NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 84

Chapter 84: Finally, The Fated Meeting! (1)

“Ahh, it’s alright. Don’t sweat it. They’re newbies. Just make sure they don’t fuck it up.”

Jin said, lazily waving a hand like a spoiled emperor granting clemency to peasants.

The owner nodded so fast he looked like his head might pop off, then scurried inside to prepare their feast.

“Brother, let’s cut loose tonight.”

Jin grinned, jabbing Artis in the side as they strutted toward his usual spot in the back of the room.

On either arm, Jin had a woman—no, scratch that, bombshells.

These weren’t just any tavern courtesans; these were the crème de la crème, the ones with curves so deadly they should’ve come with warning signs.

And in true Jin fashion, he had the hottest pair in the place clinging to him like he was their ticket to paradise.

For them, he probably was. Catching Jin’s eye was like winning the fucking lottery.

If they played their cards right, they could snag a job at the palace, maybe even end up with a cushy life dripping in luxury.

Hell, just sitting on his lap right now was probably the closest thing to a job interview they’d ever need.

Jin plopped down into his throne of a chair, and with a practiced move, the two beauties perched on his lap like ornaments, giggling and pawing at him.

His hands were everywhere—legs, hips, and anywhere he could cop a feel without seeming too obvious. Or maybe he didn’t care about being obvious.

Artis slid into the seat to Jin’s right, while Chen sat across from him, looking like he was barely holding his shit together. As the booze and food started rolling in, the atmosphere cranked up a notch.

The tavern’s usual music and dancing? Fuck that, this was special day.

The dancers started swinging their hips harder, and the musicians played like their lives depended on it.

The place was buzzing, the crowd feeding off Jin’s energy. Laughter, clinking mugs, and the occasional cheer filled the air.

Artis leaned back, taking it all in.

A few moments later, he noticed Chen subtly glancing over his shoulder and beckoning someone forward with all the grace of a drunk cat.

Soon, three figures appeared, standing right next to Artis and facing Jin with a synchronized formality that screamed we rehearsed this shit for hours.

Artis’s heart decided to start breakdancing in his chest. His lips felt like they’d been left out in the desert, and his body started shaking like a virgin on prom night.

There was no mistaking it. He could feel it deep in his bones. These people…they were trouble.

“Greetings to the prince of this sect, the esteemed young master Jin…”

They spoke in eerie unison, bowing just enough to show respect but not so much as to seem desperate. It was the kind of ass-kissing you’d expect from professionals.

Artis side-eyed them, his lips twitching uncontrollably.

‘Wow. Leading with an ego boost? Classic move. These clowns just threw Jin a verbal handjob, and he’s eating it up.’

Sure enough, Jin’s face lit up like a kid handed a bag of candy and a blank check. His smug grin grew wider by the second. Their tactic was working like a charm.

‘Prince of the Sect, huh? Yeah, fucking right. The only thing royal about this guy is his capacity for screwing up. If Jin ever becomes Patriarch, this whole sect would be fucked faster than a courtesan on payday.’

Artis thought, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes so hard they’d get stuck.

Jin leaned back, swinging his arm over the chair like he was auditioning for the role of “Smuggest Bastard Alive.” His lips curled into a grin that could rival a cat who just stumbled upon an endless supply of cream.

“Yes, greetings, greetings. Chen tells me you’re looking for work. But tell me—why would you want to work under me?”

Artis raised a hand to stop a beautiful maiden mid-pour as she attempted to fill their cups with wine.

She froze, blinking in confusion, before glancing at Jin for guidance. He, of course, was too busy basking in his own glory to notice her existence.

Taking his lack of reaction as approval, she bowed slightly and slinked away, leaving the bottle on the table like a subtle “fuck this, I’m out.”

“We need in- kurgh!”

The bulkier of the three strangers stepped forward, puffing out his chest like he was about to give a grand speech, only to be silenced by the man next to him delivering a sneaky jab to his stomach.

The bulky guy doubled over slightly, wheezing, while his partner picked up the slack.

