Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

It was finally time.

Other teams were all around, some nervous, some confident. His team stayed quiet in the middle.

His stomach was tight with worry. He wasn't thinking about the test. He was thinking about what to do.

"Senior, you look scared," said Isolde. "Are you afraid to lose?"

He turned to look at her. Her face was a perfect mask of innocent concern.

"Why would I be scared?" he said with his voice flat.

He wasn't lying. He wasn't afraid of losing the test. He didn't care about ranks or points. The thing he was scared of was the plot. It was a runaway train, and he was tied to the tracks.

How was he supposed to make Selvara meet the hero now? Would she still take an interest in Kaelen if they were on opposing teams from the start?

And what about Aurelia? She was supposed to be Kaelen's loyal companion a key part of his emotional growth.

But now some random guy named Gareth was in her place. What would happen to her? She was the one his sister was supposed to kill later in the story an act that would push the hero to a new level of power.

'Oh, I totally forgot,' he suddenly realized. 'Why would my sister kill her now? The whole reason she went on a rampage was because the hero killed me. If I don't die by his hands, the script changes. So, Aurelia is no longer a target.'

A magically amplified voice suddenly boomed across the clearing, silencing the nervous chatter of hundreds of students. It was Headmaster Theron.

"Students of Aethelgard," he said, his voice was steady and commanding. "Welcome to your yearly ranking test."

"This is not a game. This is not a classroom exercise. This is a test of your will, your skill, and your ability to survive. Look around you. Your opponents are not training dummies. They are your peers. They are just as hungry for victory as you are."

"In a few moments, each team will be teleported to a random designated location within the Great Menden Forest. The rules are simple. The test will last for twelve hours. The last team standing will be declared the Rank 1 team."

"However," the Headmaster's voice grew colder, "do not think you can simply hide and wait for the time to run out. This forest is your arena, and it will shrink."

A murmur of fear went through the crowd.

"Every hour, my faculty, positioned around the forest, will unleash a controlled fire that will burn away the outer edges. This fire will not be stopped. It will not be reasoned with. If you are caught in it, you will be eliminated. This is to ensure that no one camps, and that conflict is inevitable."

"If, by some miracle, more than one team is left at the end of the twelve hours, the test will enter its final phase. The forest will shrink to a one-mile radius, and the remaining teams will have one final hour to determine a winner. If there is still no winner then, the points will be shared. But I assure you, in the history of this test, that has never happened."

The Headmaster paused, giving everyone a moment to understand how serious this was.

"We will be monitoring you. There are hundreds of faculty members stationed throughout the forest, both to enforce the rules and to ensure your safety. But our intervention has its limits."

He held up a hand and a small glowing pendant appeared in his palm. "Each of you has been given a pendant like this one. The stone in the center is a one-time teleportation device. If you find yourself in a life-threatening situation or if you are rendered unconscious, the pendant will automatically activate and teleport you to safety. You may also crush it yourself to escape. In all cases, you will be eliminated from the test, and the student who landed the final blow that led to your retreat or defeat will be awarded the points."

His eyes swept over the students, his gaze sharp and serious. "Do not let your pride be the death of you. We have had students in the past who hesitated, whose ego was more important than their life. Their names are now carved on a memorial stone. This is not a game. We will not pamper you here. This test is designed to forge you into the warriors and leaders your kingdoms need."

"Now, prepare yourselves," he concluded. "The test begins in one minute."

A teacher stood in front of each team. A tall, serious man said, "Team Seven. Get ready to teleport."

Azrael took a deep breath. It was starting.

The world spun. His stomach dropped. Then his feet hit the ground.

They were in a dark thick part of the forest. Huge trees blocked most of the sunlight.

The air was cool and smelled like dirt and dead leaves.

A loud siren rang out, a harsh sound that marked the start.

BWOOOOOMP!

The hunt was on.

"Well," Isolde said, her bright voice standing out in the quiet. "That was exciting. What do we do first?"

Selvara rolled her eyes. "We find someone and take them out. Simple."

She started to move, but Seraphina raised a hand. "Wait." She closed her eyes, and a faint glow appeared around her. "I sense something. A full team. They're hiding in those rocks."

She pointed to a group of big, wet rocks about a hundred yards away.

Isolde grinned. "Great! Our first targets."

"I'll go," Selvara said, her eyes cold and sharp.

"No," Isolde said, her voice still sweet but firm. "We go together. We don't know who they are."

