A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

Andras stepped out of the narrow gap beneath the collapsed fortress and into the open air.

The late afternoon light felt sharper after the tomb’s stillness. Cool wind moved through the pines, carrying the scent of damp earth and resin. Behind him, the entrance remained hidden among the broken stones and roots, as if the place had never been disturbed.

He stood still for a moment and took stock of his body.

The residual will’s cuts and the sword’s rejection had left their marks. His right arm still ached where the mana circuits had been strained, and a dull throb lingered in his chest. Nothing life-threatening, but enough to slow him if left untreated.

Andras reached into his storage ring and withdrew a mid-grade healing potion. The glass vial was cool against his fingers. He uncorked it, drank the contents in one motion, and felt the familiar warmth spread through his limbs. The worst of the damage began to close. The numbness in his arm faded to a manageable stiffness.

He discarded the empty vial and looked down at the dark sword in his hand.

The blade remained quiet. No residual rejection. No lingering hostility. It simply existed—heavy, balanced, and real.

A thought crossed his mind.

The system had always displayed information about people: name, talents, realm. He had never tested whether it could analyze objects. The possibility was worth checking.

Andras focused on the sword and called the system.

A translucent window appeared before his eyes.

[Ding!]

[Item Status]

[Name: Eclipse Edge]

[Type: Longsword]

[Rank: Legendary]

[Durability: Near-Indestructible]

[Mana Conductivity: Exceptional]

[Special Skills: Severance, Eclipse Vein, Silent Cut]

Andras read the information once.

Eclipse Edge.

He already knew the three skills.

In the original story, Lucian had used this same sword extensively after obtaining it. Severance allowed the blade to partially ignore defensive mana barriers. Eclipse Vein strengthened the sword’s connection to the wielder’s mana, improving both control and destructive force. Silent Cut suppressed the sound and residual traces of each strike, making the attacks far harder to track in battle.

There was nothing new here.

The system had simply confirmed what his memories already contained. The weapon was intact, and the skills matched what he remembered from Lucian’s future battles.

Andras dismissed the window.

He had no intention of walking around with a Legendary-rank weapon in plain sight.

Andras slid the blade into his storage ring. The weight vanished from his hand, sealed away where no one would see it.

He turned and began walking back through the forest.

The path he had taken earlier was still clear in his memory. The sun had dropped lower, casting longer shadows between the pines. After nearly half an hour of steady movement, the trees thinned and the waiting carriage came into view along the narrow mountain trail.

Lyra stood beside it.

The moment she saw him, her posture straightened. Her eyes moved over him quickly—his clothes, his posture, the faint traces of dried blood that the potion had not completely erased from his collar. Concern flickered across her face, but she did not step forward or raise her voice.

”Young Master.”

Andras approached without hurry.

Lyra hesitated, then asked carefully, ”Are you injured?”

”No.”

She studied him a moment longer, clearly unconvinced by the short answer, yet she did not press. Instead she asked the next question more quietly.

”Where did you go?”

Andras stopped beside the carriage door.

”You don’t need to know.”

The words were flat. Final.

Lyra’s expression tightened for a brief second. She understood the tone well enough. Pushing further would only earn silence—or worse. She had served him long enough to recognize when a line should not be crossed.

”...Yes, Young Master.”

She stepped aside and opened the carriage door for him. Andras climbed in. Lyra followed, closing the door behind them. The driver received a quiet signal and flicked the reins.

The carriage began to move.

For a time neither of them spoke. The wheels rolled over the rough mountain path, gradually finding smoother ground as they left the higher slopes behind. The landscape shifted from dense pine and stone to rolling woodland, then to the broader roads that eventually led toward Darkmoor territory.

Andras sat by the window, watching the scenery pass without particular interest. The sword rested in his storage ring. The healing potion had done its work. The detour had been successful.

He had what he came for.

By the time the sun began to sink toward the horizon, the familiar outlines of Darkmoor land appeared in the distance—low hills, managed forests, and the distant shape of the estate grounds.

The carriage crossed the boundary markers without incident.

Then Andras saw it.

A short distance from the road, where the outer forest met open ground, a distortion hung in the air.

It was not large—perhaps three meters across. The space around it bent unnaturally, and a circular tear floated a handspan above the grass. Its edges pulsed with a deep blue-violet light. Thin threads of condensed mana leaked outward in slow spirals, and the grass beneath the portal had already begun to wither.

A low hum vibrated faintly in the air. The smell that drifted from the tear was sharp and metallic.

A dungeon portal.

Andras’s eyes narrowed.

This was the second time he had seen one with his own eyes. The first had been the academy dungeon that had claimed Romeo. The phenomenon was no longer distant news or system-fed information. It was spreading into Darkmoor itself.

”Stop the carriage.”

The driver pulled the reins at once. The wheels slowed and halted with a soft creak.

Lyra looked toward him, then followed his gaze through the window. Her expression shifted the moment she registered the floating tear.

Andras opened the door and stepped down onto the road.

The air grew colder as he approached. Mana pressure brushed against his skin in uneven waves—thicker than ambient magic and still expanding. The portal’s edges rotated slowly, as if testing the boundary between this world and whatever lay beyond.

He stood in the fading light and watched it carefully.

The world was changing faster than the original story had ever described.