Transmigrated into Eroge as the Simp, but I Refuse This Fate - Chapter 355

Capítulo 355: Grandmother (2)

The system’s warning had already chimed the moment Damien stepped into the room.

[Alert: External influence detected.]

[Warning: Host’s mind under attempted intrusion.]

[Source: Unknown external entity attempting to breach cognitive layer.]

It had buzzed at the edge of his thoughts, cold and clinical, yet with a gravity that the system rarely carried. A quiet, flashing signal: Something is trying to get in.

And now, as he stood beneath that pale, suffocating gaze, he knew exactly what it was.

His lips twitched.

Inside, despite the crushing pressure that gnawed at the seams of his soul, Damien was laughing.

Not a calm, measured laugh. A blast. A roaring storm of amusement clawing to break out of his chest. Because of course it had to be her.

Of course the system screamed like a panicked child the moment Erin Valeheart fixed those gemstone eyes on him. Of course the legendary Black Seer herself—his grandmother, the Matriarch, the 11th Seat Holder—had chosen today to crawl out of her mystery-soaked shadow and probe at him like a puzzle.

He tilted his head slightly, letting the smirk play at his lips, even as every instinct told him to brace.

Because this wasn’t some abstract story anymore. This wasn’t lore in a codex, or an encounter he had breezed through behind a glowing screen. This was real.

And yet… the old Damien’s memories flickered through his mind, aligning with his own recollections from the game. The way she dressed—precise, deliberate, draped in fabrics blacker than midnight but edged in gold, like light itself bent reluctantly around her. The faint chime of her jewelry. The sharp, smooth cadence of her voice that never needed to rise above a whisper.

Yes. He knew this woman.

Because Erin Valeheart had appeared in the game.

Briefly. Almost as a side event, a whisper in the grand narrative of wars and betrayals. But her presence had left a mark sharp enough that no player who encountered her could ever forget.

After all, when she appeared, she did not simply stand in the story—she reached through it. She peeled away at facades. She stared at you, the player, with the same cold gemlike eyes.

The pressure hit Damien the instant her mana flared—an oppressive tide that wasn’t just force, but something older, stranger. It didn’t slam against his skin the way most Awakened auras did. No—this sank through him, folding into his bones, crawling into the spaces between breath and thought.

For a flicker of a second, he swore his vision warped.

The world twisted, colors bleeding at the edges. The table, the chandeliers, even Vivienne and Dominic’s barriers seemed to blur like ink bleeding across paper. And in their place—threads.

Thin, luminous strands, vibrating faintly like strings of an unseen instrument, stretched through the air. Some frayed, some taut, some tangled in ways that made his stomach tighten just to look at them. They weren’t physical. They weren’t illusion either.

They were fate.

‘So this is it… her Mystery.’

The whispers came next. Not sound, not exactly. They slid against the walls of his mind like thoughts that weren’t his own, layered voices murmuring in a tongue he almost understood. His skull ached with the strain, as if the words weren’t being spoken but remembered—memories of a language his soul had once known, yet could never grasp.

And then—shadows shifted.

For a heartbeat, he saw himself.

The pressure hit Damien the instant her mana flared—an oppressive tide that wasn’t just force, but something older, stranger. It didn’t slam against his skin the way most Awakened auras did. No—this sank through him, folding into his bones, crawling into the spaces between breath and thought.

For a flicker of a second, he swore his vision warped.

The world twisted, colors bleeding at the edges. The table, the chandeliers, even Vivienne and Dominic’s barriers seemed to blur like ink bleeding across paper. And in their place—threads.

Thin, luminous strands, vibrating faintly like strings of an unseen instrument, stretched through the air. Some frayed, some taut, some tangled in ways that made his stomach tighten just to look at them. They weren’t physical. They weren’t illusion either.

They were fate.

‘So this is it… her Mystery.’

The whispers came next. Not sound, not exactly. They slid against the walls of his mind like thoughts that weren’t his own, layered voices murmuring in a tongue he almost understood. His skull ached with the strain, as if the words weren’t being spoken but remembered—memories of a language his soul had once known, yet could never grasp.

And then—shadows shifted.

For a heartbeat, he saw himself.

Not in a mirror, not in reflection, but in some deeper, merciless sense. Damien Elford—the body he wore—frayed slightly at the edges, like parchment overlaid on glass. And beneath it, flickering faintly, something else: the intruder. The soul that didn’t belong.

‘Fuck.’ His smirk held, but his teeth clenched. ‘This is worse than the game.’

Because in the game, the event had been scripted—a test, a side encounter with flavor text and a single correct dialogue option to escape her suspicion. A tense but ultimately safe scene.

But this wasn’t scripted.

This was her eyes digging, her mana clawing, the Eyes of Revelation dragging his nightmares into the open.

The system flickered in warning again, its sterile voice cutting across the madness:

[Alert: Host’s soul structure is under external observation.]

[Warning: Probability of anomaly detection rising.]

[Recommendation: Maintain mental integrity.]

Damien’s pulse thundered in his ears, yet inside—he was grinning.

‘Nightmares, huh? If she wants to go digging, let’s see how much of a circus I can make in there.’

The weight of her mana pressed harder, the threads around Damien vibrating like they were about to snap. Her pale eyes sharpened, drilling into him with that terrible clarity.

“Who are you?” Erin Valeheart asked again, her voice calm but edged with verdict. “And what did you do to my grandson?”

The words dragged across the chamber like a blade being drawn.

Damien’s jaw flexed, his smirk refusing to break even as his lungs fought under the pressure.

‘She knows. At least, she knows I’m different.’

That much was clear. From her perspective, Damien Elford’s soul wasn’t seamless anymore. It carried fractures, edges, inconsistencies. And the boy she remembered—a hollow shadow of wasted talent—was gone. In his place stood someone sharp, alive, untamed.

‘Makes sense,’ Damien thought, his head whirring as quickly as his pulse. ‘She sees the difference. A failure rotting in his own filth yesterday, a wolf baring its teeth today. No wonder she’s pressing. To her eyes, it must look like possession.’

If she could read his thoughts directly, she wouldn’t be asking. The question itself was the key. She could see the soul, but not his mind. The core remained hidden, shielded, either by the system or by the very strangeness of what he was.

That’s why she hadn’t attacked outright.

If she truly believed a hostile parasite had taken her grandson, she wouldn’t hesitate to rip him apart here and now. Instead, she restrained herself, holding the tension like a knife against his throat but not striking. Which meant only one thing—

‘She’s still considering ways to save him.’

To save Damien Elford.

Vivienne’s voice cracked through the suffocating haze, sharp with desperation. “Mother! Enough! He is fine!”

Silver light flared again around her, her barrier pulling tighter around Damien’s form, protective and defiant. Her voice didn’t waver, but her hand on Damien’s arm trembled ever so slightly, betraying her fear.

Erin didn’t so much as look at her daughter. Her eyes never left Damien.

“Fine?” she murmured, her mana surging once more. Darkness rolled outward, pressing harder, pulling Damien deeper into that fractured overlap of flesh and soul. “You would call this fine?”

The chandeliers rattled. The silver in Vivienne’s barrier hissed as if it were burning under the touch of Erin’s Mystery.

“Tell me,” Erin continued, her tone smooth and merciless, “what are you? A shade? A thief? Or something that believes it can wear my grandson’s body like a mask?”