As they moved silently through the undergrowth they began to hear panicked whispers from the direction of the rocks.

"Are you sure this is a good spot?" a young voice asked nervously.

"It's fine, chill out," another, older voice replied. "No one saw us teleport. We just need to wait for a weaker team to pass by."

Then, a third voice, filled with dread spoke. "Guys… look at the team roster again. Team Seven… that's Azrael Ashveil's team. They are here too".

"So what? He's a loser who got lucky in his duel," the second voice scoffed.

"You idiot, it's not him!" the third voice hissed. "Look at the other names! Seraphina Vane… and… oh no. Selvara Tharros. The Ice Witch is on that team."

The confidence in the other voices vanished instantly. "What?! No way! We have to get out of here!"

"Too late," Selvara whispered from beside Azrael, a cruel smile playing on her lips. She had heard every word.

Isolde gave the signal. They burst from the tree line as one.

The enemy team, six students caught completely by surprise, scrambled to their feet. Their faces were pale with terror. They saw Selvara, and all the fight went out of them.

"It's her!" one of the first years shrieked.

"Hold your positions!" their third-year leader, a large burly boy yelled trying to instill some courage. "There are six of us! We can fight!"

"How cute," Selvara said with a mocking smile. "He really thinks he can win."

The fight began, but it wasn't random it was controlled, directed by Isolde.

"Selvara, take the third-years. Zeyric, Seraphina, handle the second-years. Liam, Azrael, go for the first-years," Isolde ordered, her voice steady and sure. "Move."

It wasn't a fight; it was a harvest.

Selvara moved like a storm. The two third-years rushed at her, but she didn't even bother to draw a weapon.

The ground answered her instead.

A wall of ice shot up, cutting off their charge. Before they could react, the earth turned slick under their feet.

Jagged spikes of ice rose around them, locking them in place.

They struggled for only a moment before their pendants lit up. In the next heartbeat, they were gone.

Zeyric was a ghost. His opponent, a fast-looking was a second-year with two daggers, was a blur of motion. But Zeyric was always faster. A single, precise strike to the back of the neck, and the boy crumpled. He vanished.

The mage began a long chant, hands glowing with power. Seraphina didn't give him the chance. She stomped her foot, and a cage of crystal burst from the ground, snapping shut around him.

The mage froze, then crushed his pendant. A flash of light and he was gone.

At the back, the healer tried to keep his team standing. Liam raised his bow in silence.

An arrow of pure Aether hissed through the air. It slammed into the healer's chest, knocking him flat. His pendant flared, and he vanished like the others.

That left one.

Azrael's chest pounded like a drum. The last enemy was just a first-year like him, sword shaking in his hands, eyes wide with fear.

He glanced at Selvara. At Zeyric. Then back at Azrael.

And he charged.

The boy screamed, swinging with everything he had. Azrael lifted his practice sword, every nerve in his body screaming one word survive.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Azrael was on the back foot. The other first-year, driven by fear and desperation, was faster and stronger.

He relied on his Stalling Edge skill, his sword moving only to block and deflect.

Every strike rattled his arms, each step forcing him backward. He couldn't attack he could only hang on.

The swordsman saw that he couldn't break through Azrael's defense.

He saw Selvara watching him with an amused, predatory gaze.

Panic finally overwhelmed him.

He disengaged wildly, leaving a huge opening and turned to run, his hand was reaching for his pendant to surrender.

Azrael was too slow, too exhausted to take the opening. But Isolde was not.

She moved in a blur, her own small decorative sword appearing in her hand.

A single, precise thrust to the boy's back was enough. He gasped, collapsing to the ground. His pendant glowed, and he vanished.

It was over. Their first victory. A clean sweep.

Isolde clapped her hands together. "Excellent work, everyone! A perfect start!"

She smiled sweetly. "Let's see the points, shall we?"

A notification that only she as the self-appointed leader could see probably appeared.

"Let's see… Selvara, two defeats, so that's twenty points. "Zeyric, one defeat, ten points. Seraphina, one surrender, ten points. Liam, you got one too, ten points for you."

She looked at Azrael, her expression a perfect blend of pity and disappointment.

"And Senior Azrael… zero points."

Selvara let out a soft, mocking laugh. "Of course. What else did we expect from the boy who lost?"

Azrael just stared at the spot where his opponent had vanished, his hands clenched into fists. He had survived. But he hadn't contributed a single thing. He was just dead weight.