Reincarnated As The Villainess's Son

[Unknown Lands.]

[Kandam Continent.]

BOOM!!

A thunderous explosion shattered the silence of an enormous black palace.

A relic that had stood untouched for thousands of years.

A figure was hurled through the air, crashing through a massive wall at an unimaginable speed.

He tumbled and rolled across the floor before coming to a stop.

"Argh!"

A burning sensation rushed through his body as his groggy eyes took in the throne room he was in.

Using the throne as his support, the man tried to get up.

Step.

Step.

His diamond-like eyes shifted toward the gaping hole in the wall.

A person walked towards him.

"Hahaha." Your journey continues on My Virtual Library Empire

A weak chuckle escaped the man's lips as he slumped back onto the throne.

The solitude became clear.

Long red hair flowed behind the man, and eyes of pure gold adorned with spirals.

Red, ominous markings stretched across his forehead, tracing up to his elongated ears.

"Suppressing my rank from a Demigod to an Eternal?"

He leaned lazily against the throne, his voice a mixture of amusement and exhaustion.

"Your cowardice knows no bounds, Ragnar."

Ragnar's cold gaze remained fixed on him as he walked.

"Giving your opponent an equal footing to fight is what stupid people do."

Ragnar's voice echoed within the room as he stood just below the throne.

"I used to be one, but not anymore."

"Haha."

The man let out a small chuckle.

His diamond-like eyes looked past Ragnar.

....He could hear.

The cries of his people.

Begging for him to save them.

His fists clenched until his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood, and his glare shifted to Ragnar.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his anger and frustration clear in his voice.

For a moment, Ragnar didn't respond.

He simply studied the man—the last surviving relative of the exiled prince—Qaisel Ingrid Ayaan.

He knew Vamin was merely stalling for time.

Yet, Ragnar allowed it.

"Where is it, Vamin?" Ragnar finally asked, stepping closer.

Vamin leaned his head back, feeling the dried blood matting his black hair.

He slowly asked, "What?"

"Utopia Castle," Ragnar replied, standing just in front of him.

Vamin looked up at Ragnar.

His body trembled.

Was it perhaps fear?

Vamin wasn't sure if it was.

He remained still as he replied, "It's not something we can control. The castle floats in the sky, unknown to anyone."

Ragnar silently stared down at him.

His gaze shifted.

Then, without another word, he turned and began walking past the throne.

"Why are you looking for it?" Vamin demanded.

Ragnar halted.

His eyes flicked toward the massive murals adorning the palace walls—paintings rich with history.

There, amidst the grandeur, was a portrait of Qaisel.

The showcase of his involvement in the history of Lumina.

Something that was supposed to be erased.

A portrait.

A moment frozen in time.

Qaisel… standing against them.

The Gods.

Ragnar's voice broke the silence.

"Tell me, Vamin…"

Vamin groaned as he pushed himself up, turning to face Ragnar.

"Was Qaisel mad because his lover died—Or did his lover die because he was mad?"

Vamin had no answer.

Even as the last of the Ayaan bloodline, even with all the knowledge passed down through his family…

He didn't know who Qaisel truly was.

Instead, he ignored the question and asked his own.

"What are you getting at?"

Ragnar turned toward him, his golden eyes gleaming.

"Qaisel was an Avatar of all five Primordial Gods." He tilted his head. "How?"

Vamin's frown deepened.

Ragnar continued, "You see, even though I am partially an Avatar of four Primordial Gods, I can't sense it."

Vamin frowned. "Sense what?"

Ragnar took a step forward.

Vamin felt the suppression on his rank slowly diminishing.

Ragnar's lips parted. "The Creator's Will."

Vamin took a moment to wrap his head around his words.

His eyes widened.

A horrifying realization dawned on him.

His body trembled as he gasped, stepping backward.

"N-no way…"

Ragnar remained unfazed. "Looks like the only way to feel it is by killing Anastasia's Avatar."

Vamin's mind raced.

The Primordial Gods and Evils were not the first beings to exist in this world.

Before them, there was only one.

The True Creator.

The being who governed all things.

The one who was everything.

'He' who died.

"I already know where to find half of his Will," Ragnar continued, staring at Vamin. "I just want to find the other half."

