Blessed to be the Villain

Ethan couldn't believe what he had just done.

And the worst part? He hadn't even realized it. It felt natural—too natural.

His mind raced, trying to figure out why. Had he always been like this? Was this some buried instinct, some part of the original Ethan he hadn't noticed before? He scoured the memories of the original Ethan, searching for anything similar. At first, there was nothing. But then—

His eyes widened in realization.

No... this had happened before.

For the original Ethan, flirting with women was as natural as breathing.

But Ethan was different. This wasn't his personality. He would never have acted like this—unless something was influencing him. His bloodline.

A cold sweat ran down his back.

This was bad. Really bad. If this was what happened when his bloodline was only half-awakened, what would happen when it fully emerged? Would he even be able to control himself?

Endless questions flooded his mind, but he forced himself to suppress them.

Thinking too much now would only make him paranoid. He needed answers—but not here, not now.

Exhaling a quiet sigh, Ethan stepped forward, his body stiff as he tried to shake off the thoughts clouding his mind. He made his way to the dining hall.

As he entered, his eyes immediately fell on Ralf, who stood waiting at the table, his expression unreadable.

Ethan walked over and took his seat. His eyes flicked briefly to Ralf, who stood silently, still as a statue.

"You're not going to join me, Sir Ralf?" Ethan asked, breaking the silence.

Ralf's gaze shifted slightly, a faint flicker of emotion passing through his sharp eyes, but his voice remained steady. "No," he answered simply, his tone impossible to read.

Ethan nodded, slightly disappointed but not surprised. He wasn't expecting any company.

As Ethan settled into his seat, a maid approached, her movements swift and graceful as she set the plate in front of him.

The Mijuri Duchy was renowned for its spices, and the rich, intoxicating aroma rising from the food before him confirmed that reputation. The deep, earthy scent of cumin and coriander mingled with the warmth of cardamom and cinnamon, stirring his senses and making his mouth water.

Before him lay a feast, the spread a testament to the duchy's spice-laden cuisine.

The slow-cooked curry sat in its bowl, thick and velvety, the sauce clinging to tender chunks of meat. The vibrant golden hue came from the perfect blend of garam masala, turmeric, and red chili, while the dried fenugreek leaves added an extra layer of depth to the dish.

Next to it, a plate of biriyani beckoned, its fragrant layers of long-grain rice infused with saffron and ghee. Caramelized onions, plump raisins, and roasted nuts decorated the top, while the aroma of cloves and star anise wrapped around him like an embrace, impossible to ignore.

To the side, a serving of spiced lentil stew caught his eye. Red lentils simmered with tomatoes, garlic, and mustard seeds, its smoky, buttery finish tempered by ghee-fried curry leaves and dried chilies.

Finally, a plate of crispy, spiced flatbread completed the meal. The dough had been kneaded with ajwain seeds, brushed with melted butter, and baked in a scorching clay oven, leaving it golden brown with charred edges.

Ethan inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the meal. He couldn't help but marvel at how even a small town like this could boast such an abundant spread. But... wasn't it a bit much for breakfast?

Oh well, when in Rome, do as the Romans do, he thought wryly, as he prepared to dig in.

But as he looked around for the cutlery, confusion crept into his thoughts. He scanned the table, then the surrounding area. No knives, no forks, no spoons.

Sensing his hesitation, Ralf spoke up from across the room, his voice as calm as ever.

"Are you looking for something, young master?"

Ethan paused for a moment, about to respond, but then—he froze.

A flash of memory returned, and he recalled that this place didn't use cutlery to eat. Instead, they ate with their right hands. It was custom here.

Right. They eat with their hands, he thought, feeling a strange sense of embarrassment. He was used to eating with spoons, so this felt... unusual, to say the least.

No, nothing, he replied to Ralf, his voice betraying none of his inner discomfort.

Without further thought, he took his glass of water, pouring it into a small bucket at the edge of the table. He washed his right hand, feeling the cool water splash against his skin. It felt oddly freeing.

Ethan set the glass down and began to eat with his right hand, the motions surprisingly fluid. He moved as if he had always done this, his fingers expertly maneuvering around the food as he scooped a bite of biriyani into his mouth.

The warm, fragrant rice and spices hit his tongue, and he almost forgot the strange sensation of being watched. Several servants lingered around the room, observing him as he ate. Though he could feel their eyes on him, Ethan simply brushed it off. He was too focused on savoring the taste to care about their silent gaze.

But as he chewed, a thought suddenly froze him mid-bite.

Could Ralf know anything about bloodline awakening?

Ethan had searched through the memories of the original Ethan, but there was nothing about it. The original had been far more interested in chasing women than anything related to bloodlines or power.

But Sir Ralf—a former knight commander—should know something, shouldn't he? He had to.

A deep suspicion formed in Ethan's mind. There was a chance he could get some answers from Ralf, something to help him understand his situation.

His curiosity bubbling over, Ethan set his food down and turned his attention to Ralf.

"Sir Ralf, may I ask you a question?"

Ralf's eyebrow lifted, a slight curve of curiosity in his otherwise stoic expression. "Of course you may," he answered, his voice as measured as ever.

Ethan leaned forward slightly, his voice low as he asked, "What is bloodline awakening?"

As soon as the question left his lips, Ralf's expression froze.

For a moment, Ralf looked genuinely surprised, his cool composure slipping just slightly. But just as quickly, his eyes hardened, and he glanced toward a knight beside him.

Without a word, the knight nodded and began ushering all the servants and other knights out of the room, his expression unreadable.

Ethan watched them leave, a sinking feeling creeping into his stomach. Something was wrong.

Did I ask something I shouldn't have? he wondered, his gaze shifting back to Ralf.

As the last servant exited and the door was closed behind them, leaving only Ralf and Ethan in the room, Ethan's nervousness intensified. His throat tightened. He cleared it, swallowing hard as he asked, "What's this, Sir Ralf?"

Ralf's gaze darkened, his voice now steely with seriousness. "Where did you hear about bloodline awakening, young master?"