Chapter 1: ERROR

QuartesNote: The initial development of the story is a little slow, with plenty of information to deepen the world and develop something more realistic.

Don’t expect a protagonist who challenges the world and everyone in a few dozen Chapters, or a story full of face slaps with clichés all the time.

For those who like something more realistic and immersive, welcome to The Villain’s Second Life.

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Ethan was standing in front of a dead wolf when he realized that he was probably going to die.

The wolf was enormous.

Its black fur was soaked with rain, its amber eyes glowed beneath the trees, and its horns were long enough to impale a grown man. Steam escaped from its mouth as it lowered its head and prepared to charge.

Ethan, on the other hand, was holding a stick.

It was not even a good stick.

One end was wet, the other was covered in mud, and a small leaf had become attached to it.

He looked at the stick.

Then he looked at the wolf.

"This is embarrassing."

The wolf growled.

Ethan raised the stick with both hands.

"Listen, I understand that I have entered your territory. That was not intentional. I was looking for medicinal herbs, not trouble."

The wolf’s ears flattened.

"Though, to be fair, you are the one blocking the path."

The wolf charged.

Ethan moved to the side.

Or, at least, he tried to.

His left foot slipped in the mud, his right knee buckled, and his entire body fell forward with all the dignity of a sack of flour.

The wolf passed over him.

A second later, Ethan rolled down the slope and crashed into a bush.

The wolf stopped at the edge of the slope and stared down at him.

Ethan stared back.

For a brief moment, neither of them moved.

Then the wolf tilted its head.

Ethan understood the expression perfectly.

Even the wolf thought he was pathetic.

"Don’t look at me like that."

The wolf leaped.

Ethan grabbed the nearest thing he could find and threw it.

The object struck the wolf directly between the eyes.

The creature stumbled.

Ethan blinked.

He had expected to throw a stone.

Instead, he had thrown a small red mushroom.

The mushroom broke against the wolf’s forehead.

A cloud of pale yellow dust spread through the air.

The wolf took one step.

Then another.

Its eyes rolled backward, and it collapsed face-first into the mud.

Ethan remained inside the bush, breathing heavily.

The rain continued to fall.

He slowly looked at the empty space where the mushroom had been.

"That was planned."

It had not been planned.

Not remotely.

Ethan crawled out of the bush and approached the unconscious wolf. He prodded it with the stick.

The creature did not move.

He prodded it again.

Still nothing.

Ethan crouched beside it and examined the horns, claws, and thick muscles beneath its fur.

A Horned Direwolf.

According to the memories of the body he now inhabited, it was one of the most dangerous creatures found near Greymoor Village.

According to Ethan’s own experience, it was also the first living creature to defeat him in combat.

That was a troubling development.

He had once destroyed a fortress by removing the meaning of "standing" from its foundations. He had once turned a battlefield into a lake of glass. He had once forced three ancient dragons to kneel before him.

Now he had defeated a wolf with a mushroom.

Progress was rarely as impressive as people imagined.

Ethan reached for the bundle of herbs lying several steps away. His hands trembled as he picked it up.

The original owner of this body had been gathering them for Martha Hale, the village healer. He had intended to sell the rest in the market and use the money to pay for his journey to the capital.

The journey.

The academy.

The entrance examination.

Ethan looked at the unconscious wolf.

"Perhaps I should reconsider."

His body answered with a sharp pain in his chest.

Ethan placed a hand over his heart and waited for the pain to fade.

That was the problem with this body.

It was weak, poorly nourished, and burdened with a damaged Mana Core. His muscles were underdeveloped, his stamina was terrible, and his mana pathways were narrow enough to make even basic spellwork dangerous.

It was not a body.

It was a collection of medical warnings.

Still, it was better than being dead.

Probably.

Ethan gathered the herbs and began walking toward the village.

He managed to take seven steps before becoming tired.

On the eighth, he sat down on a fallen tree.

The forest was quiet now. The rain had become lighter, and the wind moved softly through the branches.

Ethan closed his eyes.

That was a mistake.

The moment his attention turned inward, the memories returned.

A white spear piercing his chest.

Seven figures standing around him.

A sky split by golden light.

A crown lying broken in the dust.

Someone shouting his name.

Azeroth Veyr.

Ethan opened his eyes.

His hands were clenched.

