“Grrr-uhh! Aagh!!” A huge dark wolf lunged at Marquess Jareth Halvorn, its paw swiping toward his head.

  He dodged the paw with practiced speed and brought his sword down in a clean, decisive arc, severing the wolf’s head completely. The head landed on the ground with a heavy thud.

  He was surrounded by two dark wolves at the front. Their obsidian-black fur gleamed, hard as steel. Each stood four feet tall and was twice as wide as his waist.

  “Uhh! Grrr-uh!” One of the dark wolves whimpered, its black eyes wide with fear after witnessing its companion’s death.

  Marquess Jareth seized the opportunity, stepping forward to appear beside the cowering wolf. With a swift motion, he slashed his sword downward, cleaving its head from its body.

  “Grrrr!” the last wolf snarled.

  It tried to flee, but Jareth vanished from his spot and reappeared beside it. He delivered a powerful kick to its belly, knocking the beast to the ground.

  Thud.

  The dark wolf hit the ground hard.

  Jareth wasted no time. He drove his sword through the skull of the wolf. Its black eyes went dull as life left its body.

  Jareth used his wind affinity to sweep the blood from his blade. The steel gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting his sweat-soaked brow.

  Jareth surveyed the battlefield and saw the lifeless bodies of dark wolves scattered across the earth. All around him, his troops fought the last of the wolves; most of the beasts already lay dead on the ground.

  Behind him loomed a great wall, thick as a mountain and stretching toward the sky. Jareth stood at the northern stronghold, serving as its vice captain.

  In front of him, a forest stretched out—so gloomy and dark that anyone who dared approach instinctively took two steps back. The beasts within were nightmares to deal with.

  Today, the dark wolves had gone rampant, but they had managed to quell the threat.

  The sun had reached its zenith, leaving the soldiers weary. Jareth was not worried for them, but for Lucien Duskbane, who had ventured into the forest.

  Jareth narrowed his eyes, trying to see into the woods, but the forest was so dark it swallowed the sun’s rays completely. Corrupted miasma seeped from its depths, making the surrounding air suffocating. Even from half a mile away, he felt its effects; the lower-ranked troops suffered even more. Still, it was their duty to ensure no beast passed through the stronghold. Behind that wall, villages and towns brimmed with innocent lives. They had to protect them.

  As Jareth prepared to venture into the forest in search of Lucien,

  Lucien Duskbane emerged from the forest. His pitch-black hair was slicked back, and his silver eyes were so piercing that even Jareth found himself hesitating. His porcelain-white face was unblemished by any mark. He was, without doubt, the most handsome man Jareth had ever seen—even more so than the northern duke.

  Lucien wore a white shirt, the upper button open to reveal his muscular chest. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and unlike the others, he wore no armor. Black trousers and polished leather shoes completed his attire. His shirt was spotless—so white that no one would believe he had just slain the dark wolves’ king, whose massive, colossal body he now dragged behind him by the head. A trail of blood followed in their wake. In his right hand, Lucien carried a sword stained crimson, the blade’s tip leaving a line of blood as it skidded across the ground.

  A few remaining wolves, seeing their leader’s corpse, cowered and tried to flee into the forest. Lucien, with one horizontal slash, cleaved through the space around him. Five wolves’ heads fell to the ground, severed in a single stroke.

  Gasps echoed around Jareth. He felt a shudder run down his spine, his heart pounding inside his ribcage and screaming at him to flee from this monster. But as vice leader of the stronghold and loyal retainer of the northern duke, he had his pride. Even if Jareth couldn't match Lucien's power, he had experience Lucien lacked.

  No matter how Jareth looked at him, Lucien's face remained impassive. He rarely showed emotion, and he feared no one.

  Lucien had requested to venture into the woods alone to kill the wolves' leader. As vice captain, taking command of the stronghold in the northern duke's absence, Jareth had the right to refuse permission. But Lucien was the son and heir of the northern duke, Jareth's liege. As a loyal retainer, Jareth knew Lucien could handle it. Lucien was among the top twenty strongest warriors of the Eldoryn Empire. If Lucien could not manage, then Jareth, who was counted among the top fifty who felt insignificant before Lucien, certainly could not. No one in the stronghold was currently stronger than Lucien, besides the Northern duke. So, Jareth gave his permission.

  And now, here Jareth was, watching Lucien Duskbane, the Northern Blade, the youngest professor of the imperial academy, and the youngest to reach the rank of top twenty most powerful people in the empire at just nineteen years old, dragging the body of a wolf king.

  The most shocking part was not that Lucien was powerful—being the son of the northern duke, that was only natural—but that he had achieved all of this by the age of nineteen. He surpassed his entire generation by years, if not decades.

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  Lucien was the living embodiment of the god of war.

  Suddenly, Jareth heard a shriek from Lucien, the Northern Blade.

  “Arghhhhh! Aaaaaahhh!” Lucien cried out in pain, clutching his head with both hands.

  Jareth immediately dashed toward Lucien. The others rushed after him.

  “Don’t you dare lay your filthy hands on me,” Lucien growled as he crouched down on his knees.

