I Am a Villain, So What?

Chapter 236: The False Heir’s Gambit

The air in the capital’s subterranean labyrinth was suffocating, heavy with the stench of rot and stagnant water.

Alicia moved through the damp, filthy sewer like a phantom, her boots making absolutely no sound even as she navigated the ankle-deep grime. Her crimson eyes, sharp and unyielding, pierced through the pitch-black tunnels. She expertly bypassed the outer patrols, her mind automatically registering their rigid, disciplined formations. These were not mere street thugs or hired mercenaries. These were the scattered remnants of a dead nation’s military.

Following the faint glow of mana torches, she finally reached the end of a long corridor. Before her stood a heavy red door, guarded by two heavily armored sentries.

Alicia didn’t engage them. Instead, she channeled a minuscule fraction of her mana, silently melting the rusted iron bars of an old ventilation shaft directly above the corridor. Pulling herself up with the effortless agility of a former assassin, she crawled through the narrow, dust-choked stone duct until she found a grated opening that looked directly down into the hidden cavern.

What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

Inside the massive, hollowed-out underground chamber, hundreds of armed men and women stood at perfect, terrifying attention. The flickering light of the mana torches illuminated their battered but meticulously maintained armor.

At the center of the chamber stood a raised stone dais.

Alicia’s hands trembled against the iron grate. Her heart, which she had spent the last fifteen years turning to ice, violently stuttered.

Standing on the dais was a young man with glossy black hair, dark as raven feathers, cascading down to his shoulders. His striking, aristocratic features were illuminated by the torchlight. He wore a heavy, dark traveling cloak, and strapped to his waist was the longsword bearing the silver phoenix with broken wings.

Leon.

Her older brother. The legitimate heir to a kingdom that had been reduced to ashes. He was alive.

"All of you, be at ease," Leon commanded, his voice echoing with natural, practiced authority.

The soldiers relaxed their stances, but their eyes remained fixed on him with absolute, fanatical devotion. To them, he was the true heir of Valemont, the only remaining imperial bloodline left on the continent.

"The opportunity we have awaited for fifteen years has finally come," Leon announced, his voice ringing with a passionate, almost tragic naivety. He looked out over his people, his eyes shining with the desperate hope of a king without a crown. He spoke of restoring their honor, of reclaiming the lands that the monster tides and the Aurelian Empire had stolen from them.

"The deal has been made," Leon declared, his voice hardening. "We will launch a coordinated strike on the Imperial Academy during their upcoming Mid-Semester Exhibition. With the Aurelian Empire’s leadership distracted, and their future pillars isolated... we will decapitate their foundation."

Alicia’s eyes widened in horror. An attack on the Academy?

Leon drew his sword, the steel singing in the damp cavern, and held it high above his head.

"The Valemont Empire will rise again!"

"UOOOOHHH!"

"LONG LIVE THE PRINCE!"

The soldiers erupted into deafening, passionate cheers. The cavern shook with the sheer volume of their fanaticism. Leon stood proudly, absorbing the adoration of his people, completely unaware of the shadow lurking above him.

A few hours later, the war council was adjourned.

Leon, looking visibly exhausted from the weight of leadership, dismissed the troops and retreated through a side corridor to his private quarters. The soldiers filtered out, returning to their posts throughout the subterranean maze.

Soon, the grand chamber was entirely empty, save for two figures standing near the war table.

The Valemont Chancellor, an elderly man with sharp, calculating eyes, and the Knight Commander, a hulking veteran covered in battle scars.

The moment the heavy red door clicked shut, confirming Leon’s departure, the atmosphere in the room violently shifted. The reverent, hopeful tension that had filled the air evaporated, replaced by something foul, suffocating, and dripping with malice.

"The boy performed adequately today," the Chancellor sneered, pouring himself a goblet of wine. He completely dropped the respectful facade he had worn just moments prior. "His little speeches always manage to rile up the infantry. He truly believes he will wear a crown."

"It sickens me," the Knight Commander grunted, crossing his massive arms. "Dressing him up in the royal crest, pretending we actually intend to restore that dead wasteland of a kingdom. It is a dishonor to the men who actually bled for it."

Up in the vents, Alicia froze. Her blood ran cold.

Pretending?

"Honor does not reclaim lost power, Commander," the Chancellor replied, his voice dripping with condescension.

From the darkest corner of the cavern, the shadows themselves seemed to writhe and separate. A figure stepped into the torchlight. He wore a pristine, stark white suit that contrasted sharply against the filthy dungeon, and he leaned heavily on a cane topped with a glowing, blood-red crystal.

A high-ranking Bishop of the demon cult, Infernus.

"Indeed, Chancellor," the Bishop purred, his voice smooth and utterly devoid of humanity. "Honor is a luxury for those who are not staring into the abyss."

The Knight Commander’s hand twitched toward the hilt of his sword, his disgust palpable, but he did not draw it.

"Is the ritual circle prepared?" the Chancellor asked, ignoring the Commander’s hostility.

"The preparations for the Academy Exhibition are flawless," the Bishop replied, tracing a finger along the edge of the war table. "The spatial coordinates have been locked. The anti-magic dampeners will ensure the Imperial faculty cannot interfere. We will use the students—the so-called ’Golden Generation’ of the Aurelian Empire—as the collateral needed to fuel the outer perimeter."

Alicia pressed her hand over her mouth, her crimson eyes wide with absolute terror. They weren’t just planning a military strike. They were planning a massacre.

"And the catalyst?" the Bishop asked, his eyes gleaming with a sickly, red light. "The summoning of a Demon King requires a vessel of immense, pure pedigree. A commoner’s soul will simply burn to ash. The dimensional rift demands royal blood."

The Chancellor swirled his wine, a cold, ruthless smile spreading across his wrinkled face.

"Do not worry, Bishop. That is precisely why we have kept the naive little prince alive and sheltered all these years," the Chancellor said coldly. "Prince Leon trusts us completely. When the time comes, I will personally lead him to the center of the altar."

The Knight Commander closed his eyes, exhaling a heavy, resigned breath. He had sold his soul for power long ago.

"We will slit his throat, drain his pure royal bloodline, and tear open the dimensional rift," the Chancellor concluded, raising his goblet in a mock toast. "Let the Demon King rise and crush the Aurelian Empire into dust. From the ashes, we shall rule."

Up in the ventilation shaft, the horrific truth crashed down on Alicia like a physical blow.

Her brother wasn’t the leader of a rebellion. He wasn’t a king returning to reclaim his throne. He was a lamb being fattened for the slaughter. The very retainers who had sworn to protect his life had kept him alive solely to use his blood as the ultimate sacrifice to summon an apocalyptic calamity.

Alicia’s vision blurred with unshed tears, her breathing turning ragged. Her hands, resting against the rusted iron grate, trembled violently.

I have to warn him.

She shifted her weight, preparing to back out of the vent and find Leon’s quarters. But her hand slipped on the damp stone.

CLANG.

The sharp, metallic scrape of her boot hitting the iron grate echoed through the cavernous room like a gunshot.

Below her, the Chancellor stopped swirling his wine. The Bishop turned his head, his red eyes locking onto the ceiling. The Knight Commander drew his sword in a fraction of a second, raw, suffocating killing intent exploding outward.

"We have a rat," the Commander growled, his gaze snapping directly toward the ventilation shaft.