At his lowest moment, right before he met his theoretical end. Just as his world was about to go dark, he began to breathe again. In that realm of greyscale, with only him in that frozen world.

“Tell me boy. Do you regret this?” the great voice boomed.

“Thank god!” he spoke into the river.

“Don’t speak of that. Actually, don’t speak at all. Your earthling voices are annoying. Boy, do you want a second chance? Just nod or shake your head.”

He followed the voice’s instruction. Despite the river water flooding into his lungs, he found himself in a state of calmness. That voice, it definitely had something to do with it. He nodded his head, the water sloshing around and into his ear. Penetrating deep into his nose, if he kept breathing, he would have died.

“Good. A second chance like this doesn’t come often. But you must become a villain, is that clear? Nod! I don’t have much time left!”

The drowned man nodded once again. A villain, he thought. What did the dealing god want?

“Very well human. You’ll get your second chance.”

In an instant, the world turned into white. The river, the bridge, everything was gone. For kilometres on end, as far as his eyes could see. It was all just the plain, unyielding, endless white.

A man appeared in front of him. His figure tall, and glare strong. Just a metre in front of him, the man scratched his head.

“Urg. Humanoid form?” he said.

That man spoke with the same majesty of that saving voice. With the same aura, that man stared at the drowned man in his eyes. There was an obvious dislike for that human shape.

“Become the villain. By the way, just keep staying quiet. Your earthling voice is pesky.”

The drowned man nodded. What else could he do? In that endless expanse, with only one other person. If that wasn’t a final dream the body got to sooth the mind, then it was the afterlife.

“I am a dragon. Are you familiar with that?”

Another nod. A dragon. Large, scaly, fire breathing. To be slain by a knight, to rescue a princess. A dragon, of course he knew it.

“Then I don’t need to keep this skin on,” he said.

Like a snake shedding its skin, the true form burst through. In a ball of brilliant light, that man with the saviour’s voice disappeared. Taking its place was a large reptile. With scales reflective like steel, yet black as obsidian. Flexible, and yet strong. In that large, never ending white expanse, that dragon was the only form of colour. And in that world, there was no sense of scale. But the drowned man knew. If nothing else, that dragon was large.

“Much better. I suppose I should tell you what’s going on. I am the True Dragon, Bahamut. Nice to meet you, villain.”

Bahamut stretched its limbs, and the scales followed. They bent and twisted as its limbs creaked. Like a person after waking up, and like a cat sharpening its nails, the dragon’s body grew in length.

“Ah. That’s nice. Alright. So, human. You will be brought to a new body. In my world, of course. Not your smelly, stinking, manaless world,” Bahamut said, “You should rejoice, you know. Although, you’d be a villain. But still, second chance. Anyway, the new world is much better than your world. I mean, there’s magic and aura. Cool, eh? Don’t talk yet, though. You’re still in that earthling’s body. Uhh, you’ll be put into a new body. Son a duke. Not an insult, if you thought so. And yeah. Figure everything else out yourself.”

A thin smile, if that’s what it could be called, spread across Bahamut’s face. The dragon chuckled, as if laughing at an old memory. Its tail slammed against the ground, but nothing shook. There was still a question to be answered.

“Where are we, you’re probably thinking. And well, this is your afterlife, in a sense. Pretty boring. White, empty. Very large too. Oh right, don’t worry. Your new body, and the memories it comes with, knows how to read and write.”

The drowned man nodded. A second chance. It was what he needed while breathing in water in the river. And he was able to figure several things out. Being transferred to a different body meant that the old one had perished. Meaning, he was not saved. His soul was simply picked up by the grim reaper, and tossed to the dragon like recyclable trash. The junk mail shoved into the mailbox a day prior couldn’t figure one thing out though. Having a second chance was nice, but what about a villain? What did that mean? In a sense, that dragon in front of him would be considered a villain in medieval tales. Must he become a dragon? But there was no time for any further questions. The world around him began crumbling. Yet the dragon didn’t seem to mind.

“Oh right. Forget this one thing. You have my blessing, so if I talk to you in your head once in a while, don’t freak out,” Bahamut scratched his chin with his claw, “And I think that’s it. Good luck, villain.”

