The artifact to remove my ranking and power was a tough pill to swallow, both literally and figuratively. I lay wracked with pain for hours before finally falling into an exhausted sleep. When I awoke, I cried for everything I had lost, then laughed for everything that was now mine to reclaim.

I stopped in front of a shop window to glance at my reflection once more, partially amused at now being able to. Even with the magical effect making my skin a more normal tone, my eyes deep green, and my teeth fangless - I stood out like a sore thumb. Decades of training had made me a giant of a man, tall and muscular. Even without my powers, I looked like a titan. We had shaved my head down to stubble and tidied up my dark grey beard into something more presentable.

In effect, I looked like a woodsman, hailing from the hills of some ancestry that guzzled down demigod energy like mother’s milk. The simple linen shirt and leather slacks accentuated my defined figure rather than hid it - but we had decided it was better to be underdressed rather than over.

Catching the glares of the proprietors of the clothing establishment, I had paused by, I gave a sheepish grin and carried on along down the cobble street of the town called…

“Where are we again, Woodsworth?” I tilted my eyes over my shoulder to where my prior butler now stood.

He now also had a remarkable pink fleshy tone to him, on account of now looking like a middle-aged elf. It was not too far off his form in life; greyed hair and mustache included - the only exception being the longer pointed ears. It had been more difficult to convince him to dress differently, and I had barely managed to convince him to swap his bowtie for a pendant of some deity. Clasped to his belt was a spellbook, as we had decided that a Cleric would be a good fit for him.

“Fogvale, Sire- I mean, Victor.”

I had many names in my centuries alive, to the point that any particular one held no sway over me. Victor had been one that I went by as an F Rank Villain all those years ago, so it seemed fitting. It had been the same consideration for the weapon I decided to take with me.

Strapped across my back was Bonerend, my first magical sword. If I had shirked the languishing weight of my previous life then at the least I could clutch dearly to what sentiments I could remember. A greatsword of dark metal that would glow red when narratively convenient - it did little else more than a mundane sword of similar creation, but I had spent decades wielding it, and with the few test swings back at the estate, it had felt like no time had passed since I was most proficient with it. Muscle memory was something the artifact didn’t take from me.

Fogvale.

I glanced around the small town, barely creeping above the threshold up from village. A dour place that looked like it saw more rain than hot meals, with every building a mix of greyish wood and cracked off-white plaster. But the surprising thing was all the people.

Normally my stomach would be knotting in anticipation, my fangs salivating at the banquet of fresh bodies to instill terror in as I drank their lifeblood - but that ravaging hunger was somewhat quietened. I supposed in my current reborn form I was yet to taste the crimson energy, and thus the passion for it hadn’t settled. A vampire in name, but few of the redeeming qualities.

Certainly, I had walked around the mortals in plenty of other situations in my life. Disguising as bureaucrats or people of well-to-do nature to meddle in the affairs of the living. Sometimes for lust or to feed, or for power and covetous greed - sometimes just out of boredom. It felt different now, though. I was not a snake in the grass or a wolf in sheep's clothing. More of a black sheep covered in snow.

“It might do us well if you called me by a different name too, Victor.” Woodsworth sidled up next to me as I stared out at the town before us. The clouds of gloom gave a miserable overcast shadow to everything, which I found rather refreshing in honesty.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Of course, forgive me for asking - but what was your first name?” I looked down at the elf, his expression clearly showing that he was uncomfortable with being more of a companion alongside me than a servant under me.

“Basil,” he gave a small smile.

I nodded, not wanting to increase his discomfort with further idle chatter. We were here for a purpose; the sooner we could complete that, the better. Exhaling through my nose, I started off towards the large building at the end of the street, my once-butler in tow.

We caught some lazy glances as we trudged through - as odd a pairing as we were, adventurers would often come through this way. And if there ever was a weird bunch, it would be adventurers. Most towns had them, and Basil had made it clear that this was the best town to start in without having a Rank yet. I trusted him not to do me wrong.

