Chapter 1: The Youngest Blackwood
(A Villain is Born in Silk and Shadows)
The world returned to him not with thunder, but with silence.
A ceiling loomed overhead—painted with constellations that shimmered faintly in the glow of an enchanted lamp. Gold-leaf stars glittered like coins on velvet black, a mockery of the night skies he had once ruled beneath. The sheets beneath his fingers were silk, softer than anything his bloodstained empire had ever purchased. His body, however, betrayed him. Limbs stubby, weak. Muscles absent. A breathy giggle escaped his throat when he tried to growl.
He froze. That sound had come from him.
Vincent Kane—the name still echoed in his mind. Crime Lord. Kingpin. The Butcher of Ironhaven. A man whose empire was built on bones and bullets. Now reduced to this… this frail, two–year–old carcass of velvet skin and helpless innocence.
The door opened.
A woman drifted in, her steps as soft as whispers on snow. She carried with her a fragrance he did not recognize—jasmine, warm milk, and something indefinably tender. Her hair was black as raven feathers, her eyes a stormy gray. She bent over him, and he realized she was young, beautiful, and smiling at him with unguarded affection.
"My little Ashern," she whispered, pressing her lips against his forehead.
Her warmth sank into him like fire into frost.
For the briefest instant, Vincent's heart clenched. Not in disgust—never that. No, it was something worse: longing. A hollow ache that had been buried so deep he'd never acknowledged it in his past life. He had ruled men through fear, commanded women through money, loyalty through blood debt. But this—this simple act of being cherished—was alien.
He wanted to sneer. He wanted to remind himself he was Vincent Kane, who once made senators bow and cartels tremble. But instead, all he managed was a small sound—half a gurgle, half a word.
The woman laughed softly, a sound like fragile bells.
"Already trying to speak? You'll outpace your brothers yet."
Her words struck deeper than she knew. Brothers.Family. He had neither in his first life. Only wolves dressed as men, circling for scraps of power.
She tucked him in, humming an old lullaby. It was in a language he didn't yet know, but the rhythm wound around him like chains of silk. For the first time in decades—no, lifetimes—he felt the faintest tremor of safety.
Then it came.
The cold voice cut through the lullaby, dripping with mechanical indifference.
[ System Initialization Complete ] [ Binding Complete: Host Identity – Ashern Blackwood ] [ Directive: Assume the mantle of the Villain. ]
His breath caught. Villain?
The woman—his new mother, if the words held truth—continued humming, oblivious. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep, even as the text burned against his mind's eye.
[ Protagonist Detected. Trajectory: Rise to Hero. ] [ Countermeasure: The Host will ensure the Hero's misery. Prevent ascent. Crush hope. Break destiny. ]
The words were merciless, absolute. It was not a suggestion. It was law.
Vincent—Ashern—almost laughed. So I'm not the Hero this time either. Of course not. Fate doesn't deal me those cards. But the Villain? He remembered his empire of blood, his throne carved from broken rivals. Yes. That role fit like a second skin.
The lullaby ended. His mother leaned down once more, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Sleep well, my little one."
She left.
Darkness reclaimed the nursery.
He stared at the ceiling until the stars blurred.
Memories surfaced unbidden.
Ironhaven, twenty years back. A warehouse burning, men screaming as gasoline ignited. Vincent standing amidst the flames, shotgun in hand, his suit smeared with the crimson price of betrayal. His empire had started there—by silencing every rival family in a single night of orchestrated slaughter.
He remembered the way the fire painted the city skyline. How men whispered his name afterward, not in admiration, but in terror.
And yet, when he had returned home to his high-rise penthouse, to the champagne and the women and the hollow congratulations—there had been no one waiting with open arms. No one humming lullabies. No one who gave a damn if Vincent Kane lived or died.
His empire had been vast. His heart had been empty.
Here, in this strange, noble house, he had a mother who kissed him. A father he had yet to see. Siblings who existed beyond the door. A family. The irony was venomous.
But the System's voice reminded him why he was here.
