A Regressed Villain: Heroines, Villainesses and Me?

"Alfred, have they arrived?" Avendial asked as he navigated through the corridor, having already dealt with Leo, who was currently undergoing rigorous training at the hands of Rivia.

The sounds echoing in the background, along with the visible ripples in the air, attested to the intensity of the training.

He turned his gaze toward Alfred, while Aria stood just behind him.

"Yes, I apologize for sending them with the mayors," Alfred replied, recalling how he had called upon the Chief of Guards from the North and two of his subordinates to accompany the mayors to the guest room.

Regrettably, the incident that had transpired there—where several fingers were severed without provocation—had been an oversight on his part.

Alfred understood that the Marquess likely intended to instill fear in the mayors by showcasing Rivia's strength and the potential consequences of defying his commands.

Unfortunately, due to a small miscalculation, he had inadvertently sent three other guests into the conference room, leading to what could only be described as a minor disaster.

"No, you did well. Arrange a meeting with the scientists and researchers in the territory. I want them here within the hour," Avendial replied as he brushed past Alfred, gesturing dismissively.

The Marquess recognized that he wouldn't have directed Rivia to harm everyone arbitrarily.

His intent was calculated; he had deliberately orchestrated the events to test their loyalty. Stay updated via empire

It was essential for him to establish that regardless of future circumstances, even if those three remained loyal, the unpredictability of human nature called for a cautionary reminder.

Ingraining a fearsome memory in their minds would serve as a deterrent against any potential betrayal.

"...I understand," Alfred said, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment.

Though he was curious about why the Marquess was convening a meeting with researchers and scientists, he chose to remain silent, reasoning that it might simply involve briefing them about available subjects for research.

Given the current scarcity of Empyreals—who possess abilities unlike Evolvers like Rivia—practical subjects for research were indeed hard to come by.

It was entirely possible that the Marquess sought to instruct the researchers to continue working with Leo to develop something akin to the charge stones, which utilized Rivia's synergy to boost their own strength.

---

"Please, this way," one of the maids instructed, gesturing toward the entrance of a particular room.

She had arrived there after being directed by the butler to guide three guests who were seeking medical treatment directly to the Marquess's office.

"O-ok," replied the Chief of Guards from the Northern Province.

His bulky physique and distinctive mustache did little to mask the frustration evident in his eyes.

Just an hour earlier, he had faced that fearsome woman who had casually sliced off the fingers of everyone in the guest room, and even he, proud of his martial arts skills, had felt utterly powerless in her presence.

This was the first time he had encountered the rumored sentinel of the Croceaus territory, known as Dominic Rivia Aurelia.

He had heard tales of the Marquess's bodyguard being one of the strongest individuals in the entire Empire, but seeing her in person had shattered his preconceived notions.

It was clear to him that she was not entirely human.

"Chief..." One of his subordinates, standing beside him, called out, having noticed that the Chief was lost in thought and not paying attention to his surroundings.

With the Marquess likely to grow impatient over any delays, the subordinate felt it was necessary to bring him back to the present.

"Huh, yes," the Chief replied, momentarily startled.

He adjusted himself and nodded as he entered the room.

The first thing that struck him was the spaciousness of the area, which appeared grander than any room he had ever encountered.

Books were meticulously arranged on shelves, while the central furniture—sumptuous sofas and elegantly crafted desks with accompanying chairs—emanated a royal theme.

Sitting there was the Marquess himself, absorbed in a stack of documents.

"Greetings, Marquess," the Chief and his two companions said in unison, bowing as they approached the head of the revered territory.

Noticing that the formidable woman was absent only served to alleviate their worries; in her place stood another woman who seemed far less threatening.

"Hello, Rendian. It seems your sidekicks are traumatized, aren't they?" Avendial remarked, his eyes still fixed on the paperwork.

The hint of humor in his tone was directed at the Chief, whom he recognized from the sound of his voice as the last to enter the room.

'!?'

"Yes, it was rather an unexpected welcome," Rendian remarked, feeling a swell of pride at how Marquess had remembered his name.

It was a pleasant surprise, considering how unlikely it seemed that someone in such a position of authority would take notice of him.

Yet, hearing his name spoken felt gratifying.

Without hesitation, and fully aware of Marquess's valuable time, he added a taunt to his words, hoping to maintain the balance of their interaction.

