Anahit’s sword, a polished silver beam, remained fixed on Zaven. Her eyes, the color of twilight over a snowy peak, held a quiet storm of sorrow and duty. She didn’t move, not even as the dust from the splintered doors settled. A dozen escorts clad in crimson and steel fanned out behind her, their weapons glinting, forming a wall between Zaven and any escape. “Zaven Dalmas,” Anahit’s voice was a low thrum, clear despite the chaos. “You are under arrest for treason against the Oshakan Empire. Your exile was nullified the moment you absconded from the Kyuran Proving Grounds and interfered with a sacred ritual.” Naira, ever the picture of sweet concern, edged closer to Zaven, a hand going to his arm. “Oh, Zaven, what have you done? Are you truly a traitor?” Her gaze, however, flickered past him, a predatory glint in its depths, towards Gayané, still recovering her composure after the near incineration. “Treason?” Zaven’s smirk widened, entirely unconcerned by the ring of swords. “Your Weave of Fate declared me useless, Anahit. A zero. Now you want to arrest me for… what? Existing too effectively?” He met her gaze, a spark of something almost challenging in his own. Before Anahit could respond, a new voice cut through the tension, booming with an arrogant bravado that felt almost out of place. “Hold your blades, lackeys! If anyone’s getting arrested, it’s him!” Vahan strode into the guild hall, shoving past a startled soldier with an imperious gesture. He wore his customary polished cuirass, but his hair was a mess, and his face was smudged with soot. His eyes, usually alight with condescension, burned with frantic urgency. He pointed a finger at Zaven, not Anahit. “That man. He’s a menace! A cheat! You saw what he did in the tutorial zone, didn’t you? That’s not normal combat. That’s… something else.” Anahit’s gaze shifted to Vahan, eyebrows pinching. “Vahan? What are you speaking of? This is a matter of state security.” “State security? This is a matter of *my* future!” Vahan roared, ignoring her. He stormed up to Zaven, stopping just short of jabbing him in the chest. “That golem! That *Obdurant Golem*! You killed it with… *healing potions*! You broke the game! I saw the system text! Explain it. Explain everything. Teach me. I don’t care about my pride anymore. My DPS isn’t enough. I need what you have, Zaven Dalmas. Take me with you.” Zaven's smirk softened into something genuinely amused. “So, the great duelist wants to learn from a pacifist. How the mighty have fallen.” He paused, letting the words hang in the air, then tilted his head. “Very well. I accept your… request.” He didn't even glance at Anahit or the Royal Guards. “But you’ll need to prove your loyalty immediately.” Before Vahan could ask, Zaven’s voice dropped, barely a whisper meant only for him. “The retinue. They’re slow. Their pathfinding AI is ancient. They can’t handle dynamic aggro shifts. Draw them. Keep them busy. Flank their outer files. Don’t let them reset.” Vahan blinked. “Draw them? Are you insane?!” “A new ally, Vahan. Prove yourself.” Zaven didn’t wait for an answer. He took a single, fluid step backwards, away from Naira, away from Gayané, placing himself slightly behind Anahit. His movement was so subtle, so perfect, it was almost imperceptible. A ripple of golden text flared around him. [AGGRESSION PRIORITY SHIFT: Zaven Dalmas (Pacifist) – 0 Threat. Vahan Kaelan (Blade-Kin) – HIGH THREAT (NEW).] [ROYAL GUARD PATHING ENGAGED. TARGET: VAHAN KAELAN.] The formation commander, a hulking officer named Krov, roared, “He’s trying to escape! Seize him!” But his eyes, and the eyes of his men, were now fixed on Vahan. Their movements were surprisingly swift, a disciplined surge of crimson and steel. Vahan sputtered. “Me?! Why me? I just got here!” He had barely finished speaking when an iron rim slammed into the flagstone where Zaven had stood a moment before. He reacted on instinct, drawing his twin broadswords in a blur, parrying