The Villainous Noble Regressed With The Villain System
Chapter 53: Eyes, Shadows, And The Light

Chapter 53: Eyes, Shadows, And The Light

The moment I touched the final symbol—the eye split by flame—the world tilted sideways.

Everything vanished.

No flash. No sound. Just absence.

I opened my eyes to a place where nothing existed.

No sky. No stars. No wind.

Just an infinite stretch of ash-colored sand beneath my boots, a horizon that bled into nothingness, and a grey fog so thick it strangled even my thoughts. There was no color here. No time. Even my own shadow seemed unsure whether to follow.

This was the Underworld.

And unlike the first two trials, there was no welcome. No godly figure. No dreamlike beauty. Only silence. Endless, heavy silence.

I walked.

I don’t know for how long—minutes or years. My boots left no prints. My breath made no mist. I felt nothing but the pressure of something watching.

Something hungry.

I kept walking.

Until, finally, I saw it.

A river.

It didn’t look like water. It was pitch black—thick, still, and reflective like oil. It didn’t flow, but pulsed in waves like a heartbeat.

On the shore sat a single figure.

An old man in robes that had fused into his skin. Long, dry limbs. Fingers stained with ink and soot. His eyes were hollow sockets, but they followed me as I approached. A single lantern burned beside him, casting no shadow.

"You’ve walked far," he said.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t need to. He knew why I was here.

"You’ve come for the truth behind the flame," he murmured. "The Burnt Eye."

He stood, bones creaking.

"You’ll have it. But truth comes with price. All light demands shadow."

He gestured toward the river, and the black surface began to move. Not with water—but with images.

Memories.

But not mine.

They flickered across like bleeding film reels—burnt villages, children weeping under broken moons, blades plunging into backs with no warning. Screams silenced by fire. Then silence again.

"Pick one," the elder said.

"One what?"

"One regret. One moment you wish you could erase. A wish."

It was then I realized—this wasn’t just about seeing truth. It was about altering it.

A chance to undo something.

I hesitated. The past was a mess of timelines and broken loops. What could I even choose?

The elder smiled, teeth yellow like old parchment. "Choose. But know this: every wish granted leaves a scar. And every scar must be fed."

I stared into the river.

And I picked one.

Not for selfishness.

But for clarity.

I whispered my wish.

The elder nodded, turned his back to me, and raised both hands. "Done."

I felt nothing.

No surge. No wind. Just a hollow feeling in my chest, like something had been ripped away quietly.

"What did you take?" I asked.

The elder didn’t answer.

But behind me, I felt it.

Something left me.

I didn’t know what.

A skill? A memory? A connection?

Only later would I realize what I had lost.

The eye on my wrist flared to life—searing, burning—and when I looked down, the mark of the Burnt Eye glowed red, unlike the other two.

Three trials. Complete.

But there was no time to bask.

The ground cracked.

The fog screamed.

A swarm of forms burst out from the grey—ghost-type magical beasts, drawn by the energy of the trials.

Dozens. No—hundreds.

They weren’t like normal spirits. These were half-rotted things—stitched with regret, pulsing with hatred. They moved in jerks and lunges, trailing smoke and whispers. One of them bore the face of a child. Another had no head. Another just hovered, weeping.

I turned—and saw Dulhard standing up, wide-eyed.

He had awakened, at the worst possible moment.

"Don’t move," I said quietly.

The beasts were closing in.

They didn’t speak. They didn’t reason.

But they hated life.

And we were the only living things here.

I reached behind me—and pulled out the Broken Sword of Caesar.

It was dull. Heavy. Lifeless. The promise of power locked by a vow.

But I didn’t need its full strength.

I needed what was inside me.

Memories surged. Not from this life—but others.

I remembered wars I never fought.

Strategies I never learned.

Skills that should not exist in a first-year student.

But they were mine.

Regressions... weren’t just a curse. They were experience, compressed into thought.

I exhaled—and stepped forward.

The first beast lunged.

I pivoted, ducked under its jagged claw, and rammed the blunt edge of the sword straight through its core. It exploded into black mist.

Another came. I spun, slashed upward, and cleaved it clean in two.

A third bit into my shoulder—I drove the hilt into its skull, and it wailed before dissolving.

Blood flew.

Not red.

Black.

It stuck to my skin like tar.

But I didn’t stop.

I kept moving.

Kept killing.

My mana flared, aura rippling around me—shifting in waves of silver and crimson. The weight of the sword changed—its blade humming faintly, like it remembered its glory.

I was farming aura now.

Every movement, every strike, increased my tempo.

Five enemies.

Then ten.

Then twenty.

I lost count.

Dulhard backed away slowly, eyes wide with fear—not at the beasts, but at me.

He had seen blood before. But never like this.

Never someone who fought like they’d done it a thousand times.

When the last spirit charged—a massive beast with six heads—I jumped, twisted midair, and drove the blade into its core, splitting it like paper.

The world went still.

I stood in the center of a field of black mist and twitching corpses.

Covered in blood.

Breathing heavily.

And when I turned—Dulhard took a step back.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t ask.

Just stared.

I lowered the sword, letting the broken edge touch the ground.

It was over.

For now.

---

Capital City – Student Council Room

Alicia sat with her fingers tight around a quill, documents strewn in front of her like a battlefield of ink.

Beside her, Dustin Croft was quiet—watching the door more than the papers.

For once, they were both distracted.

Valerys hadn’t returned.

A knock broke the silence.

A messenger stepped in, face pale.

"Lady Valerys..." he swallowed, "she’s missing."

The quill snapped in Alicia’s hand.

"What?"

"We tracked her mana signature to the lower district, near Sector Twelve. Then—it vanished."

"No trail?"

"None. It’s like she never existed."

Dustin stood up sharply. "That area is restricted."

"I know," Alicia whispered. "She was digging into the dungeon results."

"The extra students?"

Alicia didn’t reply.

But her silence said enough.

---

Underground Ruins – The Capital

Deep beneath the capital, where the sewers met forgotten ruins, light flickered.

Candles.

Hundreds of them.

They were arranged in a perfect circle, surrounding a throne of black stone.

And on that throne—sat Valerys.

Her body was limp.

Eyes closed.

At her forehead, the final drop of blood fell—from the hand of a cloaked figure.

It splashed onto the crown that rested upon her brow—an ancient circlet of bone and gold, etched with runes that pulsed once...

...then exploded in light.

The wind roared.

Candles snuffed out.

And Valerys opened her eyes.

They were not her own.

They were crimson.

Unblinking.

Unholy.

The air froze.

And every single figure in the chamber knelt instantly.

"All hail the Night King!" they cried.

Over and over.

Their voices echoing into the dark like a tide.

The crown burned red.

And Valerys smiled.

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