[ Tutorial Quest Unlocked ] [ Quest: Show Your Superiority ] Condition: Demonstrate intelligence beyond your age. Reward: Villainy +5, Skill Acquired – Schemer's Insight ]
His lips twitched. Even as a toddler, he was expected to prove himself. The cruelty of it almost made him laugh.
Fine, he thought. I'll play your game.
The morning came draped in mist. Servants moved about the estate like shadows, their uniforms immaculate, their eyes downcast whenever they passed the nursery. Vincent—no, Ashern—took in every detail. Their movements, their hesitations, their loyalties. He had done the same once in prison yards, studying gangs and guards alike. Some skills never dulled.
The door opened, and a man entered. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a cloak of midnight blue. His hair was streaked with gray, though his face carried the vigor of command. His eyes were the same storm-gray as the woman's.
His father.
The man's presence was thunder contained. He bent to lift Ashern with surprising gentleness, cradling him against an armored chest.
"My youngest son," he said. His voice was deep, resonant, the voice of one accustomed to issuing orders and being obeyed. Yet here it softened, warmed. "You'll grow strong, Ashern. Stronger than your brothers, perhaps. The blood of Blackwood runs true."
Vincent studied the man's face, searching for deceit. None. Only pride. Only hope.
A strange, bitter heat crawled through him. In his first life, his father had been a drunken ghost, abandoning him before memory could even cement his features. And here—here was a man who looked upon him with pride.
He wanted to scoff. To dismiss it. But the System whispered coldly.
[ Opportunity Detected: Surpass Expectations ] [ Action: Speak a full sentence. Establish superiority. ]
Ashern's tiny mouth opened. His throat ached with effort, but his mind sharpened the words. He shaped them carefully, letting them spill into the air.
"F… Father."
The man froze. His grip tightened, not in fear but in awe. "Did you—?"
The door burst open. His mother entered, followed by two older children—a boy perhaps twelve, a girl near eight. They stared, wide-eyed, as Ashern repeated it with more force.
"Father."
The room erupted. His mother gasped, tears welling. The siblings cheered. The man—this Blackwood patriarch—threw his head back and laughed, a thunderclap of pride.
"My son speaks before his time!"
The warmth in the room was suffocating. Vincent had known cheers before, but they had been hollow roars of men intoxicated by blood and money. This—this was joy. Genuine, untainted.
And he… didn't know what to do with it.
The System, however, was merciless.
[ Quest Complete ] [ Reward Granted: Villainy +5 ] [ Skill Acquired: Schemer's Insight – Ability to perceive hidden motives in conversation. ]
The text burned like brands across his vision, unseen by all but him. He closed his eyes, feigning the fatigue of a toddler, but inside, Vincent Kane was grinning.
He had taken his first step.
Not as a son. Not as a boss as a villain.
The cheer of his family still echoed long after they left the nursery.
Vincent lay in his crib—no, Ashern lay in his crib—eyes half-lidded, mind whirring like the gears of the pistols he once kept polished beneath his pillow. Their love had been so unguarded, so absolute, that for a moment he had almost believed he could surrender to it. Almost.
But he wasn't here to bask in warmth.
He was here because fate—or something crueller—had thrown him into the role of Villain.
The System pulsed in his skull, its voice as cold as the barrels of execution guns.
[ Villain Progress: 1% ] [ Directive Reminder: The Protagonist's rise must be prevented. Their destiny is your cage. Break it, or be broken. ]
Vincent smirked inwardly. He'd made heroes bleed before—self-proclaimed kings, syndicate bosses, even men with armies behind them. If destiny had chosen some bright star to rise, then Vincent Kane would be the eclipse.
Flashback: The Price of Power
The scent of blood and cordite invaded his senses, unbidden.
He was back in Ironhaven. The night the Velez Cartel came for his throne. Forty men with machetes and submachine guns. He had greeted them from the rooftop of a half-finished skyscraper. A storm was breaking, rain drumming like war drums on the steel beams.
Vincent had not run. He had not begged. He had laughed, his revolver in hand, lightning splitting the sky behind him. When dawn came, thirty-eight corpses rotted on the concrete. The last two lived only to crawl back and whisper his name like a curse.
