Vermin Always Dies

Vermin, the villain. In the world's salvation ending, he dies as the villain. In the annihilation ending, he dies because the world is destroyed. Even in the normal ending, he dies somehow. Betrayed by his subordinates and pierced by a sword, losing control of his black magic and having his soul taken by a demon, or taking his own life in despair over his situation—he always dies. His nickname "Death Squadron" wasn't given lightly.

And now they expect me to survive for five years?

"Haa..."

A sigh escaped me involuntarily. If only the timeline were different, but no—this was right before the game started. The journey to the ending was shorter than five years, so my death within that time was a foregone conclusion.

Even if they didn't want to give me money, did they have to possess me into Vermin? I specifically asked to possess Allemi. I wanted to experience the dream of a soft, gender-bent girl too.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

But I couldn't keep complaining. My body was already possessed by Vermin. I had to find a way to survive somehow. I'd already wasted three days, so I couldn't afford to slack off anymore.

I washed my face once more to clear my head and stepped out of the bathroom. Immediately, someone knocked on the door outside.

"Who is it."

My voice came out in a corrected low tone, formal and commanding, echoing toward the outside. Soon, a woman's voice replied from beyond the door.

"Master Vermin, there seems to be a disturbance at the Slave Warehouse. I believe you should go there yourself. It's been quite some time since your last inspection, as well."

Slave Warehouse. What a horrific term. Not content with collaring fellow humans like dogs, they store them like objects in a warehouse.

But Vermin wasn't just any slaver—he personally bought and sold slaves, and he'd even built the Slave Warehouse and the slave markets himself. A diligent slave trader through and through. I couldn't ignore it.

In the end, I had no choice but to respond toward the door.

"I'll head out soon."

"Understood."

I straightened my clothes, took one last deep breath before opening the door, steadied my resolve, and flung it open. My eyes met those of the woman waiting behind it.

"It was you, Yenika."

"Have you been well, Master Vermin?"

Yenika clasped her hands below her navel and bowed politely to me. In that moment, I took my first real look at her up close.

Yenika's most striking feature was, without a doubt, her outfit. A tube top like underwear, barely covered by a short jacket that didn't even reach her waist, and a miniskirt with a belt where the high-leg panty straps peeked out above it. It wasn't your typical medieval fantasy attire.

Yet few criticized Yenika's anachronistic style. She was canonically a designer who could create modern outfits, and above all, she looked good—so players just let it slide. Better a hot secretary in revealing clothes for the villain than some politically correct frump.

Of course, Yenika's appearance itself was noteworthy. Her short jet-black hair and shimmering purple eyes created a mysterious aura. Earrings aside, her ears were pierced multiple times, her nails painted black, and her bold all-black outfit completed the cool big-sis vibe.

But seeing her in person, she didn't feel like a big sis at all.

"Why are you staring like that, Master Vermin?"

Her sharp gaze and prickly voice... came from way down there. Even in high-heeled black walkers, she was two heads shorter than me. That made her cool eyes and mature figure feel adorably childlike by contrast—a total gap moe.

"Master Vermin?"

Yenika tilted her chin up slightly, looking at me as she spoke. I snapped back to reality and opened my mouth.

"Right, you mentioned the Slave Warehouse."

"Yes. One customer is causing a scene, claiming he can't pay for the slaves. I think you should see to it personally."

"Got it. Let's head out right away."

"...?"

At my response, Yenika looked up at me with wide eyes. She stared for a moment, then tilted her head slightly and asked,

"Is that all?"

"Yeah. What's the problem?"

"Aren't you going to say something like, 'You called me out for this trivial matter?' or 'Can't you handle it yourself, you useless bitch?'"

It was a line straight out of Vermin's usual behavior toward Yenika. In truth, Vermin was never kind to her.

Yenika had once been accused of witchcraft and nearly burned at the stake. All because the black clothes she designed were labeled "demonic creations." In reality, it was just slander from men she'd rejected after they tried to sleep with her.

But facts didn't matter. Her outfits looked suspicious enough to the public, and the spurned men agreed to burn her. Even now, she rejected all the subtle proposals to "sacrifice her purity," leading her to the pyre.

Right before the flames engulfed her, Vermin saved her.

