Blessed to be the Villain

Ethan strode toward the entrance of the mansion, where soldiers and knights stood in formation, waiting for him.

He wore a fitted green shirt, grey pants, and sturdy leather boots. Though his attire lacked the extravagance of a noble attending a banquet, it still carried an air of authority. The fine fabric and tailored fit were enough to set him apart from commoners, marking him as someone of status.

As he approached the grand doors, seven men stood at attention. The two knights among them, clad in polished armor with swords sheathed at their waists, stomped a foot against the ground in unison and saluted.

"Good afternoon, Young Master," they said in firm, disciplined voices.

Ethan gave a small nod, his expression calm. "Good afternoon to you too."

The remaining five soldiers—each gripping a spear—bowed slightly and echoed the greeting.

Ethan stepped out of the mansion, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows across the cobblestone path. His two knights flanked him on either side, their armored boots clinking against the ground with every step. The soldiers moved into position, forming a protective circle around him as they made their way through the town.

The rhythmic march of boots filled the air, drawing the attention of onlookers. Townspeople paused in their daily routines, some offering curious glances while others quickly averted their eyes. Though soldiers and guards were a common sight here, the presence of knights was rare. Before Ethan's arrival, the town had only two knights stationed within its borders. Now, his personal retinue of eight added a striking presence to the streets.

Ethan's crimson eyes swept over the town as they walked. Modest houses of stone and wood lined the road, their windows adorned with hanging laundry that swayed in the breeze. Children played near doorsteps, their laughter ringing through the streets, while merchants haggled with customers over prices. Yet beneath the surface, there was an undeniable shift in the air. His presence had changed something.

As they continued forward, the narrow streets widened, and the scent of spices, grilled meat, and fresh bread filled the air. The marketplace stretched before them—lively, chaotic, and teeming with vendors shouting to attract customers.

Ethan's gaze moved across the stalls, taking in the assortment of goods.

A stout man behind a wooden counter waved a bundle of onions in the air, his deep voice booming over the chatter. "Fresh vegetables! Straight from the farms! Best quality, best price!"

To his right, a butcher, his apron stained with blood, slammed a cleaver down onto a thick slab of meat. "Fresh cuts! Goat, lamb, even wild boar! Don't waste your coin on the scrawny scraps from other stalls!" His arms were thick, muscles bulging as he worked.

A woman in a headscarf, stirring a sizzling pan over a charcoal stove, called out, "Skewered meat! Spiced and grilled to perfection! A silver coin for five, and you'll be licking your fingers clean!" The rich aroma of roasted meat and sizzling fat made Ethan's stomach tighten in response.

Further ahead, a vendor dressed in elaborate robes displayed rings and pendants on a velvet cloth, his voice smooth and enticing. "Magical rings! Protective amulets! Blessed by the gods themselves! Wear one, and fortune will follow!"

Ethan's lips twitched slightly. Do people actually fall for this nonsense?

Another stall caught his attention—this one run by an elderly woman with deep-set wrinkles and beady eyes that scanned the crowd hungrily. Glass bottles filled with murky liquids lined her table. "Elixirs of power! Potions for virility! Struggling in bed? Failing to bear children? Infidelity problems? One sip, and your troubles will vanish!" She cackled, shaking a vial of sickly green liquid.

Ethan's brow twitched. What kind of fool would believe that?

Despite the ridiculous claims, customers still gathered, some exchanging coins for the so-called remedies. A man in his fifties rubbed his chin thoughtfully before purchasing a vial, while a younger woman whispered hurriedly to the vendor, glancing around as if afraid of being seen.

The mix of scents, the press of bodies, and the sheer noise of the marketplace created an almost overwhelming atmosphere. Yet Ethan remained composed, his expression unreadable.

His knights kept a steady pace, their sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Though the town seemed peaceful, vigilance was second nature to them.

Although the marketplace was bustling with life, a strange absence lingered in Ethan's mind.

There were no elves, no beastfolk—no sign of any race beyond humans.

His crimson eyes swept over the sea of people, their voices blending into a chaotic hum of haggling, laughter, and distant hammering from a blacksmith's forge. Yet despite the diversity in clothing, dialects, and trades, every face belonged to a human.

That's strange… Ethan's brow furrowed slightly. This was a fantasy world, wasn't it? Where were the elves with their elegant features, the beastfolk with their animalistic traits? Where were the towering orcs, the mysterious dwarves?

As he sifted through the memories of the original Ethan, understanding dawned.

They did exist—but they were rarely seen outside their own lands. Unlike the humans, who expanded and built sprawling kingdoms, the other races remained isolated, their nations sealed off from outsiders. Trade existed, but interactions were limited.

And in a town like this, tucked away from major trade routes and political centers, spotting a non-human would be nothing short of a miracle.

Ethan exhaled quietly, adjusting the leather gloves on his hands. So humans really do dominate this world…

The realization left an odd taste in his mouth. It wasn't just about rarity—it felt like an unspoken separation, as if the world itself had drawn a line between races.

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