Reborn as the Fated Villain

"Back so soon?"

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Yes, dear sister, I am back. Did you miss me? Actually, don't answer that." He was annoyed at his lack of foresight in the matter and could only sigh. "Sister…have you gotten complete control over the vessel and its mind?"

The albino guildmaster that Vanity was controlling nodded. "More or less. I can hear him ranting and raving to me, which is somewhat distracting, but his memories are well organized, just like his office. Oh, by the way, his… Wait, no. Ahem, my name is Oscar."

"All right, Guildmaster Oscar," Damien said teasingly. "Do you perhaps know how to procure papers for the Staedbergh Dungeon? You see, we ran into a slight issue…"

Damien thought back to how heavily guarded the place was, even at night. Anyone would think the site was a military base with how many formations and guards it had.

Much to Damien's despair, Oscar shook his head. "I have infiltrated his surface memories, but he is deliberately hiding such critical information. Fear not, I shall have access to it soon…but for now, I do not."

As the trio discussed options, the sun crested the horizon and vanquished the Aurel from this mortal plane with screams similar to a whistling teapot; the humanoid jellyfish vanished in a cloud of steam. With the threat of immortal flesh-eating monsters gone, formations powered down, and doors began opening to start a brand new day in Staedbergh.

The guild's door swung open, and a weary group of teens dragged their feet inside. The three trudged to the reception desk, still wrestling with hangovers and lack of sleep.

Oscar pushed tinted sunglasses up his face to ensure his glowing red eyes were well hidden; it would be a real shame to scare away such juicy prey so early in the morning.

Damien watched the group with mild interest. Back when this was a simple game, there were no restrictions for entering the dungeon. One could walk inside, and if you died due to your own stupidity, then the game designers feigned ignorance. This negligence was the catalyst for dungeon guides to become super popular amongst the Throne and Awakening community. There are only a few dungeons in this starting zone, so they are all rather weak, but over in the central continent, past the Kazimir Mountains, the number of dungeons is almost endless. Why is this important? Well, I thought this measly Staedbergh Dungeon would be easy to sneak into… Alas, that was not the case. So the next best option should be to join a party.

Damien didn't waste a single second. It would be too hard to manipulate the group once they sobered up and more people entered the guild. "Greetings!" he said while walking toward them with open arms. Unfortunately, hypnosis on multiple people at once was beyond his reach, so he targeted the man in the middle.

"Er? What the fuck you want, rich boy?" The man had his head hung low and nearly spat on his shoes.

Damien's smile faltered for a moment, his claws twitched, and a flash of primal hunger crossed his lips, but he quickly regained his dignified composure. "I may look young, but I assure you I am far older than I look, but that is beside the point."

The rude teen stank of cheap alcohol and sex. His beard was scruffy, just like his matted, greasy brown hair that fell down his sun-kissed face—two average-looking women with collars around their necks supported him from either side. They appeared worn out and fed up.

Damien recognized the two women as debt slaves. They likely borrowed money from this young man during a low point and failed to pay it back. As a result, their time in his service would be relatively short, but the man would have taken full advantage of them during this time.

His clothes are of quality make, and he has two debt slaves, so he must be relatively wealthy. So why would he come to a dungeon first thing in the morning? Dungeons are barren caves with dense mana where monsters reside. A person would only venture into the depths to raise their skills and obtain some wealth through selling monster parts. At least, that was the only purpose of dungeons in the game.

Damien thought long and hard. Why would a wealthy teen who appeared to be more twig than man wish to venture into the deep with two worn-out debt slaves?

And then he realized the age-old saying, "What happens in a dungeon stays in a dungeon." There were no witnesses in the endless tunnels to nefarious deeds.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

No wonder the entrance is so regulated. It would be the perfect place to set up a black market or dispose of people.

Damien looked at the scruffy teen and hid his contempt. The teen had some magical capabilities since his hypnosis was failing, so he would have to appeal to the man's other side.

He put a gloved hand on the man's shoulder and whispered, "I am a traveling nobleman, and I need access to the dungeon. Would three gold suffice to join your party?"

That got the attention of the teen. He quickly sobered and stopped hanging his head so low. Then he looked up, and in the corner of his eye, he noticed Fay.

Damien didn't miss his gaze but didn't comment. If the imbecile thought he had a chance, he could continue deluding himself. His life would soon be forfeit anyway.

