-10?
A negative number?
Loran’s brain short-circuited for half a second.
He blinked instinctively, trying to will the absurd interface out of existence.
But the pink UI—
And that glaring crimson number—
Remained firmly burned into his vision.
“What are you staring at?”
Kiro shifted uneasily under his unblinking gaze.
She instinctively took half a step back and crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive posture.
“What’s with that look? It’s seriously creepy.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Loran watched the number above her head jump:
[Affection: -10 → -15]
He immediately looked away.
Instead, he turned toward White Mask Varré beside him.
Sure enough—
A similar interface floated above the man’s head.
[Name: Varré]
[Identity: Servant of the Lord of Blood]
[Affection: 0]
[Status: Curious / Observing]
Loran shifted his gaze again, farther into the distance.
To the Tree Sentinel patrolling the open field.
[Target: Tree Sentinel]
[Identity: Leyndell Royal Guard (Residual Consciousness)]
[Affec—ti—on: ???]
[Status: Patrolling / Vigilant]
The word “Affection” looked grotesquely distorted.
Twisted.
Dragged apart into corrupted fragments, as though the system itself was mocking the absurdity of assigning affection mechanics to an elite enemy.
Loran took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
At last—
He understood what those excess thirty-seven Intelligence points had become.
Not world-destroying magic.
Not omniscient wisdom.
But—
A system that turned the entire world into a game.
A galgame system centered around affection values.
A system that labeled every living being—
And apparently even non-living entities—
As potential romance targets.
What was this supposed to count as?
A blessing?
A curse?
Or one of those so-called “unpredictable structural changes”?
Loran looked at the glaring -15 hovering above Kiro’s head.
Honestly—
It felt like all three at once.
“Hey! What are you zoning out for?!”
Kiro finally lost patience with being ignored.
She strode over and jabbed a finger hard against his forehead.
[Affection: -18]
“I’m talking to you! Cat got your tongue?”
[Affection: -20]
“Did something possess you or something? Or did your brain just fry itself?”
She circled behind him, raising a hand—
Clearly preparing to smack the back of his head again.
[Affection: -23]
Loran shot to his feet.
“Don’t touch me.”
Kiro froze.
Her hand stopped midair.
She blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction.
“...Huh?”
A single baffled syllable escaped her lips.
Loran turned to face her.
He tried his best to make his voice sound calm.
Sincere.
Completely free of hostility.
He had already made up his mind.
He needed to test how this system worked.
“Sorry,” he said, meeting Kiro’s eyes.
“I spaced out just now.”
“I was... thinking about something.”
The irritation and suspicion on Kiro’s face didn’t vanish.
But neither did it worsen.
She raised an eyebrow and looked him over skeptically.
Then—
The red number flickered.
After a brief pause:
[-23 → -22]
…
It worked.
The system was real.
And more importantly—
It could be manipulated.
Apologizing—a socially positive gesture—had increased affection.
That meant the system followed some kind of logic.
The question was:
Where were its boundaries?
And how powerful was it, really?
Loran’s gaze drifted between his available targets.
Kiro.
-22 affection.
Any careless move could make things worse.
The Tree Sentinel.
The giant monster patrolling methodically in the distance.
Its affection field was corrupted gibberish.
That alone told him the system categorized it outside normal social parameters.
Loran had no doubt that walking up to flatter it would only earn him a halberd to the skull.
Rejected.
That left—
White Mask Varré.
[Affection: 0]
Zero.
A perfect starting point.
His current attitude was listed as:
Curious / Observing
Meaning—
Varré was already interested in him.
Interested enough to spend time gathering information.
That made him the ideal test subject.
Loran made his decision.
“Excuse me...” he began evenly.
“You mentioned earlier—a Tarnished without a maiden.”
“It sounded like an unfortunate thing.”
Varré tilted his head slightly.
The panel above him remained unchanged.
“Oh?”
“So that’s what caught your attention?”
“Most Tarnished, at a moment like this, are either rushing off to die...” he said leisurely, “or wandering aimlessly like lost lambs.”
“You, however, seem rather different.”
Loran knew this conversation mattered.