In Rendian's mind, he wanted to imply that their surprise was significant; otherwise, they wouldn't have ended up losing their fingers.

He aimed to convey confidence in himself and his troops, even though deep down, he wasn't at all certain they could hold their ground against such a formidable opponent.

Nonetheless, putting on a brave face was essential.

"Unexpected? Then how about next time you all bring your families for a proper welcome?" Avendial retorted with a smirk, recognizing the jab Rendian was throwing at him.

His response was laced with an unmistakable threat: if Rendian continued to act smart, it would be their family members who would pay the price first.

Rendian's eyes widened in shock.

"M-marquess, I apologize," he stammered, suddenly realizing the implications of that tone.

Instinctively, he bowed deeply, almost to the ground, understanding that in his eagerness to impress this savvy man—who was renowned for spotting talent—he might have overstepped a boundary.

After all, the presence of such a formidable woman at Marquess's side made it clear that he didn't require additional manpower.

Rendian had only intended to showcase his conversational skills in a favorable light.

'Chief?!' On his right, the subordinate gazed in confusion at his chief, who had suddenly bowed low.

But there was little he could do except remain silent, as Rendian had instructed prior to their meeting with the Marquess.

"It's fine; send those two outside for a moment," Avendial replied, nodding as he stood up.

He had already draped his suit jacket over a chair, and as he gestured, he noticed his puzzled friend.

With a quick nod, his two subordinates complied with Marquess's request and exited the room, leaving Rendian alone to face the Marquess.

"Sir?" Rendian stood there, noticing the cold gaze Avendial directed at him.

A chill crept through him, though he wasn't entirely sure why, as he felt he should be in a position of dominance.

Yet, in this moment, he sensed the lingering cruelty associated with the nobility—the tales he had heard of their ruthlessness seemed to come alive before him.

This was the first time Rendian had stood so close to a nobleman, and as he looked into those blue eyes, he felt as if he were staring into a void belonging to someone who wouldn't hesitate to take a life.

Despite it not being the gaze of a murderer, there was an unmistakable lack of mercy in those eyes, putting him on edge—his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

It was more fear than readiness that motivated his posture.

"Take this," Avendial said, extending his hand toward Rendian.

In it, he held a small vial, barely 10 ml, containing a red liquid.

"Blood?" Rendian, having witnessed more than enough blood in his role as chief of guard, immediately recognized the contents of the vial.

It contained far too little for comfort—just a few milliliters.

"You are appointed as head of the main palace guards," Avendial clarified, the words striking Rendian like a thunderbolt.

He lifted his gaze in disbelief, clearly struggling to comprehend what he had just heard.

'!?!'

"S-Sir?"

Rendian was visibly shaken by the news.

Being promoted to lead the guards at the main palace, especially after being part of the same unit that had been responsible for a recent massacre in the territory, was unfathomable.

Although they operated under the jurisdiction of the main family, their brutal reputation preceded them.

The so-called border guards were notorious across the realm.

Given the royal family's laws, the existence of border guards seemed unnecessary.

Most of the time, these individuals—who lived near the main palace at the center of the territory—were a reflection of strength, training directly under the sword master.

"Inject this blood," Avendial instructed.

He tilted his head to gesture toward a maid who stood nearby, holding a tray with a syringe at the ready.

She approached with her head bowed, maintaining an air of professionalism that prevented her from questioning the conversation unfolding in the room.

She offered the tray to Avendial, who took the syringe and replaced its contents with the vial in his hand.

The vial was small, resembling a test tube but longer and thicker, seemingly insubstantial for what it contained.

"B-but..." Rendian stammered, struggling to grasp the absurdity of the situation.

He had finally met this powerful nobleman, only for their conversation to plunge into the realm of the surreal.

The prospect of injecting a substance that was not merely a medicine, but blood, filled him with hesitance.

He couldn't ignore the grave implications of accepting blood from a different group; the potential for kidney failure and severe immune system damage loomed large in his mind.

"It's AB+, so just take it," Avendial reassured him, cutting through his hesitation.

Without waiting for Rendian to voice any further concerns, he positioned the metallic injector near the younger man's hand.

With a decisive click, the syringe discharged its contents, the blood flowing from the glass vial and into Rendian's veins.