The memories were still incomplete. He could remember the war, the kingdoms, and the people who had feared him. He could remember the magic he had mastered and the enemies he had crushed.

But he could not remember the end.

He did not remember who had killed him.

He did not remember why his soul had survived.

And he did not remember why he had awakened inside Ethan Vale.

The village appeared through the trees.

Greymoor was small, poor, and surrounded by a wooden wall that had been repaired too many times. The roofs were dark with age. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, and several villagers hurried through the muddy street with their heads covered.

When Ethan entered through the gate, a boy carrying a sack of grain looked at him.

"You’re alive."

Ethan glanced at him.

"That was the general idea."

The boy stared.

"Did the wolf get you?"

"It tried."

"Did you kill it?"

"No."

The boy’s eyes widened.

"Did you run away?"

"No."

"What happened, then?"

Ethan considered the truth.

"I threw a mushroom at it."

The boy waited for him to laugh.

Ethan did not.

After a few seconds, the boy carefully stepped away.

Ethan continued toward the healer’s house.

People watched him as he passed.

They knew him. Everyone in Greymoor knew Ethan Vale. He was the orphan with the damaged core, the boy who had failed the awakening examination twice, and the student who still believed he could enter Eldoria Arcane Academy.

Most people did not say those things to his face.

They did not need to.

Their expressions were sufficient.

Martha Hale was waiting outside her house.

She was a thin elderly woman with silver hair, sharp eyes, and an impressive ability to look disappointed before anyone had done anything wrong.

When she saw Ethan, her gaze moved from his face to the bundle of herbs, then to the mud covering his clothes.

"You were supposed to gather herbs."

"I gathered herbs."

"You were supposed to return before sunset."

"I returned before dying."

Martha’s eyes narrowed.

"That is not the standard I asked you to meet."

Ethan handed her the herbs.

She took them and inspected the bundle.

"Are these all the ones I asked for?"

"Yes."

"You did not bring back any poisonous plants?"

"No."

"Did you touch anything glowing?"

"Only briefly."

Martha stared at him.

Ethan sighed.

"It was not important."

"Ethan."

"It was only a mushroom."

"What kind of mushroom?"

"The kind that makes wolves sleep."

Martha’s expression changed.

"You found a Moon-Dream Mushroom?"

"I threw it."

"You threw it?"

"It seemed appropriate at the time."

Martha closed her eyes.

For a moment, she appeared to be praying for patience.

Then she stepped aside.

"Come in before you catch another illness."

"I am not ill."

"You nearly died in the forest."

"That was an accident."

"Your entire life is an accident."

Ethan entered the house.

The interior was warm and smelled of dried herbs. Shelves lined the walls, filled with bottles, books, and bundles of plants. A small fire burned in the stone hearth.

Martha pointed toward a chair.

"Sit."

Ethan sat.

She brought him a cup of bitter medicine.

He took one sip and looked at her.

"Is this medicine or a punishment?"

"It is medicine."

"Those are not mutually exclusive."

Martha ignored him and examined his eyes.

The original Ethan had known her for years. She had treated him after his mother died, taught him how to read basic healing manuals, and fed him whenever he had no food.

Ethan did not know what to do with that kind of kindness.

People had served him before.

People had worshiped him before.

People had obeyed him because they feared what would happen if they did not.

Kindness without fear was unfamiliar.

"You have three days," Martha said.

"For what?"

"Your journey to Eldoria."

Ethan looked toward the window.

The capital was far from Greymoor. The academy’s entrance examination would begin in four days, and the carriage would leave at dawn.

"You still intend to go?"

"Yes."

Martha placed both hands on the table.

"Your Mana Core is damaged."

"I know."

"You can barely circulate mana without becoming sick."

"I know."

"You failed the examination twice."

"I remember."

"You have no noble sponsor, no combat tutor, and no family legacy."

Ethan nodded.

Martha leaned closer.

"You are not going to become a mage just because you want it badly."

Ethan looked at her.

"Wanting something has never been enough."

The answer seemed to surprise her.

For a moment, Martha said nothing.

Ethan turned his attention to the small fire.

He had wanted many things in his first life.

Power.

Revenge.

Freedom.

He had acquired all three.

None of them had kept him from dying.

Martha softened slightly.

"Your mother wanted you to attend Eldoria."

"I know."

"She believed you had talent."

"She was wrong."

"Perhaps."

The old woman crossed her arms.

