Summoned a Hero But Got a Villain Instead

Two days had passed since their grand, chaotic debut in the amphitheater. Since Dante had declared war on the system itself.

The leaders of the six kingdoms, after their tense negotiations and angry debates, had agreed to the terms of the wager. The bet was set. The rules established.

And the six heroes were now honored prisoners in the heart of their world.

They were brought to the Silverleaf Crownlands.

It wasn't a kingdom. Not ruled by any one power. It was a vast neutral territory. A holy ground governed by the Silverleaf Academy itself. Separate from all the kingdoms. Independent.

The academy, they were told, had been founded by the very first generation of heroes. Warriors from another world just like them. A place dedicated to keeping the balance of power. Training the greatest warriors and mages in the world.

It was a place of legend. Of history.

And they were caged within it.

Their new home was a small, isolated estate on the edge of the sprawling academy grounds. A beautifully furnished villa with marble floors and expensive decorations. It had its own private training yard. Surrounded by a high stone wall that couldn't be climbed by normal means.

It was patrolled by elite guards. Professional. Polite. Respectful. And completely impossible to bribe. They'd tried.

They weren't allowed to roam free. Weren't allowed to see the world they'd fought so desperately to enter. The world they'd survived hell to reach.

They were assets. Valuable resources. Being kept safe in a vault until the day of their performance.

Their days became a blur of constant training.

Every morning, a group of stern but brilliant mages and warriors would arrive to teach them. Their tutors. Their handlers. Tasked with preparing them for a battle they fully expected them to lose.

It was through these tutors that the team finally began to understand the basic laws of power in this new world. How things really worked here. The rules everyone else had to follow.

The system was simple on the surface. There were two paths. Two ways to gain power.

The first was the path of Aura.

The way of the warrior. The path for those not born with magic ability. Those without natural talent for spells.

The instructor was a grizzled old veteran. His face was covered in scars. Network of old wounds telling stories of a hundred battles. He explained it to Jin and Talia with rough patience.

Aura was your life force. Your fighting spirit given physical form. The essence of who you were as a fighter.

A beginner could use it to strengthen their body. Make themselves faster. Stronger. Tougher than normal humans.

A true master, he explained with reverence, could project their aura outward. Wrap it around a weapon to deal devastating damage that could cut through steel. Or form it into a shield to block even magical attacks.

It was power born of discipline. Of endless physical training. Of pushing your body past its limits again and again.

The second path was Mana.

The way of the mage. The path of those born blessed.

The head instructor was a prim, severe-looking woman with hawk-like eyes that missed nothing. She directed her lessons specifically at Masha and Erica.

In this world, she explained carefully, mages were born, not made. It wasn't something you could learn if you didn't have the talent.

You were born with a core connection to a single element. Fire, ice, wind, earth, lightning, and so on. Your entire life became a journey of mastering that one element. Just that one. You couldn't switch. Couldn't learn others.

A young ice mage, like Masha, might start by forming a small shard of ice in her palm. Through years of training, she'd learn to form needles. Then spears. Then walls and barriers.

An archmage, the instructor said with obvious pride in her voice, could create an entire blizzard. Reshape an entire battlefield into a frozen wasteland. Control weather itself.

And then there were them. The heroes.

They were the anomaly. The cheat code. The exception to every rule.

The tutors didn't understand the true nature of their power. But Dante could see it clearly. The envy and fear in their eyes when they watched the heroes train.

The people of this world were bound by their single path. Limited by birth. Trapped in one lane.

A warrior could never learn magic. Not even basic spells. A mage could never truly master physical combat. Not like a real warrior.

But heroes could do both. Break all the rules.

Their mana cores—a gift from the Goddess herself—were fundamentally different. They didn't just grow like normal people's. They evolved. Transformed. Adapted.

With every battle. With every monster they killed. With every challenge they overcame. Their potential expanded.

They could grow their magical skills at an explosive, completely unnatural rate. And they could also improve their physical strength at the same time. Their intelligence. Their perception. Their speed. Everything.

They weren't limited to one element like mages. They weren't limited to just physical power like warriors.

They weren't just warriors or mages.

They were both. They were everything. They were unlimited.

And that was what made them so valuable to the kingdoms.

And so terrifying to everyone else.

Dante's days were a frustrating exercise in constant holding back. In restraint.

He attended the physical training sessions. His two arms—both whole, both working perfectly—were constant, silent proof of the power of his stolen wishes. Evidence of the impossible.

He learned their sword forms. Their martial arts. Their combat techniques. All of which felt like child's drawings compared to the divine, perfect knowledge of Asura's Insight already etched into his very soul. Knowledge from a god of combat.

He held back. Always. Every moment. Every movement.

He pretended to struggle with basic forms. Let them see a hero trying his best to master a new craft. Someone learning. Someone still weak.

He couldn't show them the god that lurked beneath his skin. The monster he'd become. Wouldn't show them what he really was.

Not yet. Not until the right moment.

"Hey, Dante. Your class is over?"

He turned. Masha was standing at the edge of the training yard. A towel draped over her shoulder.

The S-rank core she'd absorbed had changed her. There was new, powerful confidence in her posture. A fiery intensity that now balanced the cold of her ice magic.

"Yeah," he said. Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "Just finished a moment ago."

She walked over. Her eyes scanned the training dummies. Some of which he'd deliberately left standing.

"I don't understand why you chose to focus on the physical classes," she said. Her voice mixed genuine confusion with her usual analytical criticism.

