Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 2021

Capítulo 2021: From Devil Emperor to Young Master Goldborne

Villain Ch 2021. From Devil Emperor to Young Master Goldborne

The tournament wasn’t over until the confetti dropped. The final match for third place had wrapped a few minutes ago, with Ironclad Legion claiming the bronze.

Arcana stood tall with his signature crooked grin, one arm slung over Azura’s shoulder as she waved toward the crowd. Their energy wasn’t wild, but it was proud. They’d fought hard. Lost barely.

Second place went to Celestial Vanguard. Red and Alex stood at the podium with the rest of their team. Red looked exhausted but grounded.

Alex had that soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was enough for the fans. Cameras flashed nonstop, banners waved. They were the heroes.

Then the fireworks exploded overhead.

Bright gold and silver streamers rained down over the stage as the Order of Valiance lifted the championship trophy.

Gil had one hand on it, Jacob holding the other. Elio was in the center, both hands on the base, lifting it higher. The crowd cheered, the music swelled, and the LED display behind them sparked alive with their names in huge bold letters. The whole team wore matching jackets, the kind they’d spent months designing with sponsors. Victory colors. Championship team.

They posed. They smiled.

Except Elio.

He kept his face neutral. Calm. Too calm.

Even as the camera zoomed in, he didn’t force a grin. Just nodded politely, turned toward the crowd, and then, briefly, his eyes flicked toward the front VIP rows.

The seat that should have held Allen?

Empty.

So were the seats his team had occupied. Shea’s, Jane’s, Zoe’s. All gone.

Elio’s jaw tensed. He didn’t say anything, but the flicker in his eyes said it all.

Of course. They weren’t here to watch the awards.

Because Allen didn’t need a trophy.

He’d already won.

In the upper-level VIP suite, the atmosphere was champagne-slick and flush with success. The carpet underfoot was deep and springy, the walls lined with black panels and gold trim. From here, the view of the stadium was godlike, above the fray, removed from the chaos.

Allen stood by the glass wall, talking with Jordan and Emma. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled, hair a little tousled from the pod, but his posture never broke. Confident. Casual. Like he’d been raised for this. People approached him one after another. Suits, developers, execs, esports sponsors.

Handshakes. Quick words. Grins with teeth.

From Devil Emperor to Young Master Goldborne in a single snap.

Allen handled all of them effortlessly.

Behind him, his team lounged like they belonged in the penthouse.

Zoe was quietly sipping a cocktail, eyes half-lidded.

Bella sat with one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand, already scrolling through fan comments with a crooked grin.

Vivian was casually talking with a nervous investor who looked like he might combust. Her fans.

Jane nursed a glass of wine while ignoring everyone, and Shea was perched near the open balcony door, humming to herself.

Larissa and Alice weren’t even pretending to mingle. They were sitting on the armrest of the same sofa, talking low and smug.

Then Allen stepped away. Just for a breath.

He nodded once to Jordan, murmured something to Emma, then walked out through the private hallway, buttoning his sleeve as he moved.

He exhaled once, softly.

Then two familiar figures turned the corner.

James Stoutforge and Noah Sterlinghart.

James, all leather and sleek brown suit, arms crossed. Noah, in a sharp navy-blue blazer and designer sneakers, already smirking like he had a winning hand in his pocket.

James clapped once. “So this is why you ghosted our project, huh?”

Allen slowed his steps.

“You’re the villain,” James continued, voice tight with amusement. “You didn’t tell us you were going to become the endgame.”

Noah nodded, voice calm. “I’ll admit, I was shocked.”

Allen stopped in front of them.

The hall was empty except for them. Cool light poured from the overhead panels. Every footstep echoed a little too cleanly.

Allen’s lips twitched.

“Thanks,” he said. “But this isn’t all. I just preferred to settle one thing at a time.”

James raised an eyebrow. “You mean, dominate a billion viewer finale before you pick your next paycheck?”

Allen tilted his head. “No. I mean I know you’re developing that project outside the family’s jurisdiction. And I don’t sign things that cross my name through red tape.”

Noah blinked.

James coughed once, looking sideways.

Allen’s gaze sharpened. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s smart. Plausible deniability, hidden asset funding, third-party testing. You even picked a name that wouldn’t ping on the investor registry.”

Noah cleared his throat. “Look, that doesn’t mean it’s illegal.”

“No,” Allen said. “It just means you didn’t want the old men to see it.”

They fell quiet.

James exhaled. “Still. We’re offering something real here. Think about it. Full creative control. You keep the Devil Emperor branding. We build a new IP around you. A proper narrative game. Cinematic. Global launch.”

Noah stepped in. “Your name’s already trending everywhere. This is the moment. You could be bigger than any game.”

Allen didn’t move.

He looked at them.

And then smiled.

Soft. Sharp.

“Sounds tempting.”

James grinned. “So you’ll—”

“No.”

They blinked.

Allen rolled his sleeves again and looked bored. “I already am bigger than the game. And I don’t need a branding deal to prove it. I’m not here to play dress-up for your passion project. I have bigger plans.”

James frowned. “Are you serious?”

Noah said quietly, “It’s personal, isn’t it.”

Allen’s eyes met his.

Then he huffed. “Mr. Sterlinghart. Mr. Stoutforge.”

They stiffened at the sudden formality.

“Did you hear that?” Allen asked calmly.

James looked around. “What?”

“What do you mean?” Noah echoed.

Then, the doors behind them opened.

-Click!

Two sets of shoes entered the hallway. Slower. Heavier. Echoing with the weight of authority.

And then they spoke.

“James.”

“Noah.”

The color drained from both boys’ faces.

Their fathers stood in the doorway. Mr. Stoutforge, with a face carved from stone and eyes sharp enough to slice, stood with arms behind his back. Mr. Sterlinghart was slightly shorter but radiated the quiet, suffocating pressure of an executive who didn’t need to shout to end careers.

They said nothing more.

Just looked at their sons.

James immediately stepped back. “Father, I—”

“We were just—”

Allen didn’t even have to smirk. He just straightened his collar and turned toward the balcony, his voice cool and distant now.

“Gentlemen. I suggest you go explain.”

James and Noah didn’t wait. They followed their fathers back through the doors without a word, the silence between them louder than any scolding.

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