Jean was still practicing his "I am a merciful warmonger" face in the reflection of a polished black sword when the tent flap burst open.
Lirael entered first, moving like a shadow with too many knives. Behind her, two burly guards dragged in a young woman in tattered glowing robes. Her wrists were bound with shimmering restraints that probably cost more mana than Jean's old apartment rent. She had the same determined eyes as the twitching Hero from the battlefield, but hers were currently filled with a mix of rage and bone-deep exhaustion.
The Hero's little sister. According to the terrifyingly detailed report Varak had shoved into his hands earlier, her name was Elara Voss de Velling, age 19, talented healer and support mage. Also, apparently, the only person brave enough to spit on Jan Harris's boots before.
She did exactly that the moment she saw him.
Jean blinked. Okay, that's fair.
"Monster!" Elara snarled, struggling against the guards. "You slaughtered my brother's entire party! You tore open the realms like they were paper! Whatever you want from me, I won't—"
She stopped mid-rant as Jean instinctively raised a hand in what he meant to be a calming "please lower your voice" gesture.
The entire tent went dead silent.
Lirael's eyes widened with something like religious ecstasy. Varak, who had followed them in, actually took a step back in awe.
Jean's internal screaming reached new heights.
No no no, that was just the universal "chill" sign! Why are they looking at me like I just ordered the heat death of three universes?!
He cleared his throat. The sound came out like gravel wrapped in velvet menace. "I… wanted to see you. Personally."
Elara paled. "So you can gloat? Or torture me for information? Go ahead then, Warmonger. I won't break easily."
Jean leaned forward on the obsidian throne, trying to look approachable. Unfortunately, Jan Harris's default setting was "predatory final boss," so the motion made the shadows in the tent seem to deepen dramatically.
Come on, brain. Say something nice. Something human.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said carefully.
The words hung in the air.
Lirael tilted her head, intrigued. "A new technique? Breaking them with false hope first? Inspired, my Lord."
Varak nodded sagely. "Classic Harris. Offer mercy, then snatch it away at the peak of despair. The psychological damage will ripple across the resistance."
Elara laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe that? After everything you've done? The Blood Pacts of the 4th Realm? The Devouring of Eldoria? You coughed blood on the peace treaty delegates last cycle just to watch them panic!"
Jean winced. That particular memory fragment hit him like a truck (ironic). Jan had apparently done that on purpose. What a drama queen.
He rubbed his temples. The motion smeared a bit of dried blood across his forehead, which only made him look more unhinged.
"Look," he tried again, "things are… changing. I'm not—" He caught himself before saying 'the same person'. "I don't need more pointless death. Tell me about your brother's remaining allies. Maybe we can… negotiate."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Elara stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Then her expression hardened. "Negotiate? With you? This is another trap, isn't it? You want me to betray the remaining realms so you can crush them easier."
Jean groaned internally. Why is being a decent person so suspicious when you're a legendary psycho?!
Out loud, his voice dropped into that unintentionally terrifying register again. "It's not a trap. I'm serious. No more purges. For now."
Varak's chest puffed with pride. "Ah! The long game. Let the prey think they have hope, then strike when they're spread thin. You truly are without equal, Lord Harris."
Lirael was already taking notes. Actual notes. On a scroll made of what looked like demon skin.
Jean wanted to scream into a pillow. Instead, he waved vaguely at the guards. "Untie her. Give her some water. And… food. Not the 'interrogation special.' Normal food."
The guards hesitated, looking to him for confirmation that this wasn't some coded order for exotic torture.
He sighed. "Just… regular food. Please."
They moved like they were handling live explosives.
Elara rubbed her wrists once freed, watching him warily. For the first time, a flicker of genuine confusion crossed her face. "What game are you playing, Harris? You've never shown mercy before. Not once."
Jean gave her what he hoped was a tired smile. It came out looking like a wolf trying to befriend a sheep.
"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf."
The subordinates inhaled sharply.
"New leaf…" Varak muttered reverently. "A new era of calculated terror."
Jean pinched the bridge of his nose. His body even did that dramatically.
Before he could dig the hole any deeper, a soldier burst into the tent, panting.
"My Lord! Urgent report! A new portal has stabilized in the 9th Realm. The Pantheon of Heroes is assembling. They're calling you 'The Crimson Devourer' and swearing an alliance across five realities to stop you!"
Jean felt his stomach drop. More enemies. Great.
He muttered under his breath, "This is fine. Totally fine. Just another Tuesday."
Unfortunately, everyone heard it.
Lirael's eyes gleamed. "He's already three steps ahead. Calling this chaos 'fine'… the audacity!"
Varak slammed a fist into his palm. "We march at your command!"
Jean looked at Elara, who was now staring at him with a mix of hatred, fear, and the tiniest spark of reluctant curiosity.
He forced another smile.
"Bring me the portal coordinates," he said, already dreading whatever fresh nightmare his next "brilliant" order would cause. "And someone get me a map that doesn't have 'doomed realms' written on it."
As the tent exploded into excited activity, Jean slouched deeper into the throne.
Step one of being a good guy in a villain's body: Don't accidentally conquer more multiverses.
He had a feeling step one was already failing spectacularly.