"You are... weak in that area. Your strength has always been your mind. Your summons."

"Hey, are you mocking me?" he replied. Playful. Wounded tone. "Besides, I'm not weak anymore. And I don't want to show off my army."

"That's my trump card. I can't just put all my cards on the table before the game has even started, can I?"

She looked at him. Her intelligent eyes showed deep, profound skepticism.

"Let me tell you something, Dante," she said. Her voice dropped lower. Serious.

"You won't win your fight unless you use them. We saw what those leaders are like. They're not going to send a simple soldier to fight you."

"They're going to send a monster. You'll need every advantage you have."

"You don't have to worry," he said. A slow, confident smile touched his lips. "I'll win. Even without them."

She just shook her head. Weary exasperation on her face.

They walked around their small allocated space for a while. Talking strategies. The coming fight.

But as she left, a restless, caged feeling began building in his chest.

He was a king. Trapped in a beautiful cage.

And he needed to see his new kingdom.

---

That night, when the twin moons were high in the sky and the guards had settled into their boring patrol routes, he made his move.

He stood in the shadows of his room. His gaze fixed on the top of the high wall surrounding their estate.

Void Step.

The world dissolved into a brief, dizzying feeling. Like he didn't exist for a moment.

He was no longer in his room.

He was on top of the wall.

Below him, a guard passed. Completely unaware.

He looked out. Spotted the roof of a distant building far beyond the academy grounds.

Void Step.

Again. And again.

He became a ghost. A flicker of motion in the night. A silent, impossible leap from one shadow to the next.

He bypassed every guard. Every patrol. Every magical ward.

And then he was out.

Out in the real world.

He found himself in a dark alley. The sounds and smells of a living, breathing city washing over him.

He stepped out of the alley and onto a wide cobblestone street.

And his eyes... his eyes widened in genuine, complete shock. Surprise he couldn't hide.

The buildings lining the street were beautiful. Impossible. Unlike anything he'd expected.

They mixed medieval and futuristic styles in ways that shouldn't work but somehow did. Built of warm, glowing stone that seemed to have its own inner light. Dark, polished wood that looked expensive. High peaked roofs like old castles. Fancy wrought-iron balconies with intricate designs.

But the windows were huge sheets of seamless glass. Perfect and clear. And the streets were lit not by torches or fire but by tall, elegant lamps that glowed with soft magical light. No flames. Just pure light.

It was like his old world—like modern Earth. But more decorated. More eye-catching. More artistic. More... magical. Like someone had taken a modern city and rebuilt it with magic and medieval aesthetics.

The market was still busy even at this late hour. Night life thriving. People of all shapes and sizes filled the streets. Their laughter and chatter was vibrant. Alive. Happy.

But as he looked closer, really studied the crowd, he saw it.

The uniforms.

Nearly everyone—from young men and women laughing together in outdoor cafes to older merchants closing up their shops for the night—wore the same simple but elegant uniform.

The Silverleaf Academy uniform. Dark colors with silver trim.

He was in a university town. An academy city.

And he, standing there in his strange, out-of-place combat gear still stained with training yard dirt, stood out like a sore thumb. Like a soldier in civilian territory.

He retreated back into the shadows of the alley. His mind racing.

He needed a disguise. Needed to blend in.

He waited.

A few minutes later, a lone student turned into his alley. A young man with a stack of books under his arm. A shortcut on his way home.

'Come here, little lamb,' Dante murmured to himself. A cruel, sarcastic smile on his face. 'Come to the big, bad wolf.'

The student walked past his hiding spot. His head buried in a book. Completely unaware of the predator lurking in shadows.

As he reached him, Dante stepped out from the shadows.

He punched him.

A simple, precise blow to the gut. Textbook technique. He'd intended to just knock the wind out of him. Make him unconscious for a few minutes. Nothing serious.

But he'd forgotten something crucial.

He'd forgotten the ten loops of divine strength. The body reinforcement he'd stolen from the goddess. The power of a god that now resided permanently in his very flesh and bones.

Even holding back. Even using what he thought was less than one percent of his full power. Barely a fraction.

The impact was catastrophic. Devastating.

The boy's eyes went wide. Pure, complete, uncomprehending shock filled them. Pain his brain couldn't even process.

Pop.

A soft, wet sound echoed in the silent alley. Organs compressing. Ribs cracking internally.

The boy didn't even make a sound. Didn't scream. Didn't gasp. He just... collapsed. Like a puppet with its strings cut. Boneless. Limp.

A wave of cold, genuine shock washed over Dante. Unexpected. Unwanted.

'Wait. Is he dead? Did I just kill him?'

He knelt beside the crumpled form. His fingers pressing urgently against the boy's neck. Feeling for a pulse.

There was one. Faint. Weak. Thready. But it was there. Still alive. Barely.

He'd only used one percent of his power. Maybe even less than that.

He'd been practicing for days. Trying to control it. To hide his true strength in the morning training sessions. To appear normal.

But the people here... they were so impossibly, unbelievably weak compared to him.

The gap between them wasn't just a gap. It was a chasm. An ocean. A universe of difference.

Like comparing an ant to an elephant. No, worse than that.

He quickly stripped the student of his uniform. Simple, well-tailored clothes. Dark trousers. White shirt. Grey blazer with the Silverleaf crest embroidered on it.

He put them on. They were a perfect fit.

He stood up. Leaving the unconscious boy in the alley.

He was a ghost now. A student among students.

He was ready to see this new world.

And to find its weaknesses.