"YOU HAVE GONE MAD, RAGNAR!"

Vamin shouted, disbelief twisting his face. "You're going to destroy everything—"

"Do you know where Utopia Castle is?" Ragnar interrupted, his tone indifferent.

A clicking sound echoed.

Vamin felt it.

His rank returned to Demigod.

Without hesitation, his body moved.

Faster than light.

Vamin stopped past Ragnar.

A small scratch on his hand while Ragnar remained unchanged.

Vamin turned to deploy his Inner World.

But.

Ragnar's finger was pointed at the small scratch on his hand.

"Magnify."

The destiny changed.

The small scratch trembled before magnifying itself.

Half of Vamin's body burst, turning into a cluster of blood.

"ARGHHH!!!"

Vamin cried in pain as his body fell down helplessly.

Ragnar walked towards his broken body. "You should have been cooperative."

Vamin turned to look at him.

Then.

He smirked.

"I will have my revenge."

His body turned into a shadow.

Vanishing from the place.

"A life-saving artifact, huh?" Ragnar mumbled to himself. "Wasn't expecting him to have one."

Without thinking much, Ragnar turned around.

He wasn't concerned about Vamin's revenge.

For him, Vamin was just another Demigod.

One he could kill anytime.

Ragnar had already got what he needed from the place.

The door pushed open as he walked through the entrance of the palace.

The first thing his gaze landed on was the piles of bodies lying on the ground.

The bodies that belonged to the fallen Ayaan family—erased after centuries in hiding.

"Oh, boss!"

A broad-shouldered man wearing thick black armor made Ragnar turn towards him.

His bright blue hair, styled in spikes, rose along with two onyx horns on his head.

"Did you complete your work?" Khokan asked, walking up the stairs.

Ragnar nodded. "Yes. And you did yours as well."

"We did."

Vikoka, a man with blue hair cascading down his shoulders, blood-red eyes, answered.

"It was easy, as always."

"For real!" The spiky-haired Asura shouted. "These guys were pathetically weak."

"They weren't weak but unable to break your immortality."

A voice echoed, making them turn.

The man stood tall, black robes flowing around him, exuding an air of ominous authority.

His face was pale, framed by jet-black hair that fell back, accentuating his sharp features.

His eyes, void-like black, stared at them.

Teivel walked towards Ragnar. "Where is Vamin?"

"Ran away." Ragnar replied, gazing down at the dead bodies. "He left his family to die."

"Not like he could save them." Khokan commented, shrugging.

"What now?" Teivel asked, gazing at Ragnar. "And I have already made arrangements to overtake this place."

Ragnar gave him a curt nod.

His mind wandering back to something else.

Without any other words, he started to walk down the stairs.

Khokan and Vikoka walked behind him, a tense look on their faces.

Their abnormal behavior was as clear as day.

"Speak whatever you want," Ragnar said without even looking at them.

Vikoka stepped forward. "We brothers have some unfinished business."

Ragnar halted.

He turned around. "Is this related to the rumors about the new Asura empire?"

Vikoka nodded.

"You have my permission," Ragnar said, while Teivel reached him.

"We have an invitation," Teivel informed, staring at Ragnar.

Ragnar tilted his head. "For the wedding?"

"No," Teivel replied, shaking his head.

"Princess Gwenyra has invited us to her church along with other demigods."

A thoughtful look crept up on Ragnar's face.

Nodding, he ordered, "Tell me the details later."

Teivel could feel that he was in a hurry, so he nodded.

He bowed deeply.

"I will make the arrangements."

A teleportation circle glowed softly beneath Ragnar.

His body vanished.

The moment his eyes reopened—

Something small crashed into him.

A child's laughter filled his ears.

"Where have you been, Father?!"

*******

"Hehehe."

A chilling laugh rippled through the lavish yet eerie room.

Shattered obsidian pillars stretched toward the vaulted ceiling like skeletal fingers.

At the center, sprawled like a discarded marionette, lay the Demiurge princess—her once-vibrant blue skin now lifeless.

A pool of crimson stained the pristine floor beneath her.

A girl sat lazily beside the corpse.