“Who else but you, young master, is the kindest and most generous of them all?”

The man said, his tone syrupy enough to induce diabetes.

“Who else but you, the strongest and bravest? Truly, we seek nothing but the honor of serving under a man of your unparalleled power and courage. If we could work under you, young master, our lives would be…complete.”

Artis nearly choked on his own spit. He barely managed to keep his face straight, his inner monologue screaming.

‘Holy shit, this is next-level bootlicking. Did they write that line in calligraphy before practicing it in front of a mirror?’

Jin, meanwhile, soaked in the praise like a sponge in a tsunami. His grin stretched wider as he leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Ooh, is that so?”

Jin purred, clearly enjoying the verbal blowjob.

The cloaked man spoke in a low, honeyed tone, his words dripping with fake sincerity like syrup over a stack of poisoned pancakes.

His lips curled into an almost angelic smile, his eyes gleaming with a charm that screamed, “Trust me, I’m definitely not about to fuck up your life.”

Adding insult to injury, the guy had the kind of face that could land him on magazine covers—a perfect mix of innocent choir boy and devil-may-care fuckboy.

The words slid out of his mouth so smoothly it was almost hypnotic, but Artis knew better. Oh, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Artis leaned back, trying to look casual while his inner monologue was doing fucking cartwheels.

‘Oh, yeah, buddy. Keep playing your little game. You think you’re running this shit? Nah, I’m enjoying the show too much to care.’

His heart thumped erratically in his chest—not from nerves, but from pure, unfiltered adrenaline.

It wasn’t every day you had the so-called heroes of this world standing right in front of you, looking like they just waltzed out of a fantasy epic.

Hell, these weren’t just any heroes. No, standing before him was the protagonist crew, the shiny, chosen bastards destined to ruin his villainous day. And Artis? He wasn’t scared—he was fucking giddy.

‘Man, my heart’s beating like I just downed a bottle of cheap liquor. Is this because I’m the villain and they’re the so-called heroes? Some novel-level bullshit, for sure. Where’s my dramatic background music when I need it?’

One thing was clear, though: Artis wasn’t letting this golden opportunity slip through his fingers.

For once, the plot armor squad was in his playground, and he was going to milk this moment for all it was worth.

Heroes or not, they were under his thumb now, and he was going to savor every second of making them dance to his tune before the inevitable shoe dropped.

‘The big guy’s definitely Galore.’

Artis thought, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes.

‘All bark, no brain. Of course it’s him. Loud-mouthed, muscle-brained dumbass. And the pretty boy? That’s gotta be Reiner—the goddamn hero. Fucking pretty-boy savior of the world with those chiseled cheekbones and smoldering eyes. Makes me sick. Bet he moisturizes.’

Artis shifted in his seat, stealing a glance at Reiner, whose very presence seemed to radiate that insufferable “I’m the main character” energy.

‘This pretty motherfucker needs to be handled carefully. One slip of the tongue, and he’ll see right through me. But why’s he talking like that? Playing dumb or just stroking his own ego?’

Galore, on the other hand, was exactly as described: all biceps, zero brain cells. The kind of guy who thought strategy was just “hitting harder.” Artis could already picture the guy’s life story in crayon.

‘Strong enough to match Reiner, sure, but about as useful in a crisis as tits on a bull. What’s a hero without a brain? A walking meat shield. That’s what.’

Artis smirked to himself. Galore wasn’t a hero; he was a sidekick with delusions of grandeur.

The only reason he wasn’t still at the bottom of the pecking order was because Reiner took pity on him—or maybe just needed someone to hold his beer while he saved the day.

And if Galore got out of line?

Well, Reiner could always remind him who wore the metaphorical (and literal) pants in their little duo, probably with a few well-placed punches to the face.

‘Explosive, stupid, and entirely predictable. Galore’s the human equivalent of a drunk bachelorette with a credit card—chaotic, but manageable with enough restraint. Yeah, he’s Reiner’s problem, not mine. For now, at least.’