  Jareth kept his distance and ordered the other troops not to approach Lucien. He feared that if Lucien lost control, the soldiers would become nothing more than a meat shield in the face of his power. Jareth doubted how long he could defend himself if it came to that. The gap between the top twenty and the top fifty was as vast as the distance between earth and sky.

  Lucien managed to stand, still clutching his head in both hands. He seemed in intense pain, his eyebrows raised, sweat pouring down his forehead.

  “Make way!” Lucien shouted, his voice a high-pitched shriek. He seemed barely able to control himself from lashing out and killing them.

  Jareth and the others instinctively stepped aside.

  Lucien walked toward the entrance of the stronghold, retreating to his room. His steps were weak, and he almost stumbled, yet managed to keep walking. His hair had become disheveled, something Jareth had rarely seen, as Lucien liked to maintain his appearance to an impeccable level.

  Jareth recalled a similar day in the past—the day Lucien had almost killed Jareth's daughter, which led to the breaking of their engagement. A shudder ran down his spine. If this was the same situation, Jareth would need to prepare for the worst.

  ***

  Lucien kept staring at the huge mirror before him. No matter how long he looked at his reflection, he still couldn’t believe it.

  His pitch-black hair was disheveled, and he had an instinctive desire to comb it back properly. Still, he refrained, as something more important occupied his mind. His silver eyes were sharp and icy, striking fear in anyone who met his gaze. His porcelain white face, with a perfect V-shaped jaw, was free of the pimples and acne that had made his previous life so hard.

  In a word, he was godly handsome. Even the top actors or supermodels of his old world could not come close to his looks. He had a perfectly regal, muscular build—not too bulky, not too thin, but enough to radiate strength and power.

  Though his mind was in turmoil, his face remained impassive, betraying no expression.

  He sighed inwardly. No matter how much he pinched himself, he was not dreaming. This was real life.

  He had been reborn as Lucien Duskbane, the overpowered villain who died unjustly in the novel The Hero’s Perfect Journey—a story he had never finished reading. He’d stopped after Lucien’s death, feeling it was unfair. He had read on the internet that the author was supposedly mentally ill for making the main character die at the end, with the story concluding as the world was destroyed.

  He was reborn, not transmigrated like other main characters. In his past life, he was Evan Nave, a boy who lost his parents in third grade and lived harshly under his relatives' care until he started living independently at eighteen. Fate was not fair; he worked odd jobs, joined a university, and was bullied both there and in school. Just when he thought nothing could get worse, he died at nineteen while trying to save a child from an accident.

  Only now, after living nineteen years as Lucien Duskbane, did he remember his past life. Before today, he had no recollection of who he had been.

  Even after death, fate was cruel. He remembered his past life only after living nineteen years here, unlike other main characters of novels who gained their past memories from childhood. He could have achieved so much more.

  He wanted to doubt the memories, but they felt so close to his heart, and the story he had read in his past life had proven true so far.

  From his memories of the story, Lucien was extremely powerful, reaching the rank of top twenty at the age of nineteen. He also hated getting dirty—his white shirt and pants remained as bright as new, even after fighting and killing the wolf king. There was no dirt or blood on them.

  And, most terrifying of all, he sometimes felt killing urges, a desire to kill and devour. Exactly like written in the story. In this life, he had not taken a human life yet, controlling his urges by killing beasts instead. Today was no different; his killing urge grew so strong that he ventured into the forest and fought like a beast against the wolves. Only after killing the wolf king did the urge finally subside.

  Everything so far was true to the story, and thankfully, he had not yet been labeled a villain.

  What convinced him most that his past life was real was the status window hovering before him. This world did not have anything like it, but after regaining his memories, he could now call it up and see it floating before his eyes.

  ‘Status Window’

  ***

  Name: Lucien Duskbane

  Age: 19

  Rank: Sky [mid]

  Affinity: Space

  Quest: Prevent the world from its destruction [Reward: ????] [Failure: Death]

  ***

  Lucien thought the status window was too brief, but it had one thing at the end that irritated him.

  He had to prevent the world from its destruction. It was too vague a quest, since he had not read the full story. But since he had no desire for the world to end, he must become strong enough—and make the heroes strong enough too—so that whatever calamity was supposed to destroy the world could be defeated.

  Lucien pushed these thoughts aside. Right now, his first priority was to save his mother. In his previous life, he had been unable to receive parental love, but in this life, he would not allow anyone to prevent him from having it—and that started with saving his bedridden mother.

  Lucien turned to the right and looked at the calendar hanging on the wall beside the huge mirror. Today was marked as the fifth day of the year 3000 after the death of the Hero King. In this world, there were no months; unlike his previous world, each year contained 360 days, the current year being 3000. The calendar began after the death of the Hero King, who killed the demon god and perished in the process.

  Tomorrow, his mother would die—unless he did something. But first, he had to comb his hair back.

  Lucien grabbed a comb from the drawer and slicked his hair back perfectly. He liked keeping his appearance immaculate. Only now did he feel at ease; seeing his hair disheveled had been irritating him.

  Lucien exited the room, his face as impassive as ever, showing no emotion. He knew what he had to do. His next destination was to find the future saintess of the Holy Kingdom.

  He knew exactly where to find her, and she was the key to preventing his mother’s death.