Varré’s first impression of him would be shaped right here.
Asking something stupid like—
What exactly does a maiden do?
—would be disastrous.
Instead of following Varré’s lead, Loran chose a different approach.
Something more fitting for a cryptic conversationalist.
A fellow riddlespeaker.
He let out a quiet laugh and looked past Varré’s shoulder toward the distant Erdtree.
“Whether it is fortune or misfortune...” he said slowly, carefully choosing every word,
“Perhaps that doesn’t depend on having guidance.”
“Even a lamb with a shepherd eventually ends up at the altar.”
His gaze lingered on the glowing tree in the distance.
“The real problem...”
He paused.
“...is that we don’t even know who we’re meant to sacrifice ourselves to.”
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
Loran was gambling.
Betting that Varré’s devotion to the Lord of Blood had left him with instinctive contempt for the Erdtree—
And the Greater Will behind it.
He was subtly implying:
I’m skeptical of this system too.
For a moment—
The air seemed to freeze.
Varré didn’t respond immediately.
He turned toward the distant Erdtree, as though savoring the meaning hidden in Loran’s words.
Then—
The number changed.
[Affection: 0 → +5]
[Status: Curious / Impressed]
Success.
“You’re right.”
“To offer oneself to that hollow, ornamental Erdtree... to a Greater Will that abandoned us long ago...” Varré said softly, “...is nothing more than self-deception.”
“The Tarnished chase after the Elden Ring, yearning to become Elden Lord.”
“And yet, they fail to realize that what they scramble for... is merely a gilded set of chains.”
He paused.
“But that does not mean there are no alternatives.”
“Beyond the false radiance of the Golden Order... there exists a place warmer.”
“More genuine.”
His masked face tilted slightly.
“Would you like to know of it?”
Here it comes.
The recruitment pitch.
Loran suppressed the excitement threatening to surface.
Instead, he deliberately arranged his expression into something carefully balanced—
Confusion.
Caution.
Just enough curiosity.
Too much enthusiasm would feel forced.
“An alternative?”
He frowned slightly.
“In a land illuminated by the Erdtree...” he asked slowly, “there exists another kind of light?”
[Affection: +5 → +7]
Varré seemed pleased by the response.
That slight resistance—
That cautious skepticism—
Was exactly what he wanted.
It meant Loran was thinking seriously about his words rather than blindly accepting or rejecting them.
“The false Erdtree promises you kingship,” Varré said, spreading his arms wide.
“But only so long as you submit to its laws.”
“Follow its grace.”
“We, however—”
“My lord, the Lord of Blood, offers something far greater.”
“True liberation.”
His white mask looked increasingly unsettling beneath the dim sky.
“Look around you.”
“The lives of this land struggle pitifully beneath the Golden Order.”
“And after death?”
“Their souls are reclaimed by the Erdtree.”
“Ground into nourishment for yet another cycle.”
“How tragic.”
“But my lord’s dynasty—”
His voice deepened with reverence.
“—shall be built upon blood.”
“Upon wounds.”
“That is the truest form of life.”
“The hottest.”
“The most primal.”
Loran listened quietly.
He didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t nod.
Didn’t even pretend agreement.
He simply maintained the posture of an attentive listener.
And quickly realized—
He didn’t need to do anything.
Varré was already completely immersed in his own sermon.
[Affection: +7 → +15]
[Status: Fanatical / Preaching]
“You must think this sounds grotesque,” Varré continued, his tone shifting.
“Mad.”
“Bloody.”
“The common eye is always so terribly shortsighted.”
“They fear wounds.”
“They flee pain.”
“And yet—”
He raised a finger.
“They fail to understand.”
“Pain is the source of strength.”
“Every swing of the blade.”
“Every wound suffered.”
“Every desperate moment standing back up after brushing against death itself.”
“The blood that spills...”
His voice lowered reverently.
“Each drop is a prayer offered to my lord.”
Varré stepped closer.
Close enough that Loran could hear the faint sound of breathing hidden beneath the white mask.
“And my lord is merciful.”
“He does not demand meaningless sacrifice.”
“He grants us a method.”
“A miracle.”
“A way to feel the suffering of others.”
“To draw upon their vitality.”
He leaned in.
“A ritual that allows you...”
“To grow closer to the truth of the dynasty.”
“Even as you harm others.”
In Loran’s vision—
Varré’s affection value bubbled upward like boiling water.
[Affection: +15 → +23]
[Affection: +23 → +30]
Off to the side—
Kiro had long since run out of patience.
She kicked pebbles.
Then started absentmindedly knotting the ends of her silver twin tails.
She had absolutely no idea what those two were rambling about.
As far as she could tell—
The masked guy looked like some cult recruiter running a pyramid scheme.
And Loran?
Like an idiot getting brainwashed in real time.
Above her head, the affection number bounced repeatedly between:
[-22] and [-25]
A perfect visual representation of her rising irritation.
Varré, meanwhile, paid her no attention whatsoever.
Every ounce of his focus had settled onto Loran—
This unexpectedly promising prospect.
Finally—
After nearly ten uninterrupted minutes of preaching—
He seemed to decide the timing was right.
“Words alone,” Varré said smoothly, “can only take one so far.”
“Experience is far more convincing.”
He reached into his robes and produced something.
[New Item Obtained: Festering Bloody Finger]
“This,” Varré said, holding it out, “is a Bloody Finger.”
“One of the blessings granted by my lord.”
Temptation dripped from his voice.
“With it—”
“You may tear open the veil between worlds.”
“You may descend into the realms of other Tarnished.”
“As an invader.”
[Affection: +30 → +40]
[Status: Expectant / Tempting]
“Go.”
“Feel their fear.”
“Their struggle.”
His voice dropped into something almost devilish.
“Taste the blood they spill because of you.”
“And once you have hunted three Tarnished...”
“Return to me.”
“At that time, I shall formally grant you an audience with my lord.”
“You will earn the right to stand before the Lord of Blood.”
“And become one of the dynasty.”
Loran stared at the Bloody Finger.
Thinking.
In the game—
This was just a PvP mechanic.
But here?
What exactly did it mean?
He didn’t take it immediately.
“What if...” Loran asked slowly,
“I fail?”
“Fail?”
Varré let out a soft laugh.
There was unmistakable disdain buried beneath it.
“Failure simply means your skill remains immature.”
“Your faith... insufficient.”
“You will merely be returned to your own world.”
“That is all.”
“My lord is generous.”
“He grants endless chances to prove oneself.”
“Every failure...”
He spread his hands.
“Is simply another blessing that brings you closer to true suffering.”
Returned to your own world.
That is all.
That answer erased Loran’s final hesitation.
The risk—
Was manageable.
The potential reward—
Impossible to estimate.
This wasn’t merely a trial of strength.
It was a rare opportunity to glimpse the true nature of this world’s multiplayer system.
Loran accepted the Bloody Finger.
Varré nodded in satisfaction.
“Go.”
“Let the glory of the dynasty shine upon this cowardly land for the first time.”
[Affection: +40 → +50]
[Status: Satisfied / Expectant]
Loran tightened his grip around the Bloody Finger.
Then turned toward Kiro—
Who looked moments away from exploding.
“What are you doing now?”
Kiro frowned suspiciously.
The number above her head had already dropped to:
[-30]
“Running an experiment.”
Loran kept it brief.
He offered no further explanation.
Right in front of Kiro and Varré—
He raised the Festering Bloody Finger high.
Mimicking the movement from the game—
He aimed it toward the sky.
Then crushed it.
Snap.
A soft sound echoed.
The finger dissolved instantly into a cloud of crimson mist, swallowing him whole.
His vision blurred.
The scenery around him—
The plains of Limgrave.
The distant Erdtree.
Varré’s white mask.
Kiro’s expression, clearly screaming Have you completely lost your mind?!
—all of it warped.
Stretched.
Twisted.
Until everything melted into chaotic crimson.
Then—
A cold system notification rang in his ears.
[Searching for an available world to invade...]
[Search successful.]
[Invading the world of Tarnished: “Supreme Commander of the Demi-Human Army”...]