!

He punched him down and tossed him away with the tent. The captive snatched the torch before it could fly away and turned to his back. The chasing soldiers stopped as he swung the log of flames near their face.

"Uwa!"

"Bastard! That's just a fucking torch! Charge!!"

Well, fear did break easily.

The captive giggled and turned on his heels again as he set off through the tents.

The soldiers followed, arrows came scrambling out, but not a single hit could touch the captive.

With the torch in his hands, he moved toward the back of the encampment and found the tents of the cooks for the army.

He kicked just the right boxes and carried the rest as kerosene started spilling out and soaked the grounds. The group following behind the captive increased with each passing second, not realizing the contents of the boxes in his hands had already soaked their feet.

At last, the captive turned and stopped.

"Where will you run now, bastard?" The soldiers asked.

"I won't," the captive answered.

He pulled the torch in his hands up—

"You will."

— And tossed it away.

A spark of flames spread through the ground. The soldiers stepped back as the kerosene all over the ground started catching fire. The feet of the first ones lit ablaze.

"Ah, ah!! Fire!!!"

And the file broke apart.

Streaks of flames spread over the camp and started chasing the soldiers.

The streaks turned into waves.

And the waves turned into a storm.

Flames danced wildly in the night sky, swallowing up the entirety of Traube's camp.

Screams rang out all over the place as some died while others ran away.

The captive shook his hands and chuckled. He reached into his pockets and pulled out a pipe before moving into the tent at the very back of the encampment.

The small, unassuming tent was his goal all along.

Stepping inside, the captive pumped his brows at the muscular man sitting at the very back, a young boy hiding behind his back.

"Prince…. Albert…" the man spoke, grating his teeth.

The captive, Prince Albert, pulled the flaps of the tent aside and let the view of the burning encampment seep into the tent as he prepared his pipe.

"Looks cool, ain't it, Duke Traube?"

In front of the captive, stood the leader of the enemy forces. The head of Traube.

"You… What do you want?"

Prince Albert shook his head and walked over to the duke.

The young child who seemed to be twenty years of age flinched in his chair as Albert came closer. Without a word, Albert slapped the person across his cheeks and forced him off the chair.

Crossing his legs over one other, Albert sat on the chair and leaned on his back.

Traube, speechless, could only watch Albert.

Taking a matchbox out of his pockets, Albert lit it ablaze and brought the flames to his pipe. He took in a deep sip of the smoke before letting it out.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Albert asked, his eyes fixed somewhere else.

"What is…?"

"You know… a dragon suddenly popping out and killing you. And then waking up in another world? Do you think you go to another when you die?"

The Duke held his breath.

He shook his head.

"Wanna find out?"

That night.

The long war between the Pinot Kingdom and the Principality of Traube ended with the Duke's death.