I Became the Cult Leader
The first thing I noticed after opening my eyes was the damp smell of a stone basement and the flickering light of a few candles. My head throbbed like it had been split open. Memories that clearly didn’t belong to me flooded in without permission, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water straight into my brain.
I was now Rowan. A third-rate villain who, in the game The Seven Aegises, would be sacrificed by the protagonist around chapter thirty to show how dangerous the world was. A pathetic cultist whose only role was to scream some cheesy lines before getting his head lopped off.
And right now, I was apparently the brand-new leader of said pathetic cult.
“…Fuck my life.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them. My voice echoed off the cold walls, sounding far more dignified than I felt. That was when I realized something was very wrong with my tone. It had come out deep, resonant, and strangely compelling, like a voice actor who specialized in final bosses.
I looked down. Black robes embroidered with silver runes I didn’t recognize. A silver pendant shaped like a twisted eye rested against my chest. My hands—long, pale, and far more elegant than my old ones—were clasped in front of me as if in prayer. I hadn’t even meant to do that.
Before I could process any further, the iron door to the basement creaked open. Several figures in similar black robes entered, heads bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the floor. The one in front, an older man with a face full of burn scars, spoke in a trembling voice thick with reverence.
The Black Dawn Cult
📍 Current Believers: 47
📍 Weekly Growth: +12
📍 Heretic Burnings This Month: 3
“O Great Prophet,” the scarred man whispered, voice cracking with emotion. “We have awaited your awakening. The previous leader… met with an unfortunate accident involving holy water and a rather angry paladin. But the Black Dawn does not die. We only grow stronger in darkness.”
I stared at him. Then at the others. Every single one of them had eyes that looked ready to cry tears of joy at any second. This was not the reception a throwaway villain was supposed to receive.
My plan had been simple. In games like this, the fastest way to avoid a bad ending was to make yourself as useless as possible. If the cult was going to be wiped out anyway, I’d just speedrun its destruction. I’d act like a complete lunatic, drive away every follower, and then quietly disappear into the mountains to live as a harmless hermit.
So I opened my mouth, intending to say something completely unhinged.
What came out instead was a low, velvet-smooth voice that seemed to resonate with the very air itself.
I clapped a hand over my mouth. That was not what I’d meant to say. I’d wanted to scream “This cult is canceled, everyone go home!” Instead, my mouth had betrayed me with the most cult-leader thing imaginable.
The effect was immediate. The scarred man fell to his knees, tears streaming down his ruined face. The others followed, pressing their foreheads to the cold stone floor as one.
“The Prophet speaks!”
“The Black Dawn shall never fade!”
“All hail the True Darkness!”
I felt a cold sweat break out across my back. This was the opposite of driving them away. These people looked like they’d follow me into actual hell if I asked them to.
This is bad. This is really, really bad.
I tried again, focusing every ounce of willpower I had on saying something normal.
“Just… just go bankrupt already!”
Perfect. That was what I’d wanted to say. Clear. Direct. Completely un-leaderlike.
But the way it came out—deep, commanding, filled with what sounded like divine authority—made it seem like I had just pronounced a holy decree. The cultists’ eyes widened with something like religious ecstasy.
“He speaks in riddles!” the scarred man cried. “The false churches will fall! The Black Dawn shall rise from their ashes! We understand, O Prophet!”
You understand nothing!
I wanted to scream. Instead, my stupid new body simply smiled. A slow, mysterious, extremely cult-leader-like smile that I could feel spreading across my face without my permission.
The worst part? A small blue window only I could see had appeared in the corner of my vision.
Unique Skill 'Charisma of the False Prophet' has activated.
Follower Loyalty increased by 25.
Cult Influence spreading to nearby villages.
I wanted to cry. This body came with built-in cult leader skills. Of course it did. The game designers probably thought it was funny.
The scarred man rose, eyes burning with fanatical devotion. “We have prepared the first sacrifice of your return, Prophet. A corrupt noble who dared speak against the Black Dawn. Shall we bring her in?”
Sacrifice? Noble? This was escalating way too quickly.
I tried to say “Absolutely not, let her go,” but what emerged was:
The cultists practically vibrated with excitement as they dragged in a beautiful blonde woman in expensive but torn clothing. She glared at me with pure hatred, which was honestly the most normal reaction I’d seen since waking up.
Our eyes met. For a second, I tried to communicate with a desperate look: I’m not actually a cult leader. Please run.
She spat on the floor. “Do your worst, you filthy heretic. The Goddess will protect me.”
The cultists looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for some dramatic ritual or speech.
I was screwed. Completely, utterly screwed.
All I’d wanted was to quietly fail at being a villain and survive. Instead, I seemed to have accidentally become the most convincing cult leader this world had ever seen.
As the woman continued to glare daggers at me and the cultists waited with bated breath, I could only think one thing:
Why the hell does this cult keep getting stronger the more I try to ruin it?