Villain's son paradox

Chapter 2: A quiet start



"Haah... haah!"

I bolted upright, peeling myself off the damp sheets. My chest heaved with frantic gasps, sweat dripping from my forehead. It felt as if my very soul had been yanked out of me just moments ago.

A nightmare? No... this was something far beyond that.

As my breathing steadied, I dismissed the fleeting thought. My senses sharpened, and the truth dawned on me—I was no longer in Ethan's body. This was someone else's.

I scanned the room around me. Moonlight spilled through a small window on my right, illuminating parts of the space. The room exuded an ancient charm—shadows of wooden furniture stretched across the floor like silent sentinels.

Directly ahead stood a dark wooden wardrobe, its surface scuffed by time. Beside it, a table with drawers and a simple door. Close to me, a clothes rack and the bed I now sat on—a modest, two-person frame draped in white sheets. Beside me lay a woman, her steady breathing unbroken by my sudden movements.

Hooof.

I exhaled deeply, steadying myself as I pieced together the fragments of my disoriented mind. Just moments ago, a star had collided with me—or so it seemed—propelling me into a whirlwind of rebirth. The sensation was like witnessing creation itself unfold in the blink of an eye.

"So... it's real," I whispered, the words barely audible. "I've reincarnated."

I glanced down, inspecting my new form. My hands looked larger, calloused, unfamiliar. My torso, bare beneath the sheets, revealed well-toned muscles cloaked in a thin layer of fat.

A moderately athletic build, I mused.

Before I could take in more, a dull ache surged through my head, forcing me to clutch it tightly. Thoughts—foreign and fragmented—flooded my mind like an unstoppable tide. Memories, not my own, pieced themselves together in a chaotic mosaic.

"Memories... of this body!"

The name surfaced unbidden: Valvaro.

I whispered it softly, as if tasting the word for the first time.

Valvaro Ironclad. Thirty-three years old. A husband to Martha Scotts, the woman beside me. A father to two children—a boy and a girl.

More memories unraveled, though incomplete, as if a single fragment had been plucked from a larger whole. Yet, even this fragment was overwhelming. Valvaro wasn't just anyone—he was a war hero!

As the knowledge sank in, so too did an understanding of this world. It wasn't one born from human imagination, not a novel or a game. This was a realm vast and intricate, teeming with magic, supernatural powers, and myriad races. Cities sprawled across lands laden with untold stories, each detail threatening to drown my consciousness.

It was too much.

I gripped my head, the pain swelling until it felt like it might split open. My groan escaped before I could stifle it.

"Dear... are you alright?"

The soft, concerned voice jolted me. The woman beside me—Martha—had stirred. Her hand rested gently on my back, her touch soothing. I didn't understand what she did, but the ache melted away as though her presence alone dispelled it.

"It's nothing, dear," I replied, feigning casualness. "Just a midnight headache."

The words rolled off my tongue naturally, though I had only just gained the ability to speak this language. Martha's expression remained worried, so I added, "I'll take a walk around the house. Clear my mind. Don't worry, go back to sleep."

"Take care of yourself," she murmured. "Don't stay up too long."

"I won't," I assured her with a small smile before rising to my feet.

Martha lingered for a moment, her gaze holding mine, before she sighed and turned back to her slumber.

Hooof.

My words had been half-truths. Yes, I needed to clear my head, but more than that, I was driven by an undeniable curiosity to explore this place. It was equal parts escape and discovery. I reached for a feathered coat hanging on the nearby rack, its color reminiscent of barley, and draped it over my shoulders to shield myself from the night's chill. The wooden floor creaked softly under my weight as I stood.

The night is still long, I thought, glancing out the window.

The full moon hung heavy in the sky, its pale glow tugging at my attention. For a moment, I let its serene beauty wash over me before turning toward the door. Quietly, I opened it, stepped outside, and closed it gently behind me.

From Valvaro's fragmented memories, I pieced together a glimpse of his past. He had been a local hero—a man of legend in this town. Years ago, during his youth, a global war erupted between humanity and a race I could only liken to demons from fantasy tales, though they weren't truly demons. Their name eluded me for now.

Valvaro had led the charge in the Palmer Hall region, alongside Martha, securing a decisive victory for the empire. Flashes of those battles trickled into my consciousness—scenes of chaos and bloodshed, the clash of steel, and the unrelenting courage of a man who stood at the forefront. A swordsman of unparalleled skill, he had faced countless battles and emerged victorious.

Oh my God.

The thought left me breathless. How could one man embody such strength and resilience? Despite the overwhelming nature of it all, I felt a spark of optimism for this new world. Perhaps I could rise to meet the expectations left by Valvaro's legacy. After all, like it or not, I was him now.

The house was quiet, save for the faint whisper of the wind sneaking through the cracks. Before me stretched a narrow corridor ending at another door. Beside it, stairs descended into the basement. From Valvaro's memories, I knew this was Jila's room—his nine-year-old daughter.

