The Villainous Noble Regressed With The Villain System

The good thing about this Knights' Academy is that it doesn't teach you in just one dimension.

Almost every student of this academy, is a skilled fighter, before they are a mage, or a researcher.

I had only read about it in the novel.

Now, seeing it first hand before my eyes was something else.

All the City Guards, second years, and the competent first years, everyone assembled under Alicia.

A sight to behold.

The talents of the greatest Academy, against an army of infinitely regenerating thralls, along with a ring leader, a full fledged vampire.

The face of Valerys astonished me a lot, but now that I think about it, everything makes sense.

The Night King.

He never appeared in the story, as I had read in the novel, nor did he had any influence on the progression of the story itself.

The concept of Night King was mentioned at some points in the story only, to describe the works of a secretive society.

And the one thing that stood out among those occassional mentions was that he was purely immortal.

Nothing can kill him, not even the God.

He has refined his blood technique in such a meticulous way, that even if a single person has a drop of her corrupted blood, in them, he could resurrect his body.

A relic of myth. A whisper in the bloodlines of ancient vampire nobility.

The Night King was once believed to be a monarch from the Age of Convergence, a time when demons and gods roamed the earth, and magic was raw, untamed. He—or perhaps she, depending on the version of the tale—was said to have betrayed the ancient Vampire Courts by ascending beyond blood, beyond death itself.

The secret?

A technique that embedded fragments of the user's soul into the blood of others—using them as anchors. So long as even one anchor remained alive, the Night King could return, again and again.

The Church banned the practice centuries ago. The last known user of the Blood Anchor technique had brought an entire city-state to ruin just by dying in public. Everyone who had tasted his wine, his blood, or even touched his hand became vessels.

This Night King had acquired the body of Valerys somehow, or by someone, and has entered into it.

Alicia Rowan stood at the front lines, a spear of silver light in her hand, her blonde hair matted with blood, her gaze never leaving the vampire in the distance.

Valerys—our homeroom teacher, once the calm, strict presence in our daily lives—now hovered above the battlefield like a cursed queen. Her crimson eyes radiated control. With every flick of her wrist, more thralls surged forward. Her blood magic pulsed through them like puppeteer strings.

But this wasn't a mindless brawl.

This was a test of minds.

A battle of attrition, coordination, and adaptation.

Alicia knew it.

She didn't try to take on the vampire herself—not yet. That would be foolish. Instead, she commanded the students like a seasoned general. The strongest second years rotated in and out of formation, hitting the thralls with elemental barrages—flame, wind, ice—before pulling back.

Every twenty seconds, the formation would shift diagonally. The goal wasn't to wipe out the thralls. It was to buy time.

Time to weaken Valerys' connection.

Because here's the catch: the thralls regenerated, yes. But their regeneration depended on her mana threads. The threads pulsed with blood aura visible to the naked eye if one concentrated—and Alicia had clearly figured it out.

"Target the redlines!" she yelled, and the archers changed tactics, aiming not for the hearts, but the crimson threads extending from their spines.

I had never seen such coordination from students. It was like watching chess pieces move with intent.

Two mages would create mist to obscure vision.

A pair of knights would dart forward under that cover, cut the thread, then fall back.

If they fell, a healer behind the second row would throw an elixir using wind magic.

Smart. Tight. Unrelenting.

But Valerys, or rather the Night King, was no fool either.

Each time her bloodlines were severed, she simply created new ones. Her fingers drew sigils in the air—sigils older than common magic. Her voice echoed in a distorted tone, as if speaking in layered tongues.

"Offer pain. Harvest fear."

Suddenly, some thralls screamed—and exploded.

Not with fire. With emotions.

The blood mist that emerged from them seeped into the front lines. I saw one second-year tremble uncontrollably, hallucinating. Another dropped to his knees, sobbing about his dead brother.

Emotion-based magic. Forbidden arts.

I knew I couldn't just watch anymore.

Even though my body still ached from the pact, I gritted my teeth and summoned the last of my will.

ShadowStep.

I blinked from my cover, disappearing from one place and reappearing 5 meters to the left, right behind a thrall that was about to impale a first-year.

