How to survive in the Romance Fantasy Game

Beon Gyeoul.

Long black hair tied neatly into a traditional ponytail, cascading down like a flowing river of ink.

Eyes—dark, yet shimmering faintly with a purplish hue that seemed to pulse with something far beyond mortal energy.

Lightning danced subtly across his frame, not wild or erratic, but restrained — like a beast tamed through sheer discipline.

His dark kimono, woven with intricate designs of eastern dragons winding through storm clouds, flowed in the wind like a tapestry of controlled chaos.

There was an undeniable beauty to him.

The kind that felt ancient — untouchable — like he belonged more to legend than to the present.

If I had to compare, perhaps only Grand Duke Luther could match the sheer sense of presence Beon Gyeoul exuded, and even then… the textures of their auras were different.

Just like in the game — where he stood like a shadow behind the curtains of power — the moment you saw him, it was impossible to ignore the pressure he brought with him.

I’ve stood in the presence of ascended beings before.

Creatures who had stepped beyond the mortal threshold.

I’ve felt the distortion they carry — how the world itself feels warped in their vicinity, like something has been bent just slightly out of place. But this man… this presence…

It wasn’t just heavy.

It was sharp — piercing in a way that made even breathing feel like an act of disrespect.

Was it just him?

Or was this unnatural pressure sharpened further because of his instinctual dislike for me?

‘Now that I think about it where’s father?’

I had asked him to personally intervene if things get to dangerous is he nearby?

But I can’t feel any other presence nearby though…

As the smoke cleared from his thunderous descent, Beon Gyeoul stepped forward.

Each step was slow, deliberate, and eerily silent for someone whose very body shimmered with lightning.

The crater he left behind steamed faintly beneath his sandals, dust and pebbles rolling away from where his feet touched the ground.

He stopped a short distance from me — eyes locked, unreadable and unwavering.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

In most situations, it would be customary for the one who initiated such a dramatic arrival to speak first — to assert dominance, or at least formalize the encounter.

But in this case… such rituals were meaningless.

He didn’t come here of his own will.

I brought him here, whether through challenge or implication.

So, I stepped forward.

Without hesitation, I bowed slightly, a respectful angle — not too deep, not too proud — and brought my hands together in the traditional gesture of martial etiquette: one open palm covering a clenched fist, raised at chest level.

“My respects, it’s a pleasure to finally be in the presence of the Head of the Gyeoul Clan.”

I could feel his eyes narrowing ever so slightly — not out of hostility, but out of assessment.

Like a storm measuring whether or not it should fall.

Slowly, I straightened my posture, letting the wind settle around me as I met his gaze once again.

For a split second, I caught it—just the faintest twitch of his brow.

“So, you’re already aware of who I am?”

“…Somewhat, yes,” I replied evenly. “You’re already a well-known figure, after all. Matching you to the rumors, the descriptions, the lightning—wasn’t exactly hard. Especially when I was already expecting you.”

The air crackled faintly between us.

“The letter I received was enough. Even without it, that silent messenger of yours yesterday was already proof you were coming.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Just stood there, the way a mountain might stand before deciding to move. Then, with a thoughtful look, he slowly raised a hand to his chin.

“…I didn’t expect you to be familiar with the etiquette of the Eastern Empire, boy.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Did Seo teach you?”

Ah. He must mean the bow earlier. The hand gesture.

Truthfully, I was just mimicking what I remembered from the game — an idle habit more than anything. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

“From time to time,” I answered simply. “Seo… tells me things.”

Though, more accurately, she tends to just talk while I listen. Not that she’d admit to ‘teaching’ me anything.

“I see.” Beon’s gaze sharpened again. “So the two of you… really are fairly close, then.”

“Not just fairly. We are close.”

“……”

His face didn’t change much, but I didn’t need to be a genius to catch it — the faint shift in his jaw, the slight tension in his eyes.

A tinge of annoyance, maybe even disapproval, flickered across his otherwise calm expression.

The thought of his grand daughter being with me probably ticked a few loose screws at this old man.

But I guess it isn’t just me in general as he hates any guys approaching his dear princess.

“You’re more brazen than I thought, brat…” Beon muttered, voice low and gruff—almost amused, but not quite. His eyes glinted with something ancient and electric.

I met his gaze without flinching.

“Considering the letter I sent, I figured you’d already have a decent idea of what kind of person I am by now. But for what it’s worth—I mean no disrespect by my words or actions.”

