Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day

I had to admit — Jake was not kidding when he said he was faster than me right now.

I was exhausted. Slightly concussed. Mentally fried.

It took effort for me just to stay standing straight, let alone fight.

Then he came swinging.

His dagger blurred through the air in a sideways arc, aimed straight for my ribs.

I twisted my body, just barely managing to dodge — but the blade scraped across my singed uniform and carved a clean line through the fabric.

No blood was drawn yet. But I felt the cold sting of that obsidian edge on my skin.

Unlike how he used to fight before, Jake wasn’t going for anything flashy.

He was being swift and precise and lethal.

Another slash came — this one rising from below, angling for my stomach.

I stepped back to avoid the gutting blow.

Then, immediately, I outstretched my hand and called for Aurieth to return to me.

Only a fool engages an armed opponent while unarmed.

But Jake didn’t give me the chance to get my sword back and pressed on.

He flipped the dagger in his hand into a reverse grip and drove it straight at my face.

I was forced to break the call and twist aside as the obsidian blade sliced past my cheek — close enough for me to feel the hiss of air.

Okay. So this was his plan.

He was trying to overwhelm me.

Keep me off-balance. Keep me reacting. Keep me too distracted to summon my sword.

Clever bastard.

But something told me… it wasn’t him being clever.

It was the demon whispering in his head.

Asmodeus was probably giving him pointers. Directing him like a puppet on strings. Telling him how to subdue me in the most efficient way.

Another quick jab came at my collarbone.

I knocked his wrist away with my forearm, but the blade still scraped my shoulder and spun me half a step.

“You’re getting soft,” Jake sniggered, keeping his voice calm and composed as he advanced. “Where’s that ruthlessness you were known for back in the day, Sam?”

I didn’t answer.

Because there was no need to waste breath by entertaining him.

He kept charging in, relentless in a way that was way too methodical for him.

His attacks were a blur of feints, slashes, and thrusts. Every strike was calculated to push me just far enough off-balance to keep me from regaining control.

It was a storm of silver-black cutting arcs.

I ducked one blow. Twisted past another. Dodged the third with a sharp breath and aching knees.

Then, while stepping back again, I finally took a note of the Cards Jake had deployed.

To my surprise, there was only one Card floating behind his shoulder, its surface glowing with intricate crimson runes.

I didn’t need to take a closer look to recognize it.

The Summoning Card of Asmodeus.

Of course.

But that was it. Just a single Card.

Though… that battlehammer from earlier — the one he’d thrown to knock Aurieth away — had clearly come from his Origin Card.

So the fact that it was gone now meant he’d dismissed it.

Which, in turn, meant Jake was planning to resummon his Origin Card at the right moment — probably when he had pushed me far enough away to give himself the time he needed to do it.

All the while, he was going to keep me from retrieving my sword.

It was a two-pronged plan.

Neat.

But nothing new.

Because this was the exact strategy I always used against my enemies to crush them — pressure them with brutal aggression and not give them a chance to deploy their Cards or Artifacts.

It seemed as if Jake had taken a page from my own playbook to fight me.

…Unfortunately for him, I’d mastered every trick in that book ages ago.

As I crouched under another slash aimed at my chest, I felt a brief shift in Jake’s rhythm.

He took just a split second of pause after executing the attack. Too subtle to notice in the heat of the fight.

It was a fake-out window.

He was giving me a moment to collect myself.

And if I’d been anyone else, I might’ve taken the bait — hopped back, maybe to catch my breath. Maybe to reset the momentum.

But in doing so… I would’ve given him just enough space to summon back his Origin Card.

Then it would be over.

Because even if I called for Aurieth in the same instant, Jake could interrupt it by hurling his dagger and forcing me to cancel the call again.

I couldn’t let that happen.

So instead of retreating…

I rushed him.

Jake’s eyes went wide. He seemed surprised, but not outright shocked.

It looked like he’d calculated I might see through his plan.

So he was quick to flip his dagger back to a traditional grip and thrust it forward — aiming to catch me mid-charge and plant the blade into my chest.

But I wasn’t coming at him in a straight line.

At the last second, I twisted sideways — slipping past the dagger’s path — and threw all my weight into a vicious uppercut.

—Thaaak!

My fist crashed upward into his jaw like a sledgehammer.

Jake’s head snapped back, green hair whipping through the air as he staggered from the blow.

But he didn’t fall.

Instead, he snarled.

And then came his retaliation.

He brought the butt of his dagger down on my left shoulder — I doubled slightly — and followed it with a brutal knee to the stomach that stole the air from my lungs and dragged a grunt out of me.

I didn’t let him have the last hit.

I sprang up and slammed my elbow into his collarbone.

He hissed, twisted his body, and answered with a hook to the side of my face. Then he tried to stab me at the ribs.

I dodged, dipped, and fired back with a low kick to his shin.

We traded blows like brawlers in a pit.

I hit him. He hit back harder.

He hit me. I hit back meaner.

He didn’t give me even a split second to breathe. I didn’t give him any time to summon a single damn Card.

Dust and stone kicked up around our feet as we clashed — our shadows flickering against the broken walls and shattered pillars around us.

But then, I slipped.

I made a single mistake and fell for a feint.

And Jake capitalized on the opportunity by slamming his foot into my sternum. Hard.

I stumbled back, crashing into the shattered spine of a collapsed column.

Thwaaam—!

…With the impact came a sudden realization.

I gasped that Jake wasn’t simply copying my tactics.

He was also copying my fighting style.

That same brutal, close-quarters savagery I’d always relied on to overwhelm my enemies…

He was using it against me.

I dropped to one knee, coughing sharply. Blood dripped from my lip. My lungs burned. My head spun. My legs barely held together.

Across the rubble, Jake stood tall — shoulders rising and falling in steady rhythm.

His expression was unreadable… until a slow smile crept across his face.

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