Veyron Blackvale awoke to silence.
No pain.
No blood.
No spear through his chest.
He opened his eyes slowly and was greeted by a familiar ceiling—vaulted, ornate, and embedded with veins of gold and silver. Chandeliers of crystal mana glimmered faintly above him, casting soft reflections across the room.
His room.
His childhood bedroom.
Veyron sat up abruptly.
His hands were smaller. His arms slimmer. His body—unscarred.
He inhaled sharply.
Twenty-seven.
That was the age at which he had died.
And now—
Thirteen.
A low chuckle escaped his lips. Then another. And another.
"Ha… hah… hahahahaha…"
The laughter grew louder, sharper, more unrestrained, until it echoed madly through the chamber.
"HAHAHAHAHAHA—!"
The door burst open.
"Y-Young Master?!"
A girl rushed in—brown-haired, wide-eyed, dressed in the black-and-white uniform of a personal attendant.
Iris.
His maid.
Alive.
Unharmed.
Veyron's laughter died instantly.
"I'm fine," he said calmly, his voice far too composed for a child. "Leave. Seal the corridor. No one is to approach my room for three hours."
Iris stiffened.
"…As you command, Young Master."
She bowed deeply and retreated, closing the doors with care and personally posting guards outside.
When the room fell silent once more, Veyron leaned back against the bed.
Memories flooded in.
Betrayal.
Hypocrisy.
Fire.
Screams.
Death.
Then—
A voice echoed directly within his mind.
[Welcome, Host.]
[Fate Devourer System successfully bound.]
Veyron's eyes narrowed.
"So it wasn't a dream," he murmured. "Explain."
[You were chosen by the Goddess of Time.]
[Using divine authority, she reversed causality at the moment of your death.]
[I am the residual blessing she left behind—your guide.]
"The Goddess of Time?" Veyron scoffed. "Why would a god help someone like me?"
[That information is restricted.]
[You will gain answers upon reaching specific thresholds.]
"Tch."
Figures.
"And this 'fate' you keep mentioning," Veyron said coldly. "Explain it."
[Your original destiny was severed.]
[By regressing to the past, your fate value dropped to a critical level.]
[In all future timelines, you are now fated to die prematurely.]
Silence.
Then—
"…So I cheated death," Veyron said slowly, "and death is now chasing me."
[Correct.]
"How do I restore it?"
[By acquiring Fate Points.]
[Your fate can be replenished by plundering the destinies of others.]
"Meaning?"
[Stealing opportunities.]
[Destroying chosen ones.]
[Altering critical events.]
[Or performing deeds acknowledged by fate itself.]
A pause.
[Acts of benevolence are the most efficient method.]
[Heroes naturally attract fate.]
[Following such a path will minimize hostility.]
Veyron laughed softly.
"Then that path isn't for me."
[Host… choosing villainy will invite bloodshed and hatred.]
Veyron stared at the ceiling, eyes devoid of warmth.
"I was hated even when I tried to coexist," he said quietly.
"I was condemned even when I spared mercy."
He clenched his fist.
"This world doesn't reward virtue. It rewards power… and narrative."
A slow, cruel smile formed.
"If fate favors heroes—"
"Then I'll devour fate itself."
[Path confirmed.]
[Designation: Villain of Regression.]
Veyron Blackvale closed his eyes.
This time—
He would not wait to be betrayed.
He would become the calamity that shattered their futures before they could shine.