I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!-Chapter 164: Rekindled Flame

The Dean's focus sharpened, her interest finally piqued as she leaned forward slightly.

"Who is it?"

Hamiel exhaled, his posture relaxed but his words carried weight—

"There were many talented students over the years, but two stood out the most."

He let his gaze drift momentarily, recalling the first candidate before continuing—

"The first is the daughter of the Sword Emperor—similar to him yet entirely different in her own way. Though she still lacks the final edge compared to her father, the potential is undeniable."

His fingers tapped against his desk absently as he added—

"She's in her second year and even the first rank of the Aether Class, meaning there's still room for her to grow—to sharpen herself."

The Dean nodded slightly, absorbing the information, but Hamiel wasn't finished yet.

Hamiel's voice lowered slightly, his tone carrying a subtle weight as he spoke—

"The second one is the First Child of the Emperor—the Crowned Prince."

Though his words were firm, there was a noticeable contrast between how he spoke of the daughter of the Sword Emperor and how he spoke of the prince.

The Dean muttered under her breath, her mind quickly recalling the name that dominated rankings—

"The First Rank of the Third Year…"

Hamiel's fingers tapped against his desk as he continued, his thoughts shifting toward past experiences.

"In terms of talent alone, he might be equal—or possibly greater—than the Sword Emperor."

His tone carried no exaggeration, only objective truth.

"Which is why I brought him here once—to see how many of my children would resonate with him."

The Dean's eyes flickered with intrigue as she asked—

"And? How many?"

"Fifty."

The Dean arched a brow slightly, the number not what she had expected.

"Isn't that lesser than the Sword Emperor?"

Her voice carried a hint of doubt, yet Hamiel was already prepared for the question.

"The times have changed. First—the number of my children has already reduced to a hundred."

He leaned forward slightly, his words more deliberate—

"But if you compare fifty to a total of a hundred, versus seventy-five to two hundred and seventeen—you can already see who has a greater talent."

A slow exhale followed as he continued the revelation—

"And this time, the resonance wasn't just limited to swords."

The Dean's expression shifted slightly, recognizing what that meant.

"All sharp-bladed weapons resonated with him."

Hamiel's voice deepened, carrying a weight that wasn't present before.

"Seeing that, I was more than ready to craft a weapon for him."

He paused for a moment, then added—

"But I'm sure you already know where the problem arises."

His expression darkened slightly, solemn and unwavering.

The Dean's words carried certainty, her voice calm yet laced with understanding—

"His Unique Affinity—something inherited from his bloodline."

Hamiel let out a slow sigh, his nod serving as silent agreement.

Yet—his expression abruptly changed.

Where once there was the weight of regret, now a fire ignited, burning with something unshaken, undeniable.

His eyes gleamed, his posture straightened, and in that moment—the decades of waiting no longer felt like a burden.

"But Today everything changed—I've finally found the talent I've been searching for over fifty years. Now I no longer have the eyes for the Daughter of the Sword Emperor or the Prince."

His voice carried certainty, conviction, the declaration of a man who had spent a lifetime waiting for this moment.

"My search has come to an end—and now, I know I can craft another masterpiece."

The Dean observed him quietly before offering her response, her words edged with intrigue—

"Congratulations. It must be the first-year who was here before I arrived."

She didn't phrase it as a question—she can guess.

Hamiel didn't speak, yet his wide smile served as confirmation. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

The Dean tilted her head slightly, curiosity glinting in her gaze as she pressed forward—

"What was his score on your resonance test?"

She observed his uncharacteristically pleased expression before adding—

"Looking at your smile—it must have been a full hundred."

Her voice carried an undeniable interest.

After all—if the student had truly reached that level, he was on the path to becoming the next Divine Wielder.

Hamiel's voice was firm, unwavering as he delivered the words—

"Not a single one."

The Dean blinked, momentarily stunned into silence.

She rubbed her ears, ensuring she had heard him correctly before leaning forward slightly.

"…How many did you say?"

Hamiel repeated himself—

"Not a single one."

The Dean let out an exaggerated exhale, scoffing as she crossed her arms.

"Hah! So the time has finally come when age has made you senile?"

Her words dripped with mockery, her expression carrying unmistakable doubt.

"I suppose I should start looking for your replacement then—"

Before she could finish, Hamiel's eyes flared, his aura spiking with unrestrained annoyance.