"But she was also the only person who believed in you when no one else did."

Ethan lowered his gaze.

That memory was not his, but the pain inside it was real.

He picked up the cup and drank the rest of the medicine in one swallow.

Martha watched him with suspicion.

"Did you just decide to become obedient?"

"No. I decided the medicine was less offensive when consumed quickly."

"That is the first intelligent thing you have said today."

"I said several intelligent things."

"You threw a rare medicinal mushroom at a wolf."

"It worked."

Martha opened her mouth, then closed it.

She had no answer to that.

Outside, thunder rolled across the sky.

Ethan looked at the fire and reached toward the mana inside his chest.

The sensation was unpleasant.

His Mana Core was small and cracked. Mana flowed through it like water through a broken cup. Every attempt to gather energy caused pain.

Still, he needed to understand the damage.

He guided a thin thread of mana through his pathways.

The fire in the hearth flickered.

For a single instant, every flame in the room leaned toward him.

Then Ethan coughed blood onto the floor.

Martha stood immediately.

"Stop!"

Ethan withdrew his mana.

The pain faded slowly.

Martha grabbed his wrist and examined the dark veins beneath his skin.

"This is exactly why you cannot go to the academy."

"The academy has healers."

"The academy has students who will challenge you for entertainment."

"Then they will be disappointed."

"You do not understand. The nobles there have trained since childhood. Some of them can cast spells that would kill you before you finished raising your hand."

Ethan looked at the blood on the floor.

He had faced people far stronger than himself before.

He had also faced people far weaker who were much more dangerous.

Power was useful.

It was not everything.

"I will still go."

Martha released his wrist.

"Why?"

Ethan did not answer immediately.

Because Eldoria Arcane Academy was built over ancient ruins.

Because several fragments of his soul had been scattered across the world.

Because the seal inside his body had reacted when he heard the academy’s name.

Because something beneath it had whispered to him.

And because, for the first time in a thousand years, he had a chance to discover who had taken everything from him.

Instead, he said:

"I need to know what happened to me."

Martha frowned.

"What do you mean?"

Ethan looked into the fire.

For a moment, the flames turned violet.

"I have been having strange dreams."

Martha’s expression became serious.

"What kind of dreams?"

"A black hall. Nine doors. Someone calling my name."

"What name?"

Ethan raised his eyes.

The room felt colder.

Before he could answer, every bottle on the shelves began to shake.

Martha turned toward the window.

A deep sound echoed from beneath the village.

It was not thunder.

The floor trembled.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Then, somewhere beneath the earth, a bell rang.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Ethan stood.

His body protested immediately.

Martha grabbed his arm.

"Stay here."

"Why?"

"Because that bell has not rung in three hundred years."

Ethan looked toward the floor.

A black mark was spreading across the wooden boards beneath his feet.

It formed the shape of a circle.

Inside the circle, unfamiliar symbols began to glow.

Ethan knew those symbols.

They were written in an ancient language that no living scholar was supposed to understand.

His own language.

Martha stepped backward.

"What is that?"

Ethan did not answer.

The symbols completed themselves.

A voice rose from beneath the house.

It was faint.

It was ancient.

And it spoke with the reverence of a servant addressing its king.

"Found you."

The circle erupted with black light.

For one brief moment, the entire village disappeared from Ethan’s sight.

He saw a ruined throne room.

He saw a man standing before a burning world.

He saw a crown of black metal.

And he saw the man turn toward him.

The face was Ethan’s face.

The voice whispered:

"Wake up, Azeroth Veyr."

The vision vanished.

Ethan was back in Martha’s house.

The black circle had disappeared.

The bottles had stopped shaking.

Outside, the rain continued to fall as if nothing had happened.

Martha was staring at him.

"Ethan?"

He looked down at his hands.

They were trembling.

Not from fear.

From recognition.

For a thousand years, the world had believed that Azeroth Veyr was dead.

Tomorrow, Ethan Vale would leave Greymoor for Eldoria Arcane Academy.

He would arrive as a powerless orphan with a damaged Mana Core.

He would be mocked, underestimated, and forgotten.

That was acceptable.

Being forgotten had advantages.

But beneath the academy, something had found him.

And if it remembered who he was, then the people who had killed him might remember soon as well.

Ethan looked toward the dark window.

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Good," he whispered.

"Let them come."

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Author’s Note: Add the novel to library, and send support if you like it!