Player Chapter 10. I'm No One
He finally spoke. "You're asking the wrong question."
Her breath stilled.
"Oh?"
"You shouldn't ask if I want to help," he said calmly. "You should ask why."
Her stomach flipped.
He wasn't rejecting. He wasn't agreeing. He was negotiating.
This man is dangerous.
Not physically. Strategically.
She liked it. She hated that she liked it.
"You question everything," she observed quietly.
"You don't?"
That landed deeper than expected.
Of course, she questioned things. Alone. At night. In the prayer halls after everyone left.
But out loud? As the Saint?
She had to be certainty incarnate.
She lifted her chin slightly. "I question quietly."
He gave a faint huff that might've been a laugh.
"Loud questions change things," he said.
Her pulse thudded again.
He wasn't mocking her faith. He wasn't dismissing her authority.
He was challenging the structure itself.
And that terrified her.
Because if he was right…
Then killing the Empress might not fix everything.
And if that was true…
Then she had spent a year fighting the wrong war.
She forced herself to breathe evenly. Calm. Composed. Saint.
"I want peace for this land," she said firmly. "Whatever form that takes."
He studied her.
And for a split second, she saw it.
Respect.
That made her chest warm in a completely different way.
This is bad. This is very bad.
Because if she respected him. And he respected her.
That meant this wasn't a simple NPC-player dynamic.
That meant feelings could get involved.
And she absolutely did not have emotional bandwidth for romance in a war arc.
She folded her hands again, hiding the subtle tremble.
"So," she said, tone steady, "will you help us?"
Not as a hero. Not as hope.
But as… something else.
He didn't answer immediately.
And the waiting?
It felt like the most dangerous boss mechanic she'd encountered yet.
Elena had faced wave after wave of undead. She had stood in the aftermath of burning villages with her sleeves soaked in blood that wasn't hers. She had channeled miracles until her vision blurred and her fingers went numb. None of that had made her heart pound like this silence.
He looked at her. Not past her. Not through her. At her. Measuring.
Then he said, calmly, "I will."
Her lungs expanded in relief so fast she almost swayed.
"But maybe… not in the way you thought, priestess."
There it is. Plot twist.
Her relief froze mid-air.
Of course it wouldn't be simple. Nothing about him was simple. He spoke like someone who rewrote scripts instead of following them.
She forced a small smile. "Take a rest, adventurer."
"Riven," he corrected gently. "That's my name."
She blinked.
Oh.
He didn't want the title. He wanted to be seen.
"Riven," she repeated softly. The name felt warmer than it should have. "Please rest."
She turned slightly, steadying her voice. "I will take you to your room."
He paused. "My room?"
There was actual surprise there. Not arrogance. Not entitlement. Just confusion.
"You're letting me stay?"
She lifted her chin a little. "You said you arrived by mistake. I assume you have no preparation. You fought well. And you promised to help us."
Us. She noticed she said us. Not me. Not the Temple. Us.
"So please accept my offer," she finished gently.
He studied her for a beat longer before nodding once. "Fine."
The way he said it, like he was accepting a business proposal, made her want to laugh.
"I will escort you," she added.
He tilted his head slightly. "Why don't you let your servant do it? I'm no one."
And just like that, panic.
Oh no. That is a very valid question.
Her brain scrambled. Why did I offer personally? Because you wanted to keep him close? Because you're curious? Because your heart betrayed you?
"Uh…" she started brilliantly. "I just want to make sure you are satisfied."
Satisfied.
Why did that word sound so wrong?
His brows knit slightly. He looked genuinely confused now. Not suspicious. Just… puzzled.
She felt heat climb to her ears again. Saint, control yourself.
He didn't argue further, thankfully. Just gave a small shrug and followed her.
And that's when she realized how it looked.
The Holy Saint, personally escorting a random adventurer through the inner halls of the Light Temple.
Whispers didn't start immediately. They started in eyes.
Confused glances. Raised brows. A novice priest nearly walked into a pillar.
Elena kept her posture composed, steps even, hands folded lightly at her waist. Inside? Absolute chaos.
Why am I like this? Why didn't I just send a servant? Why does this feel like I'm walking someone to prom?
Beside her, Riven walked with zero social anxiety whatsoever.
He wasn't noticing the stares. Or maybe he was and simply didn't care. His gaze moved across pillars, archways, staircases. Measuring distances. Counting guards. Mapping.
He wasn't nervous.
He was analyzing architecture.
"Are you the only one supposed to fight the Empress?" he asked casually as they turned a corner into a quieter corridor. "You don't exactly look like a frontline fighter."
She huffed softly. "There were supposed to be five of us."
His attention sharpened. She felt it even without looking.
"I'm the healer," she continued.
He nodded slightly. "And the others?"
Her steps slowed unconsciously.
"They died."
The word came out flat. Controlled.
He turned his head fully toward her. "Died?"
She nodded once. "Based on the news… yes. The Empress killed them."
Silence stretched between them again, but this one felt heavier.
He frowned deeply now. Not skeptical of her, skeptical of the narrative.
"Did she ambush them?" he asked.
"No."
She exhaled quietly. "One of the heroes' sisters was kidnapped. They rushed to the Dark Tower."
He stopped walking for half a second.
"They left you behind?"
The question was so blunt it almost knocked the air out of her.
She resumed walking slowly. "Yes."
She didn't mean to sound small. But she heard it in her own voice.
She had told herself it was strategic. That they needed someone to maintain resurrection at the Temple. That she was safest there.
But deep down?
She knew it hadn't felt right.