His voice boomed, filled with raw aggression—

"I will really smash your head if you don't shut up!"

Without warning, a massive Warhammer materialized in his grasp—twice his size, its weight undeniable as he held it effortlessly.

The Dean merely clicked her tongue, unimpressed by the display—yet something in Hamiel's posture shifted.

His fingers tightened around the weapon, his expression growing almost maddened, as if recalling something that should not have been possible.

His voice lowered, carrying something heavier—something unsettling.

"You don't understand what I felt when my children reacted to that boy's presence."

The Dean's gaze sharpened slightly, catching the shift in tone.

"Fear."

Hamiel's grip remained firm, his words cutting through the air like steel—

"Every single one of my children was shaking. Constantly. Begging me—not to even let that boy near them."

The Dean's fingers twitched slightly.

Hamiel continued—his fire burning brighter, his eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to obsession.

"My weapons—in the right hands—can strike fear into the mightiest foes. Yet they were shaking in his presence."

His breath was deep, steady, but his words carried an undeniable truth.

"Can you comprehend how special that child must be?"

The Dean remained silent, observing the fire in Hamiel's eyes—the flames of something long lost, now rekindled.

"Mithril, Adamantium, remnants of divinity left behind by Saints, Ancient Relics, Parts of Demonic Beasts, Perfect Elemental Stones—you don't realize how many rare materials I used to forge my children."

His fingers briefly traced the glass casing of one of his creations before his tone darkened slightly, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"Yet despite all that, every single one of them trembled—shouting aloud that they did not want to be wielded by him."

His voice held a rare intensity, a blend of shock and challenge, as if demanding answers from forces beyond his own understanding.

The Dean exhaled sharply, crossing her arms, her expression unreadable.

"I'm sure 'dangerous' would be the right word instead of 'special.'"

Her words hung in the air, pressing a reality that couldn't be ignored.

Yet—Hamiel's reaction was immediate, his voice firm, unwavering.

"Dangerous? What is dangerous?"

His expression tightened, his fiery passion burning even stronger.

"The meaning is simple—the child either possesses a terrifying talent that makes weapons with wills fear him… or it is the weapons themselves that lack the will to accept him."

He stepped forward, the weight of his decision solidifying in his stance.

"In both cases, it only means one thing to me."

His voice deepened, his resolve now absolute.

"I want to forge a weapon for that child—a weapon with a will strong enough to never tremble in his presence."

Hamiel exhaled, his fingers tightening slightly around his desk as his gaze sharpened with resolve.

"In truth, I wanted to tell him immediately that I will forge a weapon for him," he admitted, his tone carrying an unusual mix of eagerness and restraint.

"But after so long without crafting anything truly great, my skills have rusted."

His jaw tightened slightly, frustration evident but controlled.

"And if I'm going to forge a weapon with a will strong enough to withstand him, my current abilities are lacking."

He straightened, his posture firm as his decision solidified.

"First, I'll hone my skills even further—then, and only then, will I think of his weapon."

His eyes locked onto the Dean's, fierce and unwavering, his next words carrying a direct warning—

"And listen carefully—tell the other teachers as well. No pranks. No foolish ideas that might cross your or their minds."

His voice deepened, the intensity sharp enough to unsettle even the boldest of men.

"If anything happens to him because of the Academy…"

He left the words unfinished, but the weight of the unspoken threat hung heavily in the air.

The Dean stood firm, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

She didn't respond to his warning—not out of agreement, but out of certainty.

She wouldn't be an Ascended if she felt threatened by the words of an SSS Ranker.

Yet—she didn't interrupt him.

She simply waited, ready to respond, prepared to shift the conversation—

BANG!

The sound thundered through the office, the doors blown wide open, slamming against the walls with force enough to shake the very room.

And standing at the entrance—

Frederick.

The remnants of the shattered gate lay scattered across the floor, fragments of wood and metal littering the once pristine office.

Through the open frame, Frederick stepped forward, his boots crunching against the debris with complete disregard, as if the destruction was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

His voice carried its usual confidence, laced with amusement as he spoke—

"You seem to be having quite an interesting conversation, old friend. Why don't you let me join in?"

Hamiel's eyes twitched, his gaze snapping toward the wreckage that had once been the entrance to his office.

His voice boomed, raw with irritation—

"YOU MAD BASTARD! YOU COULD HAVE KNOCKED!"