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The deep, robotic voice rang inside Razeal's head uninvited and annoyingly smug. He rolled his eyes, lips twitching into a bitter half-smile. "When did it become four Duke families, you idiot?" he muttered under his breath. "It's only counted as three. And I don't even have beef with the Faereliths, as far as I remember." [The whole world hates you anyway,] the system responded without hesitation. [Even if you don't stand on their bad side, they'll get there eventually. That is your fate.] Razeal didn't bother replying back. It was useless anyways. The voice in his head had been with him for six years now relentless, cynical, and always right. Arguing with it only made his mood worse, and today was already heavy enough. Six years. That was when it started. He had awakened his system at the age of ten a moment that should have changed everything for the better. But let's rewind. This wasn't just any world. It was a novel. Literally. A fictional realm he had once read about in his past life. The title? The Chosen One. A heroic tale filled with brave warriors, ancient magic, sacred bloodlines, and of course the shining protagonist destined to save the world. And just his luck? He wasn't that guy. Yeah. Razeal had been reborn as a villain. The final boss. The ultimate threat who dies to fuel the hero's last evolution. Not just any villain, either. One with a noble background, grand titles, and of course a legacy soaked in power. And let's face it: heroes could be orphans. But villains? They always came from somewhere grand. His full name had once been Razeal Virelan, second son of Duke Virelan, heir to the Mindveil legacy. A boy born with the promise of illusion and sword a blend few could ever hope to match. But that name had been taken from him. Stripped, Punished and ultimately Exiled. He was cast out at eleven, expelled from his home like a stain too shameful to scrub clean. His own mother had stood there as the gates shut behind him, not a flic