And he fell through. The reptilian eyes of the dragon looked at him as he descended. Black mixed in with white. Though, if the white was from the rendering of the drowned’s afterlife, then where did the black come from? And yet, both were empty. But he lacked the time to question it. In a blur, he fell from the sky, as if tossed out from a plane at cruising altitude. Brain damage would definitely not help.

***

The news was hard to grasp. An Arcleus. Or the next emperor in line, so to speak. Francis gulped. An Arcleus. Him?

“You’ll be announced next year, once you reach 16,” his father said.

“I see. To become an Arcleus, it’ll be difficult,” said Francis.

“We can’t postpone this any longer. Now that we have received official confirmation, you need to get your knight, now.”

“A knight? What for?” Francis asked.

He couldn’t find an answer within the memories. Either it was the first time the topic has been brought up, or the previous Francis didn’t pay attention. A knight assigned to him, and that had been delayed.

“Because you are mixed, Fran. You’re weaker than your brothers and sisters. You don’t have the capabilities like us. And you’re weak. You can’t protect yourself,” Charles explained.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Hm. Weak? How strong do I need to be?”

“Can you fight at least half a thousand soldiers?”

“...No?”

“Then you are weak.”

“Wait, you’re telling me that you can?”

“Yes. But you cannot. Even your aura is weak. You need a knight. Choose a guard,” his father said, “I’ll tell the Knights of Vadan to assemble later. You can meet them in the training grounds an hour later.”

Francis nodded. The training grounds were located on his family’s lands. It wasn’t far away from the barracks, actually rather close. The barracks. He had never visited it before. From his room, if he looked through the window, he would occasionally catch a glimpse of people in polished armour practicing swings and sword fighting. Was that the training ground, he thought.

With breakfast finished, he left the dining room. Great stretches of hallways and a maze of turns later, he ended up back in his own private quarters. Situated at a relatively high altitude, roughly 3 levels or so above the ground, his room had a view of the scenery. Large swathes of land, all owned by his family. It probably came with the title, though he didn’t know the history behind it. The previous Francis was never one for study nor work. With an hour to spend, he paced around his room, with an occasional peek through the window. And indeed, there were soldiers gathering there. Their swords glinted in the sunlight, and their armour with a mirror polish. If they had fought, and yet maintained that standard, Francis didn’t want to imagine the amount of work needed for that.

He changed out from his regal night pajamas to something more presentable. The butler, responsible for the young master’s appearance, provided assistance. A variety of outfits were brought together. All form fitting, with shoulder pads inlaid. Shiny metal buttons, and black imperial jackets. But none of them suited his fancy. The clothes selection he had available was vast. From fancy ballroom suits to other ballroom suits. Though vast, the variety and tastes of the previous Francis was not. There was nothing resembling anything that a commoner would wear. Though, there were some simple sets of clothes not meant for social gatherings. But, the previous Francis would have worn those show-off clothes even without an invitation to one. Just around the mansion, with no official audience who with a semblance of interest.

“Young master, perhaps you may just don a simple shirt and pants? If meeting and choosing a guard is all you’re doing, I fail to see why you require elaborate designs. Of course, that isn’t to say that I’m questioning you, young master. It is simply a suggestion,” the butler said, with his calm voice.

“Is that so?” Francis turned around.

The butler flinched and turned his head down. He was wearing a uniform, with a black coat and grey vest. His white gloves fit his hands nicely, and the white dress shirt was tidy with no creases in sight.

“Well, I’ll take your suggestion then. Could you choose a set for me? Thanks,” said Francis, with a smile.

The first attribute of a villain was evil. And the previous Francis was on the expresslane to being one. Throwing tantrums at the mildest inconveniences, verbally abusing his staff, and hiding behind his parents when consequences caught up. Perhaps not fully evil, but an immature version instead.

Francis threw on a simple set of clothes. A plain white button up dress shirt, and black trousers. It fit his form well; probably tailor made. With a pair of tight black boots, he tucked his shirt in and walked out of his room. If he approximated the distance, including the stairs, there was more than enough time before the hour was up. Walking down the stairs, he grabbed onto the handrail. The cold, golden rimmed stairs were hard to walk down.

There were several priorities on his list, each with differing levels of urgency. Most of them were just cleaning up after the late Francis. But a new issue arose. Arcleus. He was chosen, for some unknown reason, to be one. The Arcleus rank was something often coveted. The next in line for the emperor, if the eldest child of the imperial family was a female, or the empress if it was the other way around.