The teen licked his dry, cracked lips. "Make it five gold and bring your pretty lady friend, and we have a deal."

Damien opened a rift in space inside his pocket and retrieved the coins. With fake hesitancy, he dropped the coins into the teen's open palm.

The teen quickly hid the coins, straightened his back, and put his hand out for a handshake. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Damien walked past the teen, refusing the handshake. "We have little time—let's go."

The teen scowled at his departing back but then grinned as he watched Fay follow close behind.

***

The entrance to the Staedbergh Dungeon gave Damien maximum-security prison vibes. An immense building of bland stone surrounded by spiked fences had men and women patrolling its roof and surrounding area. The group walked through an open gate and entered the compound.

"Identification card," a burly guard asked the group, and the teen handed over a silver-colored card.

"Jake Ravenhall," the guard murmured and then straightened his back. Without another question, he allowed the group to pass; he didn't even record the group on the piece of paper on his desk.

Damien grinned as he followed the teen. Ah, so he is a scion of the Ravenhall family. No wonder he wishes to dispose of some slaves he had fun with. He must have a reputation he needs to upkeep, and even the guards at the dungeon are in on his scheme.

Once inside the gray stone building, a slanted void was going straight into the earth's dark depths. It was as if someone had tried to dig to the other side of the planet. The hole was so vast that Damien could hardly see the other side; the people working over there looked so small.

Damien looked up and realized they were inside a courtyard as the early morning sun tried to illuminate the darkness. Building a ceiling over this hole would be impossible. To keep it secure, towers, turrets, and walls surrounded the mouth into hell. Presumably, to kill anything that tried to escape the dungeon and cause havoc on the surface.

None of this was in the game. Instead, one simply walked through the gate, and a cut scene would play, and the player would find themselves in the dungeon's tunnels. But looking at this setup, it makes sense. This hole is the final frontier between the sentient races and the monsters roaming the depths. Damien nodded in appreciation at the attention to care and was thrilled he found a scion of this city's ruling family to grant him entry. Infiltrating this place would have been ridiculous. Getting out may be harder than I thought, though.

Damien followed a man in a navy blue uniform—past the walls, a rail line had been constructed into the side of the hole. Since the massive hole was slightly slanted, the almost vertical set of rails had to be bolted into the rock.

A metal box that looked like an elevator with wheels sat in waiting, and the uniformed guardsmen made one final check of Jake Ravenhall's silver guild card and then nodded for us to board.

It was a tight squeeze into the metal box, and Damien almost killed the smelly teen who kept ogling Fay's breasts on multiple occasions. Once we reach the bottom and there are no more checks, this idiot is dead, Damien swore to himself as he restrained his irritation.

The box slowly lowered into the dungeon along the rail tracks via a metal cable connected to a pulley system back on the surface. Once it reached the bottom, there was an audible clunk as the box hit a bumper.

Seeing the face of a human guardsman opening the box, Damien was glad for his restraint. Once the group was out, he looked around. There existed a small town down here with glowstone embedded in the walls. The cavern was vast and filled with delvers going about their business in the small, fortified town. Hundreds of human-size tunnels shot in all directions from this central hub, showing the sheer scale of the dungeon.

With one final check of Jake's card, the teen put his hands on his hips and licked his lips. "Nobleman! You will now follow me into the dungeon, right?"

Damien could hardly hide his sinister grin and asked innocently, "Okay, but can I pick the direction?"

Jake Ravenhall sneered. "What would a foreign Nobleman know of our great dungeon? But fine, pick a tunnel, not like it matters anyway."

Damien felt sympathy for the simpleton, blinded by unearned pride and arrogance. His silver card showed his status as a C-grade mage, and being a scion of a baron family would impress most around these parts.

But not Damien.

He is correct. All paths will allow him to fulfill his goal of disposing of the slaves and having his way with Fay. But as someone who has traversed these tunnels and even written my own dungeon guide, there is only one route that could lead to a potential Fire elemental or stone being born.

Appearing nonchalant, Damien picked a northeastern tunnel with a casual gesture.

Jake Ravenhall took the lead toward the tunnel, and his slaves followed a step behind. If only he had looked back and seen the sinister expression on Damien and Fay's faces that showed their fangs and viciousness, he might have lived another day.