A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

The forest was quiet.

Andras remained seated beneath the massive oak, one hand resting against the trunk while the other held the bottle of rum. Afternoon light still filtered through the branches in soft, broken patches.

The tests were over.

He had measured his strength, his speed, his mana consumption, the range of his abilities, and the limits of his control. He now knew what each of them could do.

But knowing what he could do was only half the problem.

The other half was knowing when to use it.

Andras took another sip of rum.

In his previous life he had seen countless stories where characters collected more and more abilities. At first every new one felt important. Then, somewhere along the way, half of them simply stopped appearing. Characters would ignore entire parts of their arsenal and keep relying on the same few techniques. It was inefficient. More importantly, it was predictable.

He had no intention of making the same mistake.

He closed his eyes and began to simulate.

---

A swordsman. Fast. Aggressive. Specialized in close combat.

The man rushed forward, blade aimed at Andras’s throat.

Andras did not imagine himself overpowering the opponent immediately. Instead he activated Echo Resonance. The swordsman’s movement entered his perception—his breathing, his footsteps, the vibration of the weapon, every subtle shift in the surrounding space. Everything became information.

The swordsman swung.

Andras shifted half a step. Black Thorn Sword Style. Iron Fang. Steel met steel. The imaginary opponent changed angle at once. Thorn Pierce. Andras redirected the attack, then finished with Execution Line. The blade opened the swordsman’s throat.

Andras opened his eyes.

Too simple. Against an ordinary swordsman that combination was enough. But what if the opponent was stronger? What if he could match Andras’s physical ability?

He continued.

The same swordsman appeared again, only this time faster, stronger, the force behind each swing enough to shatter stone. Andras did not raise his output immediately. He used Echo Step, vanished, and reappeared behind the man. The swordsman reacted almost at once, twisting and sweeping the blade backward. Andras dropped low. The edge passed over his head.

Interesting. The opponent was adapting.

So Andras changed the battlefield. Abyssal Earth Dominion spread beneath their feet. The ground warped. Stone rose. The swordsman’s footing became unstable. One step. Two. Three. The man adjusted. Andras watched without attacking. The swordsman was learning how the domain worked. That was dangerous. Given enough time an intelligent opponent could begin predicting his movements.

Andras dismissed the domain. The imaginary ground returned to normal. The opponent hesitated for only an instant—but that instant was enough.

Sovereign Predator Physique activated. His body surged forward. The distance disappeared. The swordsman’s expression changed. He had prepared for the Andras he had already seen, not this one. The blade passed through his chest.

The simulation ended.

Andras took another drink.

Information was a weapon. An enemy could only adapt to what they knew. If they believed they had seen everything, they would prepare for everything they had seen—not for what remained hidden.

---

Another scenario.

A powerful physical fighter, someone whose raw strength surpassed his own. A straightforward clash would be inefficient.

The opponent charged. The ground shattered beneath each step. A fist came toward Andras’s face. Echo Step. He vanished. The fist struck empty air. The opponent turned. Another attack. Echo Step again. And again. Andras did not counter. He simply moved. Frustration built. The attacks grew wider, sloppier, more predictable.

Then Resonance Pulse. The force struck the fighter’s body. He staggered. Andras closed the distance. Sovereign Predator Physique activated. His muscles tightened, and his speed surged. The next strike landed against the ribs and threw the man backward. Still the opponent stood. Still stronger. Still dangerous.

Andras narrowed his eyes and changed the equation. Mana Compression. His mana condensed. The pressure around his hand intensified. He struck.

The simulation ended.

Raw strength had failed. Mobility had created the opening. Echo Resonance had disrupted the opponent. Sovereign Predator Physique had allowed him to capitalize. Mana Compression had supplied the finishing force. No single ability had won the fight. The combination had.

That was the point.

---

Another scenario.

Multiple opponents—five, then ten, then twenty. Blades surrounded him. Spells filled the sky. Arrows rained from every direction. A single target could be overwhelmed by numbers.

So Andras changed the battlefield itself. Abyssal Earth Dominion. The earth erupted. Walls of stone separated the enemies. Their formation broke. The battlefield became divided into smaller groups. Andras moved. Echo Step. One target. Another. A third. Resonance Pulse threw several more backward. The remaining fighters tried to regroup. The terrain shifted again. Another wall rose between them.

