Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

The guide from the Adventurer's Guild led them into the main hall.

The place was full of rough-looking adventurers.

Many had scars across their faces and armor that looked like it had been patched a dozen times.

They sat at long tables, drinking ale and shouting about their battles.

The smell of sweat, meat, and sour beer filled the hall until it almost choked the air.

"Please, wait here," the guide said. He pointed them toward a small roped-off corner at the back. "I'll inform the guild master."

He left, and the students stood together.

Their uniforms were spotless, their boots polished.

They looked out of place in a hall of steel and leather.

The stares that followed them carried curiosity, amusement, and more than a little annoyance.

"Well, this is… rustic," Lyra muttered, pulling a face at the stench.

"What did you expect? A palace feast?" Orion said, looking around with interest.

"I still can't believe he did that," one of the students whispered. "He just gave away gold like it was nothing."

"And that speech," another added. "He didn't even sound like himself."

Their whispers stopped when a woman came out from the office.

She was in her late thirties, sharp eyes and a serious face. She held a stack of papers and walked straight to them.

"Welcome, students of the academy," she said. "I am the receptionist. Hand over your letters."

Each student gave her their academy letter. She stamped them with a heavy seal, one after another, without reading the names. Then she reached for a scroll tied with a black ribbon.

"Your mission," she said, voice firm. "It is not simple. You have never faced one like this."

She handed the scroll to Seraphina, who stood at the front. Seraphina unrolled it and read aloud, her tone filled with disbelief.

"Hunt down the village ghost."

For a moment, silence.

Then laughter broke out among them.

Selvara smirked, Isolde covered her mouth as she giggled. Orion shook his head at Lyra, who only shrugged.

Only Kaelen looked serious, his brow tightening.

"A ghost?" Azrael thought, his lips curling slightly. "Who gives a mission like this?"

"Senior, you look cute when you smile," Isolde teased, standing close.

He did not answer.

Selvara turned her glare to the receptionist. "Are you making fun of us? Even he smiled after hearing this."

The woman let out a tired sigh. "We thought the same. No one believed it at first. But the deaths proved otherwise." Her eyes darkened as she continued. "People in the village are being found with holes torn in their stomachs. Anyone who goes out after dark becomes the next body."

The students grew quiet.

"They are terrified," she went on. "They do not leave their homes once the sun sets. We tried to help. We sent our best adventurers. None came back. We asked the crown, but there was no answer. At last, we turned to the academy. They accepted. But even for you, this is dangerous. You should walk away while you can."

Kaelen's voice was steady. "We won't. People are suffering. We cannot turn our backs."

Orion stretched his arms and cracked his knuckles. "I'm with him. A mission is a mission. Besides, I want to know the truth. If it turns out to be a bad joke, I'll be angry."

They reached the village as the sun dipped low.

It was small, hidden deep in the forest.

The huts were plain wood, and the whole place was silent.

Windows were shuttered, doors locked. Not a single voice could be heard. It looked like a ghost town already.

The elder came out to meet them, an old man who shook as he walked.

His eyes were full of fear.

He gathered them in the square and told the story.

He spoke of shadows moving in the night, of wails that made blood run cold, and of the bodies left behind with terrible wounds.

The others questioned him, but Azrael drifted to the edge of the village. He sat on a mossy rock and stared into the trees. The forest was darkening, heavy with silence.

"How much longer will this go on?" he thought. "How much more do I need to fight?"

"Azrael?"

He turned. Elvara was there. She walked up slowly and sat beside him. Her hands twisted together in her lap.

"You've changed," she said softly.

He said nothing.

"That day… in the classroom. What you told me. Did you mean it?"

He looked away.

"You said I was a burden," she whispered.

He breathed out slowly. "A man who drags himself down drags everyone with him. The old me was like that. Obsessed. Weak. Anyone tied to me would have been pulled down too. It was not about your worth, Elvara. It was about the chains I carried."

He paused before adding, "But one thing I said was true. You'll understand it one day."

Her eyes widened, surprise mixing with thought.

Before she could speak again, a voice rasped from behind them.

"Children. Go inside. Night is coming. If you stay out, he will come."

An old woman walked toward them, bent with age, leaning on a crooked staff.

Her face was a map of wrinkles, her eyes heavy with sadness.

Azrael gave a short laugh. "You won't scare us with fairy tales, granny."

She came closer, gaze steady. "The ghost is no tale," she said. Her voice was dry, like rustling leaves. "It is the story of a tragic soul."