Reincarnated As A First Rate Villain: I Don't Know How To Play My Role-Chapter 47

The golden glow of the late afternoon sun spilled across the polished marble steps of the Velebrandt mansion, catching the faint shimmer of the crest above the doors—the winged lion standing proudly at the center of a shield. In the courtyard, the prestigious Velebrandt family stood surrounded by the loyal retainers of their household, the crisp wind carrying the scent of pine and distant smoke from the training grounds.

Lucien stood beside his mother and father, his newly grown stature and refined features a stark contrast to the boy who had left a week ago. The transformation had been subtle, but undeniable—his posture was firmer, his presence more composed, and his eyes, once brimming with juvenile defiance, now held the sharp glint of silent calculation.

A soft, velvet silence lingered as Aldric Thorne Velebrandt, the Grand Duke himself, stood tall and contemplative, his white hair flowing like winter silk, eyes like tempered steel fixed on his eldest son.

"The system has remained inactive for three days now," Aldric said, voice calm yet laced with concern. "We must be certain of what power you’ve awakened, Lucien. Whether it be mana, aura, or holy power, we can’t proceed without confirmation."

Seraphina Lysandra Velebrandt, standing beside her husband, gently adjusted Emilien in her arms. Her gray eyes, so often enigmatic, were unusually soft today.

"There are probably rituals," she murmured, her voice like flowing satin. "That may the caster’s feel the power lying inside of you. But they’re... archaic. And may not be accurate."

Lucien’s gaze wandered to the horizon. "I understand," he replied quietly, eyes thoughtful. "We’ll do what must be done."

Knight Rex, ever silent at Lucien’s flank, maintained a soldier’s posture. His ash-gray hair shifted slightly with the wind, eyes alert. He had seen many noble scions return from awakenings, but none so changed. None who carried the aura of someone reborn.

He’s no longer just a child. He walks with purpose.

Before more could be said, Lucien tilted his head slightly, having just noticed something.

His gaze settled on his mother’s figure—slender as ever, but her stomach, once round with pregnancy, was now as it had always been.

"...Mother," Lucien asked, blinking slowly. "Have you... already given birth while I was away?"

A moment passed. Seraphina and Aldric exchanged a glance—unspoken understanding flickering between them like an old candle.

It was Seraphina who answered first.

She smiled gently. "Yes, Lucien. A few days ago. A healthy baby girl."

"Amanda," Aldric added simply.

Lucien nodded slowly, his expression touched with a measured surprise. "I see... Amanda," he echoed softly. It was a name he recognized—one that had appeared only once in the game’s opening prologue.

He stored that thought away.

Aldric cleared his throat, tone shifting. "You’ve had a long journey back. We’ll speak of powers and paths another time. For now, rest. Tonight is your birthday. The entire estate is prepared to honor it."

Lucien gave a small bow of his head. "Yes, Father."

Just as the family turned to ascend the grand stairway into the mansion, a tiny voice cut through the formal air.

"Big Brother... can you carry me?"

Lucien blinked.

His eyes dropped to the soft golden-haired child in Seraphina’s arms. Emilien—five years old, bright-eyed and curious—was now reaching out toward him, arms wiggling impatiently.

Seraphina looked briefly alarmed. "Emilien, now isn’t the—"

"It’s alright," Lucien interrupted gently. "I don’t mind."

Emilien’s eyes sparkled as he gave a delighted squeal and stretched out his arms. Carefully, Lucien stepped forward and placed his hands around the boy’s small frame, lifting him up with practiced ease. The boy was light, warm, and smelled faintly of cinnamon pastries.

"Higher! Higher!" Emilien giggled.

A small smile tugged at Lucien’s lips.

"You’ll be flying soon at this rate," he said.

Seraphina looked at them with a rare, luminous smile, and even Aldric—stoic and steelhearted—let the corner of his lips lift in faint approval. The gathered maids, still aligned in perfect order, exchanged discreet glances, some blushing, others stifling giggles.

________________________________________

The soft rustle of wind chimes echoed faintly through the high-arched corridors as Lucien strolled through the inner halls of the Velebrandt mansion. Ornate columns lined with exotic trailing vines, and rare designer plants in sculpted porcelain vases flanked his path. Each vase was a masterpiece—some shaped like ancient dragons coiled in mid-roar, others bearing the delicate likeness of forest spirits, all of them humming softly with faint traces of mana.

The mansion’s air carried the scent of fresh polish and blooming velvet lotus, while the floors gleamed with a mirrored shine. Maids passed by in graceful cadence, heads lowered respectfully as they scurried to clean or rearrange intricate table settings and bouquet arrangements in anticipation of tonight’s grand celebration. Lucien, carrying his little brother, Emilien, walked calmly, his steps purposeful despite the sea of sensory details around him.

Just as they reached the bifurcated stairs that led up to the residential wings, Archduchess Seraphina extended her arms, and Lucien carefully returned Emilien to his mother’s embrace. The boy clung lightly to Lucien’s tunic before finally letting go with a yawn and a smile.

"Thank you, big brother," Emilien said, his eyes twinkling.

Lucien gave him a soft head pat. "Stay cute, squirt."

His mother chuckled at that, her elegant posture unwavering even with a baby on one arm and a five-year-old in the other. Grand Duke Aldric gave Lucien a firm nod before turning back toward the main hall. Lucien watched them go, the weight of their approval still lingering in his chest.

The door to Lucien’s chambers clicked softly as he shut it behind him. The outside world, with its chatter and expectation, faded instantly. His sanctuary was as opulent as one might expect from a highborn heir—walls lined with darkwood bookshelves, enchanted lanterns glowing with muted gold light, and velvet curtains rippling softly with the breeze from an open window.

But Lucien’s attention was only on one thing.

The mirror.

A full-length mirror framed in black marble stood across the room. Etched with arcane runes and shaped with sharp corners, it was less a vanity and more a monolith of self-awareness. He walked to it slowly, almost hesitantly, and then stopped—staring.

His reflection stared back.

"...Holy shit."

Lucien blinked, then leaned closer, studying every angle.

His face...

It was beautiful.

Sharp jawline. Pale, flawless skin. Long silver hair cascading down past his shoulders in silken waves. One red eye, gleaming like a cursed ruby, and the other, a storm-gray orb holding hidden knowledge. He wasn’t just handsome. He looked like the final boss of a visual novel—someone who ruined kingdoms with a smile.

He slowly raised a hand to