He did not need to fight twenty opponents at once. He only needed to ensure they could never fight him at once.

The simulation ended.

That was the role of Abyssal Earth Dominion. Not simply destruction. Control. It turned an unfavorable battlefield into a favorable one.

---

Then came a more troublesome opponent—an intelligent one. Someone who had studied him, watched his battles, knew about Echo Resonance, had seen Echo Step, understood his swordsmanship, and had witnessed his physical enhancement.

The imaginary opponent stood across from him, confident and prepared.

Andras smiled faintly. This was more interesting.

The opponent attacked. Andras deliberately answered with the techniques they expected—Echo Resonance, swordsmanship, a restrained physical enhancement. Nothing more. The opponent adapted, as expected. They began predicting his movements, avoiding his usual angles, recognizing the rhythm of his attacks. They believed they were winning.

Andras allowed them to believe it.

Revealing another ability immediately would have been a mistake. Instead he continued fighting inside the limits they had constructed for him. Confidence grew. Their movements became more aggressive. They thought they understood him.

Then he stopped holding back.

Sovereign Predator Physique activated. His muscles tightened, and his speed surged. The opponent’s eyes widened as they tried to react—but it was already too late. Andras crossed the distance in an instant. His blade stopped at their throat.

The simulation ended.

Silence returned to the forest.

Andras looked at the bottle in his hand. A faint smile appeared.

That was the most important lesson. An enemy who underestimated his strength was dangerous. But an enemy who thought they understood his strength was even more dangerous, because they would build their entire strategy around false information—and Andras could control that information.

---

He lowered the bottle.

There was another possibility. A situation where revealing his abilities did not matter. No witnesses. No surveillance. No survivors. In such a situation, hiding his arsenal would be pointless. He could use everything.

But even then, using everything at once would be inefficient. If an opponent could be killed with a sword, there was no reason to destroy the battlefield. If Echo Resonance could create an opening, there was no reason to activate his strongest physical enhancement at once. If one clone was enough to create a second angle, there was no reason to summon three.

Every additional ability carried a cost—mana, mental strain, attention, and, in the case of certain abilities, the risk of exposing information that might matter later.

Andras preferred efficiency.

One ability. One purpose. One opening. One kill.

That was how he would fight.

In public he would maintain the image he had already created—Echo Resonance, his swordsmanship, a restrained display of physical ability when necessary. Nothing more. He would deliberately fight within apparent limitations, not because he was unable to use the rest, but because people could only prepare for what they knew.

His other abilities would remain hidden—Abyssal Earth Dominion, Mana Compression, Clone. They would only appear when the situation demanded them. And if someone eventually discovered another piece of his arsenal, he would let them believe they had discovered everything.

Secrecy was not merely concealment. It was a weapon. The information an enemy possessed could be just as dangerous as the information they lacked.

He finished the last of his rum and stood. The sun had dropped noticeably toward the horizon, but evening had not yet arrived. It was time to return.

By the time Andras reached the academy, the sky had begun to lose its brightness. The rule was clear: students were expected to return before evening. He had timed it carefully enough.

He passed through the gates without issue and walked the quieter residential paths. Most students who had left for the free day were already back or on their way. He returned to Room Three just as the first mana lamps along the outer paths began to brighten.

He did not train. He did not meditate. He did not test another ability. For once he simply slept.

The next morning, Andras returned to the academy as usual.

Elsewhere, at the Darkmoor Estate, the morning had taken a different turn.

Selene stood in the training yard. Lyra faced her, breathing heavy, sweat running down her forehead.

”Again.”

Selene’s voice was cold. Lyra tightened her grip and charged. Steel clashed across the training yard.

Not far away, inside the estate’s main hall, Evelyne stood while several royal messengers waited before her. Their uniforms bore the insignia of the royal family.

One of them stepped forward and presented a sealed letter.

”For Your Grace Evelyne Darkmoor.”

Evelyne accepted it. She examined the seal—the royal crest—then broke it. Her eyes moved across the contents once, then again. Whatever she read, her expression revealed nothing.

The messenger waited silently.

Evelyne folded the letter and looked at him.

”Tell His Majesty,” she said, voice even, ”that House Darkmoor will attend.”