A Villain's Guide to Saving the World-Chapter 60: The Great Villain! Building a Better Army...?
Lucian’s lips curled, forming a smile that could belong just as easily to a mob boss as to a storybook villain—cold, calculating, and steeped in mischief. It was the kind of expression he’d worn more than once before, a look he knew well and wielded with practiced ease. He was no stranger to the image it cast.
"What about a fun test first?"
Lucian offered the question with a low, deliberate tone, his eyes narrowing slightly as they flitted from one adventurer to the next. He studied them in silence for a breath, already dissecting their strengths and weaknesses with nothing but intuition, instinct sharpened by battle and years in darker places.
The warrior grinned and slapped the table with a meaty hand, the thud echoing beneath the hum of the city. He stroked his beard with fingers calloused from war, his broad chest puffing with enthusiasm. There was a familiar fire in his gaze—the kind of fire that welcomed a challenge without second thought.
"I’m sure we’ll pass with flying colors!"
The wizard nodded beside him, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a flick of her finger. Her lips curved into a confident grin, her eyes twinkling behind the lenses.
"What do you have in mind?"
Across from them, the two elves exchanged a glance, a silent storm of rivalry passing between them. Neither said a word, but the subtle tightening of their jaws and the narrowing of their eyes spoke volumes. The single word—test—had ignited something primal in them. Pride flared like a hidden spark, their respective elven heritages demanding proof of superiority. Neither was about to lose to the other.
Lucian’s smirk widened slightly.
"But before that... you guys already paid for the food in the inn, right?"
The warrior paused mid-sip of ale, tilting his head, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.
"Uhhh... yeah?"
Lucian burst into laughter, sharp and sudden. It rang out into the streets, cruel in sound but mischievous in spirit, echoing with the echoes of a life once lived in shadows and domination. His days as a Dark Lord had long since painted his laughter with a certain edge—one that couldn’t quite be scrubbed clean, even when he meant no harm.
"Great! Then let’s get started!"
The adventurers stood in near unison, the scrape of chairs filling the air as they rose. Excitement buzzed between them, thick and contagious, each hand drifting toward the weapons they carried. Their faces gleamed with anticipation, the promise of a challenge from the Third Prince’s own retainer awakening the thrill of battle in their veins.
Lucian clapped his hands once, sharply. In an instant, the world around them dimmed as shadows surged forth, coiling around their feet and climbing like tendrils of smoke. His eyes glowed with an eerie light, twin stars in the encroaching dark. His grin widened to a crescent of satisfaction as the magic reached its peak.
This may not be the perfect plan, he mused inwardly, but it’s better than nothing.
Then, as quickly as they had come, the shadows evaporated.
They stood now in a different place entirely.
The midday sun gleamed off stone and steel as the adventurers blinked, stunned by the sudden shift. Before them sprawled the massive training grounds Lucian had only recently left. Towering walls encircled an expansive courtyard, its grounds marked with combat rings, weapon racks, sparring dummies, and a regimented formation of soldiers mid-drill.
The scale of the facility left them speechless.
The warrior’s eyes sparkled, catching the glint of enchanted weapons neatly lined along reinforced racks. Each blade pulsed faintly with contained power—runes etched into steel, magic humming at the edge of perception. He could practically see the coin signs flashing before his eyes.
"Where are we?" he finally asked, his voice reverent, like someone stepping into a sacred hall.
Lucian clapped again, a showman calling the curtain up. He cleared his throat as all eyes turned toward him—trainees and adventurers alike.
"Welcome to the royal training ground," he said, his voice carrying authority and flair. "As for your first task..."
He paused, letting the moment hang for just a beat.
"Training the Third Prince’s forces!"
The trainees looked on in surprise—some wide-eyed, others narrowing their brows in disbelief. Whispers spread like wildfire across the training yard as they processed what was happening. Lucian had just appeared out of nowhere, conjuring a portal of shadows, and now stood there with a group of unfamiliar adventurers in tow. That alone was shocking enough. But the real cause for their unease?
These strangers had no official fealty—no banner, no allegiance to any of the kingdom’s princes. And yet, here they were, standing on sacred ground: the royal training grounds of the palace, reserved for elite forces and inner circle retainers.