Heroes Guild.

The sign above the doorway was faded and jostled slightly in the breeze, making its way through this T-shaped junction. In all other ways, it was no different than the other buildings in the town - except for there being no lower-floor windows. I briefly considered the oddity before I nodded to Basil, his return of the acknowledgment being the final key for me to proceed in opening the door.

The smell of burning wood and wax washed out alongside the amber glow of lantern light. I stepped within, thankful that the doorway seemed to be a little larger than the normal humanoid size. You could never tell what sort of size and shape an adventurer may come in.

Across from our entrance, there was a counter with a few ledgers and one rather bored clerk sitting on the other side. A man who looked in his early twenties, with messy hair and contempt for his current employment. He looked up with disinterested eyes but went back to doodling on one of the unused books in front of him.

To the left, there were a few tables where seven adventurers sat in three groups, lowly murmuring or looking at maps. Stairs leading up were the only other point of interest in the room - aside from the adventuring board along the right wall beside us. I let my eyes run over it as we walked up to the desk, trying to pick up any specific words or names that could pique my interest.

“How may I help you,” the youth eventually relented, sighing as he melted back into his chair. It wasn’t even leveled as a question, more of a statement of resigned reluctance.

I gave my best attempt at a pleasant smile and loomed across the desk, pleased that he recoiled a little. Old habits died hard. “We are looking to join the ranks of the Heros of this realm.”

His right eye twitched as he looked between me and Basil. “Sure - you’re aware there is a like a probationary Quest, right, like a test of proficiency?” He began to shuffle around some paperwork as if he couldn’t remember the exact name of the procedure.

“We are,” I lied. In truth, it seemed more organized than how they designated Villain Ranks, but such was the life of the side of Order, I supposed. No point in getting bent up over unnecessary paperwork at this early stage. I commended myself for my patience.

“Right, right.” He dug out two crinkled sheets and placed them in front of me. “Need all your details on here, and then we’ll assign you a F Rank Villain. Bring proof of their demise, and you’ll be on track to being granted the F Rank yourself, and full membership, yada-yada.”

“Yada-yada?” I narrowed my eyes, wishing I still had the ability to rend flesh from bone with just a harsh glare.

“No point telling you all the boring stuff, a lot of newbies, uh - they don’t come back.”

Woodsworth awkwardly shuffled his feet on the floor. “Change of heart, I’m sure.”

That made some manner of sense. Much like I was about to do, many adventurers may go off to do battle against their first Villain and totally underestimate what they are capable of. The smart ones banded together in a Party, which usually turned the odds better in their favor. My ego agreed that Basil and I wouldn’t need such a crutch.

“Go sit and fill these in then, big guy, and I’ll see what Fs we have around for you.” The young man gave me a grimace that was probably meant to be his customer-service I’m-done-with-you face. I imagined his blood would taste especially bitter.

Basil took the papers, and we went to sit at the last empty table in the row of four. He slid in opposite me as the bench creaked beneath my weight. Rather rude of it. I pulled one of the pages towards me, and my eyes almost immediately glazed over.

“Want me to sort them out, Sire- Victor?” His eyebrows were raised, knowing my distaste for these sorts of things.

Not the written word - certainly, in my centuries, I had put to page a few grand stories and poems that could shake the core of the most stoic of individuals… but forms. Could not stand them. It was as if I was licking the page in the hopes that the tiny bites of required information would slide out of my brain through my tongue into the right box. It took the art and any joy of creative outlet out of what writing meant to me.

“Please, Basil.” I pushed the page back to him. There would be a time shortly when I’d make it up to him by cracking some skulls or something. Some of the heavier lifting.

“Excuse me,” a female voice came from the table behind me.

I turned to see a red-haired woman sitting with a nervous mousy-haired man.

“I overheard you’re looking to get your Rank; we are too.”