"Not bad clothes. Make them for me for the rest of your life."

His casual words, tossed out as if saving her life meant nothing, were like grace to Yenika. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠From that day, she devoted her life to him—wearing clothes for him, making clothes for him, always by his side assisting him.

No matter how harshly he spoke, how his villainy worsened, or how dangerous it got, Yenika never left Vermin's side. But it was mostly one-sided from her; Vermin never truly warmed to her.

That's why I'd expected her to brace for verbal abuse.

"You."

I gathered my thoughts and slowly opened my mouth.

"Since when did you get to question my words?"

"My apologies."

"A brainless whore who only knows how to wiggle her ass in that slutty excuse for clothes—do you think you can talk back to me? One more word, and I'll sell you to a brothel."

"I truly apologize, Master Vermin."

Yenika clasped her hands below her navel again and bowed deeply. For now, I had to stick to Vermin's usual manner of speaking. No good if she realized I was a possessor.

I felt bad for the harsh words, but I had no choice.

"I've been cooped up too long—just going out for some air. Don't you dare judge my words, you useless bitch."

"I'll keep that in mind. I'll escort you to the Slave Warehouse right away."

"Tch."

Yenika turned with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠click of her black walkers and led the way. I fiddled with the stuffy choker collar, then stared at her back.

Even from behind, it was provocatively revealing. Her curves were on full display, straps teasingly visible— no wonder they called her a witch.

And this was supposedly Vermin's taste, his favorite style? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠That crazy fashion-obsessed bastard.

For the first time in three days, I mentally praised Vermin as I followed Yenika down the hall.

Far from the mansion, following Yenika underground, my expression soured involuntarily. Lukewarm, clammy humidity; a musty stench bordering on nauseating; rusted iron bars blocking the way everywhere. It lived up to the name Slave Warehouse—utterly dreadful.

But the eeriest part was the heavy silence enveloping the air. Dozens of people visible beyond the bars, yet not a sound from any of them. They just sat there with dark expressions, mouths shut.

Shivering in the quiet, I spoke to Yenika to distract myself.

"How many slaves are here right now?"

"Including beastkin and elves—other races—there are 387. Five more incoming in about four hours, and 20 scheduled for sale tomorrow."

"Horrible."

The word slipped out unconsciously. I glanced at Yenika to gauge her reaction. She stared at me, as if trying to read my intent. I hurriedly added,

"Keeping slaves around just racks up pointless costs. Better sell them off quick to avoid losses."

"Wise words, indeed."

"I know there are multiple warehouses like this. Who knows how much money's bleeding out."

Muttering insincere lines, I scanned the surroundings—and locked eyes with a collared slave sitting beyond the bars. His lifeless gaze stared blankly at me, stirring an uneasy feeling.

How could anyone do this without a second thought? Villains, through and through.

Then a thought struck me. Now that I was Vermin, couldn't I do whatever I wanted?

I stopped, staring at the slave, and asked Yenika,

"If I ordered it, could you release every slave in this warehouse?"

"As they are your property, Master Vermin, you hold the right to dispose of them. If you wish, they would become free citizens immediately."

At her explanation, a flicker of hope passed through the slaves' eyes. As their gazes focused on me, Yenika asked one final time,

"Shall I release the slaves?"

With those words, everything slowed, then froze as if time had stopped. Like picking choices in the game, options appeared before my eyes.

The choices appeared, time frozen, giving me ample time to think. I pondered the two options before me.

Deep down, I wanted to free them all. I wasn't originally a villain—just possessed one.

But after freeing them? Vermin's infamy wouldn't vanish from one good deed. The freed slaves might thank me, but it wouldn't sway the hordes out to kill me.

Plus, slaves were assets. I'd need money to find a way to survive—cutting my own funding was insane.

Thinking it through, I had only one real choice. I had to survive first.

"No. These slaves are mine. I can't let my property run away."

At my answer, the slaves' gazes dropped back to the damp, dark floor. Only Yenika nodded as if it were natural.

"I figured you'd say that. Even with the costs, they're goods we can sell one by one. The customer's still causing a ruckus, so I'll lead you there."

As Yenika resumed walking ahead, new messages appeared before my eyes.

The protagonist-only perk was now visible to me.