In the center of the training field, Syrna drilled the others with disciplined precision. Her form was sharp, her movements efficient—but the sight of Lucian and the adventurers pulled her attention mid-swing. She froze in place, her blade halting just inches from her sparring partner’s shoulder. Her breath caught as surprise overtook her usually composed expression.
She hadn’t expected Lucian to return so soon—let alone with a retinue of outsiders.
"What... what is the meaning of this?" she asked, her voice low but firm, confusion written across her face as she stepped forward. Her fingers gripped the hilt of her training sword a little tighter, knuckles whitening.
Lucian merely chuckled, stretching his arms out toward the adventurers in a grand, exaggerated gesture. The glint in his eyes had returned—mischievous and cunning, like a cat toying with prey. His usual cool demeanor now dripped with theatricality.
"A good squad leader always has good people that work with them, right...?"
He flashed his trademark grin, then nodded toward the group standing just behind him.
"Then here are yours."
He began introducing each of the adventurers in turn, taking his time. He spoke of their classes, the distinct roles they played, and their individual strengths—powerful mages, elite warriors, expert rogues. But what truly caught everyone’s attention was the mention of their greatest feat.
"They’ve slain a dragon,"
Lucian declared with a touch of dramatic flair, his voice carrying across the courtyard.
Gasps rippled through the trainees. Murmurs followed. That kind of victory wasn’t just impressive—it was legendary. Even some of the older soldiers paused in their training to glance over, sizing up the new arrivals.
Syrna stood silent, her posture stiff. Her grip on the sword tightened imperceptibly. There was a flicker in her eyes—not just surprise, but something deeper. Pain. A buried memory or wound stirred by Lucian’s words, too fleeting to name, but too sharp to ignore.
Lucian noticed.
His expression flickered—just for a moment—but he said nothing. He didn’t ask. He didn’t pry. Some part of him understood the weight behind her reaction, but he let it sit quietly between them.
I don’t know why she’s acting like that... he thought, eyes drifting toward her clenched fists and distant gaze, ...but I’ll let it linger for now.
Let her use it. Let her sharpen that pain into something useful.
Make her use it for her motivation to work harder.
Lucian gazed back at the adventurers, casually surveying their reactions. To his quiet satisfaction—and slight surprise—each of them looked eager, even energized by the sudden shift in setting. Their postures straightened, eyes sharp and alert, hands never straying far from their weapons. But unsurprisingly, it was the two elves whose excitement stood out the most.
To them, this wasn’t just training—it was a challenge. A contest. An opportunity to prove elven superiority, each to the other and to everyone watching.
The high elf archer stepped forward, tossing her long blonde hair back with a practiced flick. Her sharp green eyes sparkled with unmistakable confidence, the corners of her mouth curled into a smirk that dripped with pride.
"These runts?" she scoffed, sizing up the trainees like a huntress examining prey. "I’ll show them what a hundred years of archery looks like!"
Beside her, the dark elf gave a theatrical sigh, rolling his glowing violet eyes. But despite the exasperation, a grin tugged at his lips. His lean frame shifted into a more relaxed stance, hands resting easily on his curved daggers as if already preparing a lesson.
"They’ll learn to be one with the shadows," he said, voice low and smooth—almost purring.
Lucian visibly shivered at that, a twitch crawling down his spine. The words were dramatic enough to make even him wince.
Okay, edgelord...
He shook it off with a grin, the moment already passed. Turning back to Syrna, Lucian met her gaze and offered a nod—part encouragement, part challenge. A subtle but unmistakable signal that it was her move now.
"What are you waiting for?"
His tone sharpened ever so slightly, enough to slice through the air and demand attention.
"I don’t expect personal feelings to get in the way of duty."
The words were pointed—purposefully so. A verbal jab, carefully aimed. Lucian still didn’t know what exactly had rattled her earlier, what emotion she had buried behind the tight grip on her sword and the flicker in her eyes. But he didn’t need to know.
He only needed it to push her forward.
And judging by the way her jaw clenched at his words, he knew he’d struck true—just enough to make her act.