a two-handed swing from Commander Krov. “This is not what I meant by ‘travel with you’!” “Keep moving, Vahan! Frame-perfect dodges! Don’t get cornered!” Zaven called out, his voice calm amidst the clang of steel. Vahan, for all his arrogance, was a formidable fighter. He began a frantic dance, a comical display of high-tier combat moves aimed entirely at evasion. He spun, parried, and slipped through their ranks, teeth bared in frantic concentration. He was kiting them, effectively, if ungracefully. With Vahan occupying the unit, Zaven moved closer to Anahit. She hadn’t budged, her blade still leveled, though her attention tracked Vahan’s wild skirmish. The sorrow in her eyes deepened. “You know, Anahit,” Zaven began, his voice low, almost intimate, “your narrative arc is a tragedy. Hardcoded. You’re destined to die, aren't you? A noble sacrifice. Protecting the Emperor from the ‘Crimson Veil’ at the Battle of the Ash Pass.” Her chin jerked toward him, pupils contracting. “How… how could you know that?” Her blade wavered, just slightly. That particular detail was classified, known only to a select few within the highest echelons of the Imperial Court. “Spaghetti code, Anahit,” Zaven murmured, leaning in fractionally, as if sharing a secret. “It’s all written down. Every line. Every fate. But even hardcoded narratives have exploits. Glitches. Out-of-bounds positions.” He reached out, his hand brushing her forearm, his fingers subtly pressing something cold and metallic into her palm – a small, polished shard of obsidian with a faint, shimmering glyph carved into it. He spoke just above a whisper, his eyes locking onto hers. “When the time comes, at the pass, when the Veil descends… you need to be at coordinate ‘-543.2, 78.1, 102.5’. It’s an integer overflow point. It’ll trigger a phase shift. The system will register you as ‘not found’. The death trigger won’t activate.” Anahit’s fingers closed around the shard, her expression unreadable. Her knuckles blanched around the stone before training reasserted her grip. [SYSTEM ALERT: FORBIDDEN ROMANCE FLAG INITIATED! Proximity to Anahit (Cursed Knight) – Affinity rising. Potential for 'Tragic Love' questline unlocked.] Just as the golden text flared, a furious shriek tore through the hall. “ZAVEN DALMAS, YOU ARE MINE!” Gayané, her face a mask of absolute fury, stormed forward. She had recovered from Naira’s trap, her expensive robes slightly singed, her elaborate coiffure askew. Her eyes, usually cool and calculating, now burned with a possessive fire directed squarely at Anahit. “How *dare* you touch him? You’re a Royal Guard! A knight! He’s *my* asset! *My* property!” She brandished a golden orb, pulsing with an unstable aura. “I declared it! He’s under the protection of the Obsidian Exchange! Any trespass on him is an act of war!” Anahit stiffened, her gaze narrowing at Gayané. “He is a traitor to the Empire, Guild Leader. Your claims are irrelevant.” Naira, meanwhile, watched the escalating chaos with a placid smile, her grip on Zaven’s arm tightening imperceptibly, her eyes gleaming with a malicious satisfaction. Suddenly, the very air in the opulent guild hall rippled. A dark, jagged tear opened in the ceiling, directly above the central courtyard, expanding rapidly. It was a wound in reality itself, a swirling vortex of purple and black, rimmed with sickly green light. The sounds of Vahan’s evasive footwork faded, replaced by an ominous hum emanating from the rift. [CRITICAL WORLD INTEGRITY WARNING: 88%. CORRUPTED VOID-RIFT DETECTED. SACRIFICE REQUIRED FOR TIMELINE STABILIZATION.] [INITIALIZING SACRIFICE PROTOCOL. TARGET: AN AHIT, CURSED KNIGHT – TREASON DETECTED. EXECUTION IN 60 SECONDS UNLESS REPLACED.] Zaven stared upward, teeth grinding. The script targeted Anahit directly. Cold calculation curdled into acute urgency. The void-rift pulsed, drawing in dust and loose debris, growing larger, hungrier. He had to act. Now.

Aggro Manipulation