༺ Noah's POV ༻
Transmigrating into a novel was one thing, but ending up as Noah Ashbourne—villain, narcissist, and walking disaster—was an entirely different level of cosmic cruelty.
Yet here I was.
Plotting my next move like the textbook antagonist I was supposed to be.
The system that bound me here was annoyingly clear about its rules.
I needed "plot points" to gain leverage and grow stronger.
Farming those points required interaction with key events in the story.
But if I outright stole Draven's moment, I risked destabilizing the narrative and inviting consequences I couldn't predict.
That meant I needed to be... strategic.
If I played my cards right, I could get what I wanted without disrupting Draven's ascension.
The plan was simple, really.
The undead soldiers would rise in waves, drawn by the curse that had plagued the cemetery for centuries.
The first wave would be weaker, more disorganized.
That's where I'd strike.
I'd eliminate them before Draven and the heroines arrived, harvesting the plot points for myself.
By the time Draven showed up, he'd face a manageable horde and still get his heroic moment.
Everyone wins—except the undead, of course.
Selfish? Yes.
Arrogant? Definitely.
But I wasn't here to play the hero.
The system chimed softly in the back of my mind, a subtle reminder of the stakes.
Every choice I made rippled through the narrative.
The thought of those ripples kept me grounded.
I had no intention of becoming a reckless fool who derailed the story and got himself obliterated by the plot's natural defenses.
No, I'd play my part—carefully, methodically, and always to my advantage.
The first act of the novel was already unfolding.
And I could practically recite it word for word.
It began with Princess Ellara wandering into the academy cemetery—lured by the eerie voice of an undead entity.
The scene was atmospheric, heavy with foreboding.
The cemetery, cloaked in a dense fog, was littered with broken gravestones and skeletal trees.
It was a place of death, decay, and despair.
There, the princess would get consumee by her guilt.
They acted as security when a threat occurred and the students had to be containes in their rooms.
Just the same as the game.
A symbol of warmth and comfort.
Mine became the core of my plan.
Beneath the hearthstones, I carved a network of runes connected to a timed activation spell.
The spell was calibrated to detonate in two phases.
The first would ignite the initial explosion—
A sudden burst of flames and embers that would shatter windows and send shockwaves through the hall.
The second phase, moments later, would unleash a controlled firestorm.
Consuming the room and reducing everything within it to ash.
But the brilliance didn't end there
An explosion, no matter how destructive, would naturally lead to questions.
Investigators would search for evidence, for remains.
To account for this, I left behind subtle traces—charred remnants of clothing identical to my own.
And fragments of personal belongings strategically placed to suggest I had been caught in the blast.
A touch of blood—my blood, carefully harvested and preserved—was added to the scene, splattered in just the right places to make it believable.
The final touch was the diversion.
On the night of the event, I ensured there would be a gathering in the main hall—a celebration for one of the academy's favored professors.
Nearly everyone in Silvercrest Hall would be present, their attention fixed on the festivities.
The timing was critical.
As the clock struck the predetermined hour, I activated the spell remotely, using a focus crystal hidden in my sleeve.
The explosion was magnificent.
The roar of flames, the shattering of glass, the screams echoing through the halls—it was chaos personified.
As the flames consumed my room, I slipped away into the night, leaving behind only the carefully curated evidence of my supposed demise.
By morning, the academy would be filled with rumors, speculations, and partial grief.
Noah Ashbourne—the detestable, arrogant villain—was gone.
And yet even with all that planned and flawlessly executed.
I never thought that someone such as her would be included in my plan of playing missing.
I heard her turn in the bed as I also turned to look at her.
"Awake, I see..."
I said.
My voice low and smooth.