A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

Seraphina stared at Andras, still caught off guard by his unusual concern.

”An—”

She stopped herself.

What am I even trying to ask him?

Why had he called her *my dear Phina*? Was he genuinely worried about her, or was he simply teasing her again? The words had sounded different from his usual teasing. There had been something quieter in his voice, something that didn’t match the composed, slightly distant young man she had grown used to dealing with.

She looked away, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction.

Unfortunately, Andras was observant enough to notice even the smallest changes in her expression.

”What’s wrong?” he asked. ”Does it still hurt?”

”No.”

”Then why did you stop talking all of a sudden?”

”It’s none of your business.”

Andras raised an eyebrow.

*She’s bothered by something, and it isn’t the wound.*

He decided not to push. Instead, he checked the injury at her side, making sure the healing potion had done its job. The bleeding had slowed, but the wound was still serious. Another fight in her current condition would be dangerous.

”Can you stand?”

”Of course.”

Seraphina braced herself against the wall and pushed up.

Her legs gave out almost immediately.

Before she could fall, Andras caught her by the waist.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Seraphina found herself closer to him than she expected. His arm held her steady without pressing against her injured side. She could feel the solid strength in his hold, the quiet control that seemed to define everything he did.

”See?” Andras said. ”You can stand. Just not very well.”

Her expression tightened.

”Could you not talk for once?”

”I’ll try.”

He didn’t let go right away.

Seraphina looked up at him.

”Andras.”

”What?”

”You’re still holding me.”

”You almost fell.”

”I can manage.”

”Alright.”

He loosened his hold.

Seraphina’s hand shot out and caught his sleeve before she could stop herself.

Both of them froze.

The second she realized what she’d done, she let go.

Andras glanced at her hand, then back at her face. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

”Interesting.”

”Don’t.”

”I didn’t say anything.”

”You’re thinking it.”

”Thinking isn’t a crime.”

She glared at him, but the color rising in her cheeks made it hard to take her seriously. Andras watched her for a moment longer, then decided not to press his advantage. There were more important things to deal with right now.

His gaze shifted toward the corridor where Elowen had disappeared. The killing intent the elf had released still lingered faintly in the air, sharp and cold.

”We should go. It’s still not safe here.”

Seraphina nodded, but before he could help her, she spoke again.

”Andras.”

He looked at her.

”Why did you call me that?”

”Call you what?”

She hesitated, already regretting the question.

”...My dear Phina.”

Andras didn’t answer right away.

He studied her face, and for a brief moment, his usual calculated distance softened.

Then the familiar smile returned.

”Would you rather I stop?”

Seraphina’s expression shifted.

”That’s not what I asked!”

”Then ask a clearer question.”

”You—!”

Her irritation flared, but it lacked real heat.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

”You’re my fiancée, Phina. Am I not allowed to worry about you?”

Seraphina went quiet.

The answer was reasonable. She couldn’t really argue with it.

Still, the way he said it made her pulse pick up.

Andras straightened and held out his hand.

”Come on. Let’s get you somewhere safer.”

This time, Seraphina took it without arguing.

As he supported her, she glanced at his profile. The usual calm was still there, but something about the set of his jaw made her wonder how much of that calm was real and how much was carefully controlled.

*You really are impossible.*

But she didn’t pull away.

Andras stayed quiet as they began moving.

He had no intention of explaining feelings he hadn’t fully sorted out himself. All he knew was that seeing Seraphina nearly die had hit him harder than expected. The moment her mana had nearly collapsed, something cold and sharp had twisted in his chest—something he wasn’t used to feeling.

That was inconvenient.

For now, he preferred to leave it alone.

---

The western training grounds had become a battlefield.

Cracked stone stretched in every direction. Dust hung in the air, mixed with the lingering scent of blood and scorched earth. Deep gouges marked where the demon’s attacks had landed, and several training pillars had been reduced to rubble.

Behind Lucian, the passage leading out of the training grounds stood empty. The last students had escaped, and that was enough for him.

