THE PERFECT VILLAIN: Another chance with a system
Chapter 11: The final piece

Chapter 11: The final piece

Vael smiled as he walked back into his own chamber. Then he headed down to meet Langer, who was in his archive.

"Lord Vael, what brings you here?" Langer said with a bow.

"Nothing much. Do you know of any demon with healing abilities?" Vael asked.

"Hea—healing, my lord?" Langer questioned.

Vael looked at him with a look that said I would repeat myself, causing Langer to tremble.

"Apologies, Lord Vael. I— I do, I can." Langer’s voice stuttered.

"You do?" Vael repeated, his lips tilting up slightly. "Interesting."

Vael rolled down his sleeve and, without warning, slashed his wrist with his claws. Then he held his hand out to the now perplexed Langer. "Heal it. Let me see."

Langer stood frozen for a moment before visibly shaking off the terror. "Ye—yes, my lord." He stepped forward and immediately began healing Vael’s wound, and soon the wound had fully disappeared.

Notice: New skill acquired; Healing.

"You did well, Langer," Vael said as he turned to leave.

"Thank you, Lord Vael." Langer finally caught his breath.

Without looking back, Vael muttered, "Make sure you’re around. Things are about to get messy, and I’ll need you."

"Me?" Langer muttered to himself, then immediately responded, "As you wish, Lord Vael."

Vael walked out of his chamber and headed for the castle weaponry. The long hallway was unusually silent, but Vael didn’t feel concerned about it. Something else had caught his mind.

Claire, why don’t I have Demonic Arts? I am a demon, after all.

Notice: Answer unavailable.

Oh, I forgot — you’re not an all-knowing assistant.

Vael kept his pace smooth and steady. Then another question popped into his head.

You stated I have Arcane Magic, right?

Notice: Affirmative.

Then tell me why Shapeshifting is the only ability I can use Arcane Magic for.

Notice: The system records only one kind of Arcane Magic. The system’s program is limited to just one.

Vael sighed in disappointment.

Anyway, Claire, is there a possibility for evolution?

Notice: Affirmative.

That’s good to know.

Soon Vael arrived at the weaponry. Inside, an old male demon with long white hair sat by the door. As soon as he saw Vael, he tilted his head in a slight bow.

He was the keeper of the faction’s weaponry—Tharak. Some believed he was as old as the Demon Realm itself, even older than Demon Lord Cronos, his age reaching into countless millennia. Though rumors had it that he was the twin of Cronos’s father, no one was alive to confirm it, and no one dared ask Cronos himself.

"Lord Vael, what brings you here today," Tharak said in a calm voice.

"Sir Tharak, it’s been a while since we last met," Vael responded.

"Three decades, to be exact," Tharak responded.

The old Vael had no experience with blades, fully dependent on his demon abilities and unique skill; his confrontation with Aurelian had further strengthened his hatred for blades.

"I see." Vael walked past him, his eyes searching for a blade. "—Anyway, do you know of any good blade I can use?"

"A blade? How durable do you need it to be?"

"Strong enough to kill a demon heir," Vael casually replied without looking back.

Tharak, momentarily silent, watched Vael keep walking slowly, still searching for what suited his taste.

"If I may," Tharak found his voice, "which demon prince do you intend to kill?"

Vael paused, his hand at the tip of a blade that had caught his eye. He slowly looked back at Tharak with a smile as he replied, "Myself, of course."

Tharak was stunned. The silence between them stretched a little longer than expected before he broke it. "Very well then. May I show you a suggestion?"

Vael’s hovering fingers paused as he looked back at Tharak. "Sure."

"Follow me, Lord Vael."

He turned around and walked down to a private room. Inside were elite swords, each blade carrying the weight of history and meaning.

Tharak stopped at a large wooden box laid neatly on the ground. He stepped out of the way and pointed at the box.

"This, my lord. Though it may bring back troubled memories."

Vael stepped forward and slowly opened the box. Inside was an obsidian blade with a crest he’d recognize anywhere. Vael smiled—a genuine, almost excited smile—as he reached for it, but then his hand began trembling uncontrollably.

He looked at his hand for a moment. This was fear, but it wasn’t his own. It was like a muscle memory. His hand was reacting to the blade.

Vael gripped his own hand tightly, stilling the tremble, his lips widening at the mere thought of it. He had traumatized this demon so thoroughly that even his own blade frightened it.

The blade was none other than Azarel, the Law Breaker. The mystic blade of Aurelian.

"Apologies. I know your memories with it are not so kind," Tharak responded, having noticed Vael tremble. "If it’s too much, I can bring another with less history for you."

"No," Vael countered immediately. "I’ll take this."

Tharak responded with a bow. "Very well then. I shall leave you with it."

Vael picked up the blade. He instantly connected to it—he could recall every swing he had made with it, every demon he had killed. A blade he had carved with his own hands.

Suddenly the smile faded from his face.

Wait. How did the demons come to possess my blade?

He looked back at Tharak and asked, "How did demons come into contact with this blade? Didn’t it belong to the hero who was executed?"

"Your deduction is correct, Lord Vael. However, it was given to settle a pact with the demons. The humans gave it to them in exchange for a year without demon invasion," Tharak replied.

"When was this?" Vael frowned in confusion.

"I’d say about six months ago, Lord Vael."

Huh? I’ve been dead for more than six months? It’s crazy how time works when one gets transmigrated.

He sighed as he turned to leave. "Anyway, thanks for your help," Vael said without looking back. He simply headed back to his chambers.

Back in his chambers, Vael looked at the blade one more time. He felt a rush of excitement. For the first time since he’d arrived, this was the best thing he’d accomplished—a blade he had used in his previous life for over two decades.

"We meet again, Azarel," he muttered to no one but himself. Though he found it annoying that they had given up his blade as part of a peace deal, after they had so shamefully executed him.

"In due time, I’ll come for you. In due time."

He muttered to the wind, then lifted his blade as he thought to himself.

Azarel, let’s leave another mark on this body, shall we. With this, let the game begin.

With that thought in mind, Vael slit himself from his chest down to his waist.