Very Wrong Reincarnation: Isekai with Game Nation

In this moment, a realization dawned at me. As I watched the man beside me, laughing lightly and engaging with his men in a carefree manner, the Crown Princess’s words echoed in my mind. He will surely declare war. The certainty in her voice, the confidence as if the outcome was already sealed, was terrifying. But to whom? Marjorie? Norvoga, perhaps?

I couldn’t help but glance at Lord Oliver again. He seemed... tame. Laughing awkwardly, blending in with his surroundings. Mediocre, almost. Nothing about him stood out at first glance. Yet, I had heard the whispers, the rumors from my colleagues—about his so-called omnipotence, his reputation for seeing through people as if they were mere prey under a predator’s gaze.

I had spoken with him a few times myself. He always seemed casual, relaxed even. But it was the moments when his smile shifted into a smirk, or when his sharp eyes swept over the crowd with that unnerving, predatory gleam, that sent chills down my spine. Was I overthinking because of the Empress and the Crown Princess’s warnings? Maybe.

Still, there was something disturbing about the way his gaze cut through the room, occasionally landing on someone with a grin that seemed far too knowing, as if he found it amusing, as if he found their thoughts interesting. Something about him didn’t sit right, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this seemingly mediocre man might be far more dangerous in surface.

I decided to listen closely as Lord Oliver spoke to his men, given that I was already near enough to catch every word. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to care about being overheard. "The Prince’s country should be put on the list," he said casually, as if discussing something mundane. "That lady too—find her country of origin because she looks decent outwardly and internally. Perhaps four more. The rest are irredeemable trash at the moment."

What? I blinked, trying to process his words. Is he assessing the people in the venue? His tone was unnervingly calm, yet the weight of his words was heavy. The way he dismissed others so easily, labeling some as worthlessness and others as worth investigating, left me contemplating his real intentions.

There was cold cynical attitude in how he analyzed everyone. It wasn’t the behavior of a man merely observing—it was strategic, calculated. He wasn’t just attending this gathering, he was already listing down people by countries, deciding who was worth his attention and who was not.

As the venue grew quieter, rows of Marjorie clergymen and nuns walked solemnly toward the center, led by Her Eminence Emily, the current ruler of the Marjorie Holy Kingdom. Her silver hair flowed gently with each confident step, and despite her apparent grace, Lord Oliver’s voice broke through my thoughts.

"Damn, she looks 30, but she's 70?" he muttered, loud enough for me to hear. "She’s basically a grandma, and some dudes here are actually fawning over a hag like her? Can’t they see how rotten her age is, just like her inner self?" His tone was disturbingly cheerful, mockingly so, as his signature grin crept onto his face.

I turned to him, trying to keep my composure. "Lord Oliver, are you acquainted with Lady Emily?"

He tilted his head slightly, responding with his usual irreverence. "Do I look like someone who’d socialize with people who look down on my people—and me included?"

I fell silent. I couldn’t tell if he was just being his usual blunt self or if he truly had insight beyond what was visible. He was right, though, and his words were eerily on point. Whether through information beforehand or some supernatural means, it felt like he always knew more.

"But I’ve always been curious about that woman—the younger one with blonde hair. She’s very young and her clothing is... rather indecent," Lord Oliver remarked, his curiosity evident.