He stepped down from the hard stairs. On the ground floor, there were various exits and entrances to and from the outside world. But as he approached the domain of the sun, the clash of steel rang out.

“So this is the training ground,” Francis muttered.

There was a large field in front of him. About 60 metres by 60, the vast ground held a legion of about 50 people. All geared out in armour and blades, they stood at attention at the appearance of the young master.

“Fran! Come here,” his father motioned.

He was standing in the commander’s position. The 50 faced the duke, and the duke faced them right back. In his hands was a long black sword. Embedded in the middle of the cross guard, about 3 centimetres in length, was a shining purple gem. With smooth cuts, the stone looked professionally made. And the blade was close to a metre long, and most probably very, very sharp. But Francis only felt cold. The sword seemed to speak with him, as if calling him towards it.

“Yes father,” Francis said, shaking the voice off.

Francis approached his father. Dressed in full military dress, his height and form was highlighted. A dark blue tunic, with heavy metal buttons. Between the elaborate regiment uniform, or a set of armour, Francis couldn’t tell which might be stronger. But even without armour, the Rayleigh blood was more than enough.

“Pick one from the front. They’re all competent on their own. These in front are the masters of the sword, so they’re much better for you.”

“I see. From the front…”

Lined up in parade formation, there were about 7 people in the front row. Those were the masters. Their swords were polished, though they didn’t point it at him. In the entire regiment, there was a mix of tall, short, males, and females. All of them looked competent as his father had said. In a straight duel, Francis would lose 100 times out of 100. No, even against those in the back, those who didn’t yet have the acknowledgement of master, he would still lose. Though, if it was his father facing off, he would probably have been able to handle the 7 with ease. The masters knelt down on a knee, and their eyes were parallel to the ground. All they were able to see, without looking up, was the young master’s legs in trousers.

Of the 7, there was one that stood out to him. It was likely that she wasn’t aware of her glare. Her long brown hair stretched halfway down her back. She shot her glare towards the young master. A longsword scabbard was mounted on her hip, and her sword was drawn. She had a blue mantle on her left shoulder, and a spaulder on her right. Strangely, the 7 master knights did not wear that much armour. Compared to the other Knights of Vadan, who were all decked out in shiny plate armour, the sword masters wore not that much. They had a suit looking outfit, with black over white. They all had the same outfit, the blue mantle and a steel plate that covered the right shoulder. Leather was strapped across the underside of the armour. Beneath it, there was a thin layer of fabric over skin. It seemed that they, for the young master’s selection, were exempt from the dress code.

“Could you please be my guard?”

Francis stopped in front of her. The brown haired woman looked up. She made no effort to hide her glare. In fact, that glare seemed stronger. The others looked down, towards the ground. She held her staring contest with the young master, but neither of them flinched or turned away. Her glare sent a chill down his spine, and made all his hairs stand. Yet, he endured that air of fear.

“Very well. Katalina, you first,” his father said.

“Yes, your grace,” said she.

She held her position and glared. It was as if she detested every part of him. But he didn’t care. There was a reason why he chose her over the others. She bowed her head, and reached out for his hand. With cloth gloves, she felt his skin through the layer of fabric. His palm was facing downwards, and his fingers lax. Whatever she was doing, he didn’t mind. It's probably just part of the courtesy, he thought. She lightly held his hand in hers, and her lips touched his knuckles. It lasted for less than a second, but he still felt the lingering feeling.

“I’m Katalina Astiel. It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she said with a cold smile.

“I’m Francis Ray… Ahem, sorry. Francis Rayleigh. Pleased to meet you too,” he forced his fear down his body.

“And that’s that. Francis, she shall be your sword and shield. Katalina, he shall be above your life itself. Guard him, even if it comes at your life,” Charles said.

“Yes, your grace.”

“Yes, father.”

The rest of the parade dispersed and went back to training. The clash of steel and steel rang out louder than before. There was a heavy air that settled over training grounds. Katalina followed closely to the young master as they entered the mansion. Similar to his father, there was a gem embedded within her sword’s guard. A light blue that resembled the glacier ice that he saw in pictures before he died. There was another presence, beckoning him. But he ignored it. No one else paid attention to it, so why should he? More likely than not, it was probably that blessing of Bahamut.