Villain With The Absolute Evil Sytem
Chapter 38 : Reinhardt Vale

Chapter 38: Chapter 38 : Reinhardt Vale

The ice cream dripped from Lumian’s spoon, pooling onto the white ceramic below.

His eyes remained fixed on the man before him.

Broad shoulders. Sharp, unreadable eyes. A face that belonged on propaganda posters—the kind that inspired both fear and admiration. The kind that made people believe in something bigger than themselves.

And Lumian knew exactly who he was.

Reinhardt Vale.

One of the heroes of the ’Vanguard’, the Leader of the Vanguard to be precise.

The highest echelon of heroes. The ones who operated beyond government oversight, stepping in only when the world teetered on the edge of catastrophe.

And right now, Lumian was sitting across from the one man in the world who had the authority to erase him with a single command.

Yet, Reinhardt wasn’t making a move.

He wasn’t even tense.

He simply sat there, one elbow resting lazily on the table, flipping through the menu as if this were any other ordinary conversation.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" Reinhardt finally said, his voice deep, even.

Lumian tilted his head slightly. "You said my name like you know me."

"I do."

Reinhardt set the menu down, folding his hands together.

"We’ve been watching Voltstrike for a while," he continued. "Potential recruitment for the Vanguard." His sharp gaze studied Lumian’s face. "Didn’t expect you to beat us to the punch."

Lumian smirked, resting his chin on his palm. "So I stole your golden boy?"

Reinhardt didn’t react. "You took down a high-profile hero. And from the looks of it, the public didn’t just accept that, you made them want it. That’s not easy."

Lumian twirled his spoon between his fingers, unfazed. "I just did what I could at that moment, Voltstrike was insane."

For a moment, there was only the quiet hum of the ice cream shop. The world outside bustled with life, oblivious to the conversation unfolding within.

Then Reinhardt leaned forward slightly.

"Who are you, Lumian?"

The way he said it wasn’t just curiosity. It wasn’t just a question.

It was a test.

Lumian could feel it. The weight behind it. The way Reinhardt’s eyes searched for something deeper.

How much does he know?

How much is he guessing?

Lumian’s smile sharpened.

"I’m just someone who cleaned up a mess."

Reinhardt studied him for a moment. Then he exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Is that what you call it?"

"It was a mess, wasn’t it?" Lumian gestured vaguely with his spoon. "A beloved hero turned out to be a fraud. A murderer. A drunk. He was bound to fall sooner or later."

Reinhardt said nothing.

But Lumian could see the flicker of something in his expression.

Acknowledgment.

Maybe even agreement.

Voltstrike was unstable. That much was clear.

The Vanguard had likely noticed his decline, but apparently we didn’t do a good job at noticing. They had probably debated whether he was still worthy of recruitment.

But Lumian had taken the choice away from them.

He had forced their hand.

"I’m not here to argue morality," Reinhardt finally said. "Frankly, I don’t care about Voltstrike. What I do care about is his power."

He tapped a finger against the table.

"You fought him. Killed him. And yet, there’s no public record of you. No real name. No history. Just a handful of rumors about some ’Unclothed Hero’ that no one can even identify."

He smiled, but it was sharp. Calculated.

"We watched Voltstrike closely and we didn’t see as much as a trace of you. You’re a ghost, Lumian."

’That’s your problem, you watched Voltstrike and not Michael. Lumian hummed, unimpressed. "And?"

Reinhardt’s expression didn’t change. "And I don’t like unknown variables."

That was it.

That was the reason he was here.

The Vanguard had watched Voltstrike spiral for a while. They hadn’t interfered. They had watched from the sidelines.

But the moment Lumian entered the equation, Reinhardt had come knocking.

Because Lumian was an anomaly. A piece on the board they hadn’t accounted for.

He set his spoon down, resting his hands on the table.

"Alright," he said, leaning forward to mirror Reinhardt’s posture. "Let’s say I’m an unknown variable. What do you plan to do about it?"

Reinhardt studied him for a long moment.

Then he pulled something from his pocket and slid it across the table.

A card.

Black. Embossed with a golden emblem—the sigil of the Vanguard.

"Come with me," Reinhardt said. "Let’s have a proper conversation."

Silence stretched between them.

Lumian glanced down at the card.

Then, ever so slowly, he reached for it. His fingers brushed against the surface, feeling the weight of the invitation.

His mind spun.

The Vanguard.

The highest order of heroes. The ones who dictated the fate of the world.

And they wanted to talk to him?

It was almost funny.

But what was even funnier was that, for the first time since the fight with Michael since Moamao was shook, Lumian felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Opportunity.

If he played this right...

If he maneuvered carefully...

This could be his way in.

A way into their ranks.

A way to dismantle them from within.

A slow, creeping smile curled on his lips.

He picked up the card.

Looked Reinhardt directly in the eye.

And said—

"Lead the way."

The soft chime of the bell above the door had barely faded before Lumian felt it.

The shift.

Reinhardt had led him into a sleek, private lounge above the ice cream shop, away from prying eyes. It was quiet, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors.

For the first few moments, neither of them spoke.

Reinhardt took his time, removing his coat and draping it neatly over a chair. He moved with a deliberate ease, like a man who never rushed but was always on schedule.

Lumian watched the man carefully, ever since his metamorphosis, this was the first Lumian had seen someone at eye level

He leaned back against the bar, fingers idly tapping the black card Reinhardt had given him.

"So," Lumian said, tilting his head. "What’s the Vanguard’s grand agenda?"

Reinhardt smirked, pouring himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. "Straight to the point. I like that."

He took a slow sip before setting the glass down.

"We want you to take Voltstrike’s place."

For the first time in the conversation, Lumian blinked.

Then, after a beat, he let out a quiet chuckle. "That’s funny. Really."

"I wasn’t joking."

Lumian’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes sharpened.

They were serious.