Reincarnated As A First Rate Villain: I Don't Know How To Play My Role

Time marched on inside the expansive underground chamber. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood, old paper, and the ozone-like tinge of active mana circulation. After hours of foundational aura studies, Lucien's limbs ached—not with fatigue exactly, but with a subtle heaviness that came from channeling something within him he had only begun to understand.

And now, the next phase of his training was upon him.

It was time to spar.

The transition from theory to application had always been the real test of any warrior. Knight Rex stood near the sparring platform at the center of the chamber, arms folded, watching Lucien closely as he inspected the training rack lined with a variety of wooden swords.

Lucien's silver hair clung slightly to his temples from earlier exertion, and his gray-red heterochromatic eyes scanned the blades—not looking for the best, but perhaps for something that just felt right.

Each wooden sword was slightly different. Some were heavier, others had curved grips or long hilts made for two hands. Their subtle craftsmanship was tailored to imitate all manner of real blades used across the empire—from knight-standard broadswords to slimmer sabers and dual-wielding variants. And yet, despite the display, Lucien found his thoughts drifting—not on the weapons, but on how he might adapt his fighting style now with the addition of aura.

He recalled the way he used to move during their past training—how his footwork danced, how his rhythm flowed unpredictably. That style, cobbled together from instinct, memory, and vague inspiration from his past life, had taken shape into something truly his. A wild and intuitive blend of stances, feints, and momentum shifts. It wasn't elegant by traditional standards—but it was effective. Freestyle swordsmanship, as he'd started calling it in his own head.

But now, with aura, there was something new—something deeper he could push toward. Each swing could hold more force. Each parry more resilience. The potential for raw power was there... if he could learn to master it.

"Having that much trouble picking one sword?" came Knight Rex's voice, cutting cleanly through the air like the first strike of a duel.

Lucien blinked and turned slightly. "Yeah. Just... thinking it through," he said, quickly playing along with the assumption.

Knight Rex raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Finding the right weapon often comes down to instinct. If you're too focused on specifics, you'll miss what your body is already telling you."

Lucien gave a sheepish nod, internally sighing in relief that his spacing out wasn't noticed.

Without thinking too deeply, he reached forward and selected a mid-weight wooden longsword. Its grain was firm, the handle wrapped in a soft grip. Balanced. Functional. Nothing too flashy. He gave it a testing swing, and the sword hummed through the air with a satisfying swoosh.

"Not bad," he murmured.

Knight Rex, watching from a distance, nodded once Lucien finally turned back. "Bring it here," he said, motioning toward the sparring floor.

Lucien walked steadily toward him, the wooden blade held loosely in one hand. As he stopped a few paces away, the weight of the moment sank in. This wasn't just a test of technique—it was a test of everything. Knowledge, application, composure, and above all else... aura.

Rex stepped forward with the steady grace of a seasoned knight. "This session won't just be about trading blows," he said in a calm but resolute voice. "You will apply aura in live combat. I will observe, correct, and break apart every flaw in your flow. This is how you learn to control your aura under pressure."

Lucien nodded, his face composed, even as his heart began to drum faster in his chest.

"This is also how you'll begin to strengthen your aura," Rex added. "Channeling it, under duress, while maintaining awareness. It's the only way to make it second nature."

Again, Lucien nodded. "Understood."

Rex took a step back and gestured toward the weapon in Lucien's hand. "Start by coating your blade. I want to see what you've internalized from today's lesson."

Lucien inhaled slowly, grounding himself. His eyes fluttered shut.

He tried not to think—only to feel.

Deep within, like a current beneath still waters, he could sense it again—that subtle, pulsing energy that lived and breathed inside him. His aura.

He imagined it like rivers of light, coursing along the pathways of his limbs, collecting around his fingers. Slowly, deliberately, he coaxed that energy out—not forcing it, but guiding it.

The wooden blade in his hand began to shimmer faintly, wrapped in a veil of deep blue glow, like embers swaying underwater. It was imperfect, faintly flickering in places—but it was there.

Rex observed without interruption, his expression unreadable.

Lucien opened his eyes, focusing on the blade.

He could feel it now. The aura was on the edge—alive, reactive. But he also felt something strange. Like a wall pressing back against him the moment he tried to push harder.

He knew—somehow, deep in his bones—that he could project more aura than this. That this current was only the shallow end of a deep ocean. But every time he reached for that depth, the effort clawed at his body. It was like dragging a mountain with a single rope. For every second he tried to amplify the projection, his breath shortened, his muscles stiffened, and his bones threatened to tremble under the strain.

He gritted his teeth. Just a bit more...

But he couldn't.

The moment he tried to deepen the aura flow, his legs felt like they'd buckle. His arms went numb with exhaustion. And all this in a matter of mere seconds.

He exhaled sharply, easing off the pressure and letting the aura dim slightly.

Still, the wooden blade remained coated—shining faintly, alive.

He looked up to Knight Rex.

"Good," the knight said simply. "That's the first step. It's stable. And that's more than I expected."

Lucien tilted his head. "You expected me to fail?"

"I expected you to struggle," Rex replied honestly. "But you're clearly ahead of most beginners. That's good. But remember—stability comes before power. A raging flame is impressive, but it burns out quickly. We want consistency."

Lucien nodded, adjusting his grip on the sword. "So… what now?"

Knight Rex reached for his own practice blade, casually drawing it from a nearby rack. "Now, young master…"

He stepped forward, stance forming with the fluid grace of a predator.