Sword out. Slash.

His head rolled before he could even react. I grabbed the stunned first-year by the shoulder and shoved him toward the medic line.

The cooldown would make me vulnerable now, but I didn't stop.

The battlefield was a map now.

I needed to find the bishop. The node that Valerys was guarding the most. Because someone like her wouldn't expose her real anchor easily.

She's playing defensive. Using thralls like pawns to bait out our aces.

If we could reach the center, we might find her real anchor—or her blood well.

I tapped into the tiny bit of divine mana I still had left from Monica's enchantment.

Not to cast a spell, but to sense.

And there it was.

A vibration under the stone tiles. Like a heartbeat. It pulsed from a hidden underground chamber, beneath the training field.

That's where she's storing her root blood.

I stumbled over to Alicia between battle breaks and whispered this. Her eyes widened, just for a second. She nodded.

And the strategy changed.

She ordered a strike team of four second-years and one barrier mage to break through and access the underground route. The moment they vanished into the smoke, Valerys screamed.

A genuine scream.

The first she'd made.

That confirmed it.

Now the game began to unravel.

She couldn't focus on fighting and protecting her blood well at the same time. Her attacks grew more erratic. Her thralls—no longer fed the perfect instructions—began making sloppy moves.

One launched itself blindly into a fire trap. Another bit its own arm, confused.

The board was cracking.

But then she changed tactics.

She flew down.

With speed that blurred the air itself, she landed in front of Alicia. Sword formed from her own crystallized blood, longer than any greatsword I'd seen. It reeked of curses.

And that's when the real fight began.

Alicia vs. Valerys.

Knight vs. Vampire Queen.

Steel vs. Blood.

Every swing from Alicia came with a controlled burst of divine mana—not enough to purify, but enough to disrupt regeneration. Her training was no joke.

She'd read Valerys' attack patterns and was baiting her into overextending.

But Valerys was hundreds of years ahead.

With a wave of her hand, the ground cracked and veins of blood sprouted like roots, wrapping around Alicia's legs.

She dodged, but barely. A cut across her cheek sizzled.

That blood could corrupt on touch.

I wanted to jump in, but I knew it would be suicide.

I needed another chance to get closer to the blood well. Once we break the anchor—

Suddenly, one of the strike team mages burst from the ground, hand raised.

"We found it!" he yelled. "It's a coffin—she's still linked to it!"

Valerys shrieked and flung Alicia backward.

Her wings—blood-crafted—spread wide.

The final phase was coming.

And I knew—

This fight wasn't about brute force anymore.

It was a question:

Can we reach her soul… before she reaches ours?

***

I had a different task to do.

Perhaps the most important one in this conquest.

Upon my orders, Monica must have taken Ariana to the back gates.

As the thralls were breaking into the academy from the front gate only, I can say that they would be safe for now.

Yet, they mustn't have gone far from the Academy, probably in search of me.

I immediately, rushed to the back gates, as soon as seeing the barrier getting broken little by little.

I dashed through the rear corridor, every breath ragged, legs protesting with every step. My mana reserves were near-empty, and ShadowStep was still on cooldown. I had nothing to rely on—no spells, no blessings. Just instinct. Just logic.

The Academy's layout played in my mind like a grid. The back gate led to the old training courtyard—abandoned, with tall hedges and a single exit into the servant wing.

If I were Monica, and had Ariana and Trisha with me... where would I hide?

Not near the training dummies—too open. Not the servant wing—too obvious. Which left—

The bell tower ruins.

It was the least stable place, riddled with collapsed stones and broken beams. Easy to defend in a pinch, hard for thralls to move in tight corners.

I took a sharp turn. The screams in the distance dulled. My focus narrowed. I was right.

A faint, muffled shriek echoed from the path ahead—Trisha's voice.

Then I saw them. Monica stood in front of the girls, bloodied but still fighting, arms trembling. Thralls had them boxed in, dozens circling in a slow, suffocating rhythm. The girls clutched each other, eyes wild.

They hadn't seen me yet.

But I'd found them.

And they weren't alone anymore.

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Author's Note:

Please comment.

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