Her image surfaced in my mind, accompanied by her older brother, Gilad. Gilad, at thirteen, was a prodigy who had earned a place at a prestigious academy and now lived away from home. His absence had left Jila clinging to her father, seeking in him the comfort of her brother's presence.

"I feel a great responsibility now," I murmured under my breath.

But the truth gnawed at me—I had always despised responsibility. And yet, here I was, a husband, a father, a figure of authority. There was no running from it.

I descended the wooden stairs slowly, my eyes scanning the modest home. It reminded me of the kind of houses from my old world—simple, functional, and unburdened by excess. The absence of advanced technology stood out immediately. Here, magic filled the gaps that machines once occupied. But not everyone wielded magic proficiently, which explained the stagnant level of civilization. This world resembled the pre-Victorian era, before the Industrial Revolution.

Yet, power—magic—was clearly the driving force here.

Reaching the ground floor, I wandered into the living room before my attention was drawn to a fourth room tucked into a corner. I entered it, my curiosity piqued, and found, well, a toilet and a mirror.

The toilet resembled modern designs from my old world, complete with a seat, but the exposed sewage system beside it was made of stone.

I stood and lit the oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. Its soft yellow glow filled the room, casting an ethereal light. I turned to face the mirror and took a sharp breath.

"Hah!"

Valvaro's body was... impressive. His physique was lean yet muscular, an enviable combination of strength and agility. I ran a hand across his chest, marveling at the athletic build.

His face, however, was less striking—average at best. Large hazel eyes stared back at me, framed by messy brown hair. Still, there was something about his appearance that exuded quiet confidence.

"Well," I whispered with a wry smile, "at least I got the body of a hero.

After indulging in the novelty of my new reflection, I returned to the living room. I sat in one of the dining chairs, its worn wooden frame creaking faintly under my weight, and began organizing my thoughts for the day. The plan was simple: rest, observe, and gather as much information as possible. No need to rush into anything.

With that settled, I made my way back to the stairs. As I ascended, something caught my eye—a painting on the wall, one I hadn't noticed earlier.

It depicted a golden, winged lion rendered in a simplistic, almost childlike style. Its presence was peculiar, standing out against the otherwise humble decor of the house.

"A winged lion..."

The image tugged at a distant memory. Jaden and I had always been fascinated by mythology, often spending hours diving into the strange histories of ancient civilizations and their gods. It had been more than a hobby—it was the foundation for enriching my novels with real-world allusions, grounding my fantasies in reality.

The winged lion had appeared in many cultures: the Assyrians, Christian iconography as St. Mark's symbol, and even the gods of Persia. This particular depiction seemed closest to the Persian symbol of Mithra.

"Could there be a connection? Or is it just a coincidence?"

I shook my head. Premature assumptions will get me nowhere.

Then, a pang of regret struck me.

"Ah, Jaden!"

I hit my forehead lightly, recalling the five missed calls. Jaden never called more than once unless it was important. Five times? Guilt flooded my chest. There was no way to apologize now.

"Well... there's no turning back," I murmured, the weight of the realization settling over me.

Resigned, I returned to the bedroom and slipped into bed beside Martha. Her peaceful face was illuminated by the soft moonlight filtering through the window. I couldn't sleep, so I spent the hours watching her serene expression until the first rays of sunlight began to fill the room.

---

The warm glow of morning bathed the space in golden light. I lay on my back, still lost in thought.

Why rush? The villain isn't going anywhere.

Martha stirred beside me, stretching gracefully before slipping on her robe. To my surprise, she leaned down and kissed my forehead.

"Good morning," she said softly, a tender smile playing on her lips.

I blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. It seemed this was a customary greeting here. My lips curled into a smile as she left the room.

"This life is wonderful," I said aloud, chuckling at the absurdity of my situation.

Do I even have to complete this mission? Why not live a normal life? There doesn't seem to be any penalty for ignoring the task... right?

As if in response to my thoughts, a translucent window materialized before me, glowing faintly.

[ The first day has begun. ]

I frowned at the ominous words.

"The first day has begun?"

The window refused to vanish, its presence an irritating reminder of the unseen system governing my new life.

"Close, you damn window!" I snapped.

To my relief, the window blinked out of existence. Yet, the unsettling feeling it left lingered, dampening my mood.

Martha's voice called out to me, soon joined by the cheerful laughter of a child. It was unmistakably Jila.

Their voices carried a warmth that made my heart swell. Valvaro's feelings must have transferred to me. Strangely, I didn't mind. In fact, I felt a growing excitement to meet my daughter.

"This isn't strange," I mused as I got out of bed. "I am Valvaro now, after all."

With that, I stepped out of the room. The system and its ominous words could wait. For now, my new family came first.


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