Across from him, Malgrath stood several meters away, watching with a guarded look. The shallow cut across the demon’s chest from earlier was still visible, but it no longer seemed to bother him much.

Lucian’s breathing was uneven. Blood ran down his forehead and into one eye. His sword arm trembled under the strain of keeping Heroic Armament active. The golden edge extending past the blade flickered and dimmed.

He was almost out of time.

His eyes stayed locked on the demon’s movements, searching for any shift in posture or mana.

*Dreadforge reinforces his body by compressing mana. But he can’t reinforce everything at once.*

He thought back to their earlier exchanges.

Whenever Malgrath committed to a heavy strike, the dark mana around his attacking limb thickened. When Lucian threatened a different area, the demon shifted that reinforcement to cover it.

The shift was fast, but not instant.

That small delay was the only opening Lucian had.

Tiny. Fleeting. Hard to catch.

But real.

Malgrath rolled his shoulders. Dark mana coated his arms in a dense layer, the pressure around him growing heavier.

”Out of ideas already, Hero?”

Lucian tightened his grip on the hilt.

”Not yet.”

Malgrath’s expression hardened.

”Then let’s finish this.”

He lunged.

His reinforced fist shot toward Lucian’s head with terrifying speed.

Lucian tried to move aside, but his injured leg slowed him. The fist clipped his cheek, splitting the skin and sending a sharp jolt of pain across his face. Blood immediately began running down his jaw.

He ignored it.

Instead of backing away, he stepped in and drove his sword straight at Malgrath’s torso.

The demon’s eyes narrowed. Dark mana instantly flooded his chest and abdomen, reinforcing the threatened area with dense, layered energy.

Exactly as Lucian had hoped.

At the last second, Lucian twisted his wrist and redirected the golden edge toward Malgrath’s side. Malgrath’s reinforcement remained concentrated around his torso. He couldn’t shift it to his flank in time.

**SHING!**

The golden edge slipped through the gap and opened a clean cut along Malgrath’s side. Blood ran down the demon’s flank.

Malgrath jumped back, boots scraping across the cracked stone. For the first time since the fight began, his expression showed something other than confidence or amusement.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Lucian stared at the cut, almost unable to believe the gamble had worked.

He’d found a weakness in Dreadforge—but exploiting it had consumed a dangerous amount of his remaining mana.

The golden light around his sword flickered violently, threatening to disappear altogether.

He forced himself to stay on his feet.

Across from him, Malgrath pressed a hand to the wound.

When he pulled it away, his fingers were wet with blood.

The amusement was gone. In its place was a cold, focused stare.

”You found the gap.”

Malgrath looked at the blood on his hand, then back at Lucian.

”I underestimated you.”

Dark mana surged around him.

This time he didn’t bother talking. The energy compressed tightly around his limbs, cracking the stone under his feet. The pressure in the air thickened until it felt difficult to breathe.

Lucian’s stomach dropped. He’d landed a real hit, but the effort had pushed him closer to his limit. With Malgrath now aware of the trick, he wouldn’t get another opening so easily.

”You’ve got my attention, Hero.”

The demon dropped into a lower stance, dark mana coiling tightly around his right arm.

”Next time, I kill you.”

Lucian raised his sword with both hands.

His arm shook. His mana was almost gone.

But he had bought the students enough time to escape.

That was enough.

Lucian forced the last of his mana into Heroic Armament.

The golden edge flickered back into existence, faint and unsteady, but still sharp.

Malgrath watched him without a hint of amusement.

”Still not giving up?”

Lucian met his eyes.

”As long as I can stand...”

He swallowed the blood in his mouth.

”...I won’t stop.”

Malgrath said nothing for a moment.

Then he charged.

The ground cracked under his feet as he closed the distance, dark mana packed tightly around his attacking arm. The force of his movement sent dust and small fragments of stone flying outward.

Lucian planted his feet and raised his sword, the unstable golden edge trembling before him as Malgrath closed in.