Ascension Of The Villain

In the confines of Marquess Estelle's estate, the atmosphere was so rigid, you could cut it with a butter knife and serve it as a side dish.

The marquess, who usually was as composed as a swan on a sere lake, looked more like a duck caught in a storm, his brow furrowed deeper than a plowed field.

As for the marquess's offspring, they were as stiff as starched collars, standing behind their parts like two particularly uncomfortable statues.

And who was the cause of all this familial discomfort? None other than the Grand Duke himself, Vyan Blake Ashstone—a man whom they now found so intimidating that ev his shadow seemed to have demonic claws in their eyes.

Facing their former knight, err, the currt grand duke, Edward finally found his voice, "Your Grace," he quivered, his tongue burning at having to lace respect for the person who he always treated as an insignificant bug, "what is it that you seek from us?"

Inside the collective cranium of the Estelle family, a unified prayer wt out: 'Please, oh please, let it be our long-lost heirloom teapot and not our heads on a silver platter.'

"Why so tse, Lord Estelle?" Vyan let out, as if oblivious to the sweat stains blooming on their clothes.

He was joying every twitch of discomfort from the Estelle family, just like a cat toying with a mouse.

"Relax, please," he offered with a seemingly amicable smile, "I promise I am not here to redecorate your walls with your blood. At least, not today."

His eyes glinted with a sinister darkness, draining the color out of their faces faster than a candle snuffs out in a drafty hall.

"Just kidding," he added, his brief chuckle as sharp as a guillotine blade. "Light up, folks."

"Oh, hahaha," their forced laughter echoed like that of a dying hya, well aware Vyan was, in fact, not kidding.

"I am just here for my mana aptitude certificate," Vyan continued, "You know, the one with my name on it."

"Yes, yes, we should have it," the Marquess babbled, already sding Lyon on a quest to find the documt, eager to get rid of Vyan's ominous presce.

As Lyon scurried away like his pants were on fire, Sina attempted a graceful exit, but Vyan's velvet voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Lady Sina, why are you leaving so soon? Stay and joy some tea," he offered. "Unless, of course, you are busy with your hobby—oh, what was it again? Harassing knights, was it?"

Sina's gulp was audible ough to wake the dead. She turned to face him and managed to force a brittle laugh, "Oh, Your Grace, surely you jest."

"Of course," he gave her a tight-lipped smile. "But please, do take a seat with us."

Sina—the epitome of elegance and refinemt, said no one ever but herself—slinked over to the couch, her fingers clching the fabric of her dress like it was the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

Peeking a glance at Vyan nervously, Sina's memories flooded back.

You see, Sina had a hobby, a rather revolting one at that.

She delighted in tormting the poor knights stationed at the family base. They were sworn to loyalty, which obviously meant they could not so much as sneeze without her say-so. Most knights were honored by her atttion, but not Vyan. No, he had the audacity to be loyal to her ruthless sister, like some sort of chivalrous knight with actual dignity.

Vyan's indifferce only fueled Sina's twisted desires. She would try to seduce him with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Brushing his arms, chest, lower back, thigh—basically sexually harassing him at every chance. She was like a toddler exploring a forbidd cookie jar, and that toddler was also a serial groper.

It was a shame she lacked the brawn to force him into submission, but oh, she tried.

And one day, wh Iyana finally released him from her clutches after departing for her work at the palace, Sina pounced at him like a leopard. It was less a conquest of love and more a conquest of... well, petty conquest.

But before she could utter her unholy command, as luck would have it, Iyana swooped in, having forgott something at home.

In a flash, Iyana held her sword to Sina's throat, her divine ergy practically crackling with righteous fury. Sina could swear her life had flashed before her eyes at that momt.

Terrified of becoming a decorative wall hanging courtesy of Iyana's blade, Sina wisely kept her distance from Vyan after that. But vgeance brewed in her twisted little heart like a pot of witch's brew.

So, what did our charming little sociopath do? She framed poor Vyan for the very thing she had tried to do to him.

The irony was thicker than molasses, indeed.

With Iyana convitly abst on a long mission, Sina snitched to her brother to dish out some justice. Days turned into nights, and Vyan suffered in a cell, sans food and water, thanks to Sina's machinations.

Sina could only dream of Vyan forgetting the whole sordid affair, but… haha, that indeed merely was a dream.

"Your hands—" Vyan began, and Sina's heart dropped to her stomach, letting go of her teacup like it was a hot potato. "—are shivering, Lady Sina," he continued, "is what I wanted to say. But I guess it's too late now."

Sina glanced down at the spilled tea on herself, and her theatrical performance of the ctury began. As the scalding tea seeped through her dress, she let out a wail that could rival a banshee in distress.

"Ah! Ah! I'm burning!" she cried, her face contorted into a masterpiece of horror.

Attempting a graceful retreat, she stumbled over her own feet. Now, with all the grace of a newborn giraffe on roller skates, she lurched forward, her hand plunging into yet another cup of piping hot tea.

But wait, there was more! In a stroke of slapstick brilliance, her other hand st the tray of sweets airborne, transforming her carefully coiffed hair into a nest of confectionery chaos.

"Oh, my God!" Carolina screeched.

"Ahh!" Sina's cries of pain harmonized perfectly with the sugary rain shower cascading down upon her.

Carolina realized her daughter had reached peak embarrassmt levels and sprang into action, dragging Sina out of the room faster than a steed at full gallop.

Left to pick up the pieces of their shattered dignity, Edward launched into a frzied apology, "Your Grace, please excuse us. We will make this right, I promise. I will have fresh tea brought in right away—"

"It's alright," Vyan declared, his tone clipped, showing his annoyance for the circus act just now. "I will just take my certificate and leave."

"But Your Grace—"

"You heard me, Lord Estelle," Vyan cut in. Over his dead body would he subject himself to any more hospitality from this calamity of a household.

"As you wish, Your Grace," Edward muttered, resigned to the fact that their chance at mding things with Vyan had gone up in flames—quite literally.

Vyan shot a quick glance at Clyde and initiated their silt mtal exchange through telepathy. 'You are the one who tripped her, didn't you?'

'I have no regrets. That molester bitch had it coming,' Clyde's reply crackled, dripping with unreptant sarcasm.

'You are so petty,' Vyan retorted, though a hint of amusemt danced in his mind.

'Pettiness is fun. You should try it sometime, Vyan.'

Suppressing a chuckle at Clyde's unabashed pettiness, Vyan maintained his icy exterior, awaiting his precious certificate.

Wh Lyon finally delivered the coveted parchmt through the hands of a servant as he was too afraid to show his face again, Vyan rose gracefully to depart.

But as they made their way out, Vyan's eyes landed on a rather tempting candlestick in the marquess's office.

A mischievous smirk tugged at Vyan's lips, and with a subtle flick of his wrist—or perhaps a whisper of telekinetic prowess—a gust of wind st the candlestick tumbling, igniting the pristine curtains in a blaze of glory.

The marquess nervously escorted Vyan and Clyde to their awaiting carriage, blissfully ignorant of the fiery chaos brewing in his very own office.