Silver hair cascaded onto the bloodied ground, its ends soaking in the princess's blood.

Her dull crimson eyes fixated on the lifeless body before her.

Her fingers, slick with gore, twisted around the princess's exposed intestines, looping them around her wrists like bracelets.

"Little star, little light," she sang in a syrupy, unhinged voice. "How you glow in the dead of night. But stars burn, don't they?"

A giggle escaped her lips as she tilted her head, gazing into the glassy, vacant eyes of the fallen princess.

"And you, my dear, burned so brightly."

A boot crunched on debris.

Shyamal's grin widened.

She didn't turn.

She didn't need to.

"We need to move."

A voice echoed.

Without even looking back, Shyamal recognized the voice.

"Can't I play a little?" she whispered, turning to look at Adaliah. "You even made me kill her early."

"We don't have time for this," Adaliah replied, her voice cold. "And there wasn't any need to torture—"

"She was trying to marry my husband." Shyamal cut her off, rising to her feet. "She deserved worse than an easy death."

"She had no choice in the matter."

Adaliah sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"You think I care?" Shyamal asked calmly, gazing at her.

Adaliah didn't reply; instead, she drew in a deep breath.

Esmeray had given her the job to supervise Shyamal.

And Adaliah didn't want to disappoint her.

The shouting on the outside made her snap back.

Adaliah had already done her part, leaving false traces of an elven presence behind.

"We need to leave. Now."

She cast one last look at the desecrated corpse before turning away.

Shyamal clicked her tongue but didn't argue.

A teleportation circle flared beneath their feet.

With a blink, the world shifted.

They reappeared in an elegant office room.

"Is your task complete?"

A lifeless, cold voice echoed.

Without hesitation, Shyamal summoned her scythe.

A black bridal gown materialized over her body, flowing like liquid shadow.

SWISH!!!

The scythe moved at a threatening speed towards the lady sitting on the main chair.

Esmeray barely looked up.

She raised a single hand.

With a soft clink, the tip of the scythe met the edge of her pen—and stopped.

A flick of her wrist, and the attack was neutralized as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Tch."

Shyamal clicked her tongue in irritation, dismissing her weapon.

She took a step back as Esmeray leaned against her chair.

"No matter how much you try," Esmeray said, her cool gray eyes meeting hers, "you can never kill me."

"For how long?" Shyamal asked as she sank into a chair across from her.

"Don't you think a day will come when I finally cut you down, mother-in-law?"

Esmeray regarded her for a long moment before replying. "You will die before that day arrives."

"I won't die and leave Az alone," she replied, staring back into Esmeray's lifeless gray eyes. "Especially not with you."

Esmeray leaned forward as she picked up her pen again. "Good job on ranking up to an Overlord."

Shyamal ignored her comment. "Any news about Azariah?"

"He's enjoying himself with his new fiancée," Esmeray said, not bothering to look up. "He might have already forgotten about—"

"I've told you countless times, Mother-in-law," Shyamal cut in, her voice sharp. "I won't let you interfere in my relationship with him."

Esmeray finally looked at her. "You've changed."

Shyamal merely shrugged—a gesture she had subconsciously picked up from Azariah.

Adaliah stepped forward, placing a file on the desk.

"Azariah's report," she informed, taking a step back. "What he did yesterday."

Esmeray picked up the file, flipping through the pages.

She had spared no expense ensuring Azariah remained under her constant surveillance.

"Sometimes I wonder," Shyamal said, leaning back in the chair. "Am I more obsessed with Az or you?"

Esmeray didn't look up. "He's grown quite close to Yennefer."

"Not surprising," Adaliah replied, her voice remaining neutral. "She also nursed him like a mother when he was younger."

Shyamal reached for the file, but Esmeray swiftly pulled it out of reach.

"The new empire of the Asura, huh?" Esmeray whispered softly. "They are inviting every highblood."

Shyamal's eyes brightened. "Will Az be there? Is my next mission—?"

"No."

Esmeray's firm interruption made Shyamal pause.

Instead of answering further, Esmeray slid an ornate invitation across the desk.

Maidens of Artemis.

"You will accompany me as my apprentice to Princess Gwenyra's meeting of Demigods."