That night, he had become more than a man. He had become a myth, a phantom crime lord who ruled the city's veins of smuggling, trafficking, and shadow economies.
But the cost—there had been no family waiting with open arms when he returned. Only silence, only power.
The memory dissolved.
The nursery ceiling loomed once more, painted with stars.
And in his chest, a strange heat lingered from the joy in his father's laugh. It was a weakness, he told himself. A dangerous crack in his armor. And yet… he could not help but savor it.
The Family
Days passed.
His siblings visited often. The elder brother—Eryndor, twelve—carried himself with the stiff pride of a knight-in-training. He always tried to teach Ashern things, as though the toddler could absorb sword forms through osmosis. The sister, Selene, eight, was gentler. She liked to read fairytales aloud, even though Ashern never once pretended to sleep through them.
His mother was a quiet storm. She laughed easily, but there was a steel in her eyes when servants faltered. His father was absent often, swallowed by the duties of lordship, but every time he returned, he sought out Ashern first.
They were loving. Mysterious. Dangerous.
And Vincent catalogued them all like weapons in an arsenal.
The System's Whisper
One evening, as Selene traced letters into the air for him to mimic, the voice returned.
[ System Notice: Minor Quest Available ] [ Quest: Acquire Advantage ] Condition: Display precocious intelligence that secures special treatment. Reward: Villainy +3, Passive Trait – Aura of Promise. ]
He almost chuckled. Show intelligence, gain favor. He had manipulated senators with nothing but sharp wit and a glass of bourbon in his first life. Now he would do it in a child's body, wrapped in silk.
Selene finished her tale of dragons and knights. She closed the book, kissed his forehead, and whispered, "One day you'll have stories of your own, Ashern."
He let the silence stretch. Then, with deliberate clarity, he murmured: "Selene."
Her eyes widened. He had said her name perfectly, with none of the slur expected of a toddler's tongue.
She gasped, then ran to fetch their parents. Minutes later, the room swelled with pride, amazement, even reverence. The youngest Blackwood was called gifted, chosen.
The System rewarded him silently.
[ Quest Complete ] [ Villainy +3 ] [ Trait Unlocked: Aura of Promise – Others perceive you as destined for greatness. ]
Greatness. A word he had carved out of corpses in his first life. Now handed to him on a silver platter of innocence.
Night Reflections
That night, when the family's voices faded and the manor fell into silence, Ashern turned toward the tall mirror in the corner of the nursery.
A child stared back. Black hair, storm-gray eyes. Fragile arms, legs too short to carry him far. Yet in those eyes burned a darkness no child should know.
He remembered the men he had executed personally, the families ruined by his empire, the betrayals, the blood. He remembered, too, the gnawing emptiness. The longing.
Now, for the first time, he had the pieces of something he'd never had before. A mother's kiss. A father's pride. Siblings who wanted him near.
And it scared him more than any rival ever had.
Because affection was a chain more binding than blood.
The Directive
The System stirred, louder now.
[ Main Directive Revealed ] Target: The Protagonist of this World. Status: Yet to Appear. Mission: Ensure their misery. Sabotage their ascent. Crush their spirit. Rewrite destiny. ]
Ashern's lips curved into a toddler's eerie smile.
So there it was. The Hero had yet to rise. But rise he would, and Ashern's task was to be the shadow on his sun.
Perfect, Vincent thought. I was never meant for light.
Closing Hook
Thunder rolled outside the estate, distant but foreboding.
In the crib of silk sheets and golden stars, a two-year-old closed his eyes. But behind his lids, strategies bloomed like blood-red roses. Connections to forge, secrets to unearth, blades to sharpen long before his tiny hands could even hold them.
One day, the Hero would come.
And when he did, Ashern Blackwood—the youngest son, wrapped in family love, armed with the Villain System—would not just oppose him. He would unmake him.
The boy whispered into the dark, voice small yet soaked in venomous certainty:
"I will rise again. And this time… the world will know a Villain it cannot kill."
The stars on the ceiling gleamed like watching eyes.
The night grew colder.
And destiny trembled.