"…you learn what it means to hold your aura while being attacked." Knight Rex held his wooden sword in a relaxed stance.

Yet tension danced invisibly between them. A quiet, heavy stillness.

"Oh, young master I almost forgot," Rex spoke firmly, his voice echoing slightly off the enchanted stone walls. "Before we begin... remember this."

Lucien straightened subtly, his gaze locking with Rex's.

"Whether you're sparring or fighting on a real battlefield," the knight continued, "you must stay calm. Always. Focus is your lifeline. Lose it—just once—and even a pebble can become fatal."

Lucien absorbed the words with a nod, the weight of the lesson clear. "Understood," he said with resolve. "I'll stay focused."

"Good." Rex's eyes narrowed slightly in approval. "Then let's begin."

With that, the older knight slowly began to coat his wooden sword in aura—matching the density of Lucien's projection. It wasn't flashy. Just a subtle, even flame of deep cobalt surrounding the blade's edge, no more or less than what his student wielded. A fair fight. As fair as one could expect between a master and his protégé.

Then, he asked, "Are you ready?"

Lucien's fingers tightened slightly around his grip. His body was tensed—not stiff, but coiled like a spring, honed through years of drills. He nodded once. "Ready."

For a brief second, the chamber returned to silence.

Then Rex moved.

A blur.

Not a single ounce of aura enhancement was used in that first charge—just raw, honed physical prowess. His footsteps echoed once across the polished stone floor before vanishing entirely, swallowed by the sheer speed of his lunge. His movement was clean, efficient, and brutally fast.

But Lucien was ready.

Even before Rex's sword came crashing down toward his left shoulder, Lucien's instincts had already shifted his body to the right. His own aura-enhanced limbs moved with precision. The wooden swords met in a harsh, echoing clang—the collision sent a short shockwave rippling outward, enough to ruffle Lucien's shirt and sweep a gust of air across his cheek.

He held his ground.

The two broke contact immediately, both of their feet gliding across the floor with expert balance. And then—without any call or pause—they clashed again.

And again.

The spar exploded into motion.

Wood struck wood in a flurry of strikes. Lucien's unpredictable, flowing style—fluid steps, sharp pivots, and strange wrist angles—made his sword seem to dance like a feather caught in a storm. Unorthodox footwork kept him constantly shifting, always just outside of Rex's center line. He used momentum like a second weapon.

But Rex? Rex was immovable.

Even while meeting every bizarre angle Lucien threw at him, Rex responded with disciplined economy. He moved only when necessary, blocked only where needed, and attacked with such precision that Lucien felt like he was dodging a steel needle—not a sword.

The sound of their blades striking filled the room with rhythmic crashes, like iron drums, sometimes low and heavy, sometimes sharp and quick. The enchanted room absorbed and softened the echoes, but the pressure in the air was tangible. A storm compressed within stone.

Lucien exhaled between every clash, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. Focus. Stay calm, he repeated to himself. The aura coursing through his limbs burned faintly—like his muscles were being soaked in warm lightning.

Rex, mid-parry, suddenly spoke as their blades locked once more.

"Better," he said, breath controlled. "You've gotten faster."

Lucien grunted, pushing against the locked blades. "You're still... overwhelming."

"Good," Rex smirked faintly. "That's my job."

They broke apart again, blades flashing.

Despite the pace, Lucien's mind remained oddly clear—senses sharpened. His movements weren't perfect, but his control over aura was steadily becoming more instinctive. Every time he shifted his weight or swung his arm, the aura obeyed better than it had hours ago.

Still, Rex was a wall.

Every attempt to surprise him was thwarted by years of battle instincts. Even Lucien's improvised stances—the sudden shifts, ducking reversals, and aggressive feints—were either blocked or redirected with effortless deflection. Rex didn't counter immediately. He studied. Watched.

And then he attacked.

In one blinding instant, Rex accelerated—now with a light touch of physical enhancement. Lucien's senses screamed in warning. The swing came fast—a horizontal slash, smooth and silent. Lucien ducked by instinct, the blade slicing the air inches above his head.

He kicked backward, rolling out of range.

His chest rose and fell rapidly now, sweat forming at his temples. The aura on his blade flickered for a moment, then re-stabilized.

Rex didn't pursue. He simply lowered his sword and observed.

"Your control falters when you panic," he said calmly.

Lucien breathed in through his nose, slowly exhaling. "Yeah. I noticed."

"Don't suppress your instincts," Rex added. "But refine them. The goal isn't to fight like me. It's to fight like you. With precision. Intention. Your style is your strength, but without discipline, it's a weakness."

Lucien raised his sword again, his breathing steadier now. "Got it."

"Again," Rex said.

They charged.

Minutes stretched into an hour. An hour into two. Time lost meaning within the chamber as sweat, focus, and willpower melded into an intense ritual. And through it all, Lucien never broke. He staggered. He slipped. But he never stopped.

By the time Rex finally lowered his blade and called the session to a halt, Lucien was drenched in sweat, his aura thin but stable, his legs trembling.

But his eyes still burned with quiet determination.

Rex, wiping his brow with a small towel, gave a rare nod of approval. "You're ahead of schedule."

Lucien collapsed backward onto the padded training mat, panting hard. "Can't tell… if that's good… or a warning."

Rex chuckled softly. "Both."

As Lucien lay on the floor, staring at the glowing ceiling crystals, he whispered to himself: "This… is going to be hell."