Prologue – The Villain Awakens
The night he died was not quiet. It was chaos wrapped in smoke and gunfire.
Rain hammered against the black-tinted windows of his armored Mercedes as it tore down the highway, engine howling like a beast. In the back seat, he sat like a king, legs crossed, one hand swirling the last of his whiskey in a crystal glass. His suit was dark, tailored to perfection, his cufflinks glinting in the passing streetlights. The face reflected faintly in the glass wasn't kind or noble—it was sharp, handsome, dangerous, with eyes that seemed carved from obsidian.
Vincent Kane.
That was the name people whispered in fear, though no one dared say it too loudly. To the police, he was a "businessman." To politicians, a "sponsor." But to the streets, to the underworld, to the thousands who bent their knees or lay in shallow graves, he was something else.
A crime lord. The crime lord.
From the slums to the skyline, he owned it all—drugs, guns, rackets, casinos, ports, even the politicians' souls. And he hadn't clawed his way there with kindness. No, his empire was built on betrayal, on blood, on fire. He'd shot his first man at fifteen, burned down a rival's safehouse at nineteen, and slit the throat of his own mentor when he was twenty-three. Every scar on his body was a story of war, and every story ended with him on top.
But tonight, the king was falling.
The first bullets ripped through the windshield.
"Boss!" his driver shouted, swerving as sparks showered the night. Tires screeched, engines roared, and suddenly the rain-slick highway erupted into hell. Black SUVs boxed them in from every angle, muzzles flashing.
Vincent didn't flinch. He tossed the empty glass aside, pulled the gold-plated pistol from his holster, and snarled.
"Bastards finally grew a spine."
Glass shattered. Bullets screamed. His men in the front returned fire, but one by one, their heads snapped back, blood painting the interior. The driver's skull exploded against the dashboard, the car spun, and Vincent was thrown against the seat as metal shrieked.
The world blurred. Pain flared hot in his ribs. He dragged himself up, gun in hand, eyes blazing. Outside the cracked window, shapes moved through the rain—rivals, traitors, enemies he had made by the dozen.
A familiar figure stepped forward, face half-hidden under an umbrella.
Calder.
His right-hand man. His brother-in-arms. The one he trusted.
Vincent's lips curled into a bloody grin. "So it was you."
Calder's voice was steady, almost regretful. "You've reigned long enough, Vincent. The streets want change."
"Change?" Vincent spat blood, raising his pistol. "The streets don't want change. They want a king. And I was their king!"
The answer was a dozen muzzles flashing at once.
Bullets tore through flesh and bone. His body convulsed, blood splattering the leather seats, the windows, the roof. His vision flickered, his breath caught. The pistol slipped from his hand.
But even as his body failed, his will did not. He laughed—wet, gurgling, bitter.
"You think… killing me… gives you freedom?" His words were knives, even as his voice weakened. "You'll choke on my shadow… all of you. Because villains like me don't die… we linger."
The last thing he saw was Calder lowering his umbrella, face grim as the gunmen closed in. Then a final shot cracked through the storm, and darkness swallowed the world.
But death was not the end.
At first, there was silence. A vast, suffocating void. He drifted in it, weightless, timeless, a predator caged in emptiness.
And then—
[ Reincarnation complete. ] [ Host: Ashern Blackwood. ] [ Title: Second-Generation Villain. ] [ Fate: To be humiliated, stripped of power, and slain by the Hero. ]
The voice was mechanical, cold, echoing inside his skull.
His eyes snapped open.
No rain. No blood. No highway. Instead, he lay beneath a canopy of silk, golden chandeliers above, velvet curtains drawn across high windows. The air was heavy with incense, not gunpowder. His body was different—slimmer, younger, but buzzing with strange vitality.
He bolted upright, heart pounding. In a tall mirror across the chamber, a stranger stared back. Raven-black hair, pale aristocratic skin, eyes dark and cruel. A face carved for arrogance.
"Ashern… Blackwood," he whispered, voice strange to his ears.
He knew that name. It wasn't from the streets, but from the pages of a novel he had once read between jobs—a fantasy tale of heroes and destiny. In it, Ashern Blackwood was the spoiled heir of a powerful noble house, a decadent villain who tormented the protagonist until the hero finally cut him down.
A second-generation villain. A stepping stone. A corpse waiting to happen.
Before confusion could sink in, the voice returned, sharper now.
[ Villain System initializing… ] [ Directive: Embrace your role. ] [ First Quest: Assert dominance over your household. ] [ Reward: +10 Villainy, Skill – Aura of Fear. ] [ Failure: -50% Strength for 7 days. ]
Black runes seared across his vision, forming a translucent screen no one else could see. Lines of stats, quests, and empty slots glimmered like dark jewels. His pulse quickened—not in fear, but in recognition.
This… this was perfect.
He had lived his first life as a villain. Not a tragic anti-hero, not a misunderstood fool. A true villain. A man who bathed his hands in blood and ruled an empire of fear. If heaven wanted to punish him, why hand him a system that rewarded cruelty? If fate wanted to bind him, why give him a stage and an audience?
A low laugh broke from his throat.
He rose from the bed, silk sheets falling to the floor, bare feet touching polished marble. His new body felt lighter, but beneath the softness lay strength—and power yet untapped.
He stood before the mirror again. The face staring back was beautiful, aristocratic, meant for indulgence and sin. A villain's face. His lips curled slowly upward.
"So this is my stage." His voice dripped with amusement, with hunger. "Another world… another crown. Another chance to rule."
The system pulsed in his mind, the first quest waiting. Assert dominance over your household.
Vincent Kane—the crime lord, the tyrant, the villain—was gone.
Now there was only Ashern Blackwood.
And this time, the villain would not die in the shadows.This time, the villain would reign in the light.
He clenched his fist, the screen flickering with power.
"This time," he whispered, eyes burning with dark promise, "the villain wins."