I shifted my tone slightly, just enough to be sincere. “I only want to be genuine… with my future grandfather-in-law.”

A low crackle of mana danced along his forearm. “It’s as if you’ve already assumed you’ve earned my approval, brat.”

I gave a half-smile. “Well, given your reputation, I figured being bold was my only option.”

And it was the truth.

There was no benefit in playing coy here.

Beon Gyeoul wasn’t the kind of man you negotiated with behind layers of subtlety.

He saw through lies like paper, and I had no intention of being seen as weak or two-faced.

The real deciding factor in everything—whether I could hold onto Seo, whether we could walk forward without shadows hanging over us—it all came down to this man.

My intentions in baiting him out were layered, yes.

But at the heart of it all was this: I wanted clarity.

A line drawn in stone.

An agreement not bound by tradition or politics, but by action and acknowledgment.

And his personal help as well…

Beon crossed his arms, his sharp gaze never once leaving mine.

“Luther mentioned you were full of surprises,” he said slowly. “And after all the charade you pulled just to get my attention, I see what he meant…”

A brief silence passed before he added, “But brat… words and actions are two very different things.”

I nodded once.

“Of course. I understand the weight of what I’m saying… and the consequences that may come with it.”

“Then let me ask—” Beon leaned forward, the static around him building like a storm gathering in his lungs, “—are you not afraid?”

I stared back at him without blinking.

“Why should I be?”

“….”

The pause that followed was heavy—dense enough to choke the air.

Then suddenly—

“Kuhahahaha!”

A booming laugh echoed across the battlefield.

The sound of it rumbled like thunder shaking loose from a mountain’s chest.

“Brat… you really are something,” he said between bursts of laughter. “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that challenge.”

And for the first time since he arrived, Beon smiled—not the cold smirk of a predator, not the forced grin of a politician.

A real smile.

Fierce. Proud. And maybe… just maybe, a little intrigued.

“You truly are something else… I admit, I’m impressed with the little show you’ve put on. But this…”

He raised his hand slightly, and sparks of purple lightning crackled along his fingers like living veins of wrath.

“…What we are about to do is something entirely different.”

The air around us grew heavier as he spoke.

Snowflakes that had once danced gently now seemed hesitant to fall.

His presence was warping the field—turning the calm into tension.

“A dance of lightning, can only lead to a storm. And trust me, brat—I see no path in which you survive it.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we try, right?”

My voice was calm. Maybe too calm for the situation. But that was exactly how it needed to be.

“And besides…” I added with a faint smile, “if I can’t survive this much, what’s the point in trying to take Seo’s heart?”

His eyes narrowed.

“…Is that how you seduced my princess, brat?”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

Beon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at me with a smirk—one that spoke volumes of disdain and amusement all at once.

Then came the words I knew were inevitable.

“The White Lotus letter has been accepted. And you’ve answered my challenge without hesitation.”

He took a step forward, the snow beneath his feet evaporating slightly from the heat of his mana.

“If I win… your call for marriage to my granddaughter shall be abolished. And your death—” his words rang cold and final, “—shall be my trophy.”

He stared at me, studying me as if I were some rare beast that dared bare its fangs before a lion.

“Tell me then, brat… what is it that you seek—if you manage to win?”

…Death.

This old bastard wasn’t bluffing. He was serious. Ruthlessly so.

The danger in his words wasn’t just from power—it came from belief.

Well, this whole challenge charade is just a means for him to legally kill me.

This old bastard had a ton of different options to deny my letter for marriage… granted I was the one who took advantage of his personality.

Death or not…

Still, my answer had always been clear.

“If I win… I want your approval—for my future relationship with Seo.”

Beon’s eyes flickered, just slightly.

“And more than that—” I took a breath. “I want the great master in front of me… to become my teacher.”

For a moment, Beon said nothing.

There was a strange look in his eyes—not shock, not anger. But curiosity.

As if, just briefly, I’d become something more than an annoyance in his eyes.

But the moment passed.

Suddenly, the air around us shifted.

The skies above dimmed, stained a dark violet as the atmosphere changed.

A translucent field of energy—electric and immense—formed around us, buzzing faintly.

It was like standing in the eye of a storm that hadn’t yet decided where to strike.

Beon’s mana expanded across the snowy field like a tidal wave.

No—like a domain, vast and suffocating, swallowing the world with its presence.

Then, with one simple motion, he pulled something from his robe—a coin.

He flicked it into the air.

The faint clang echoed across the clearing, clear and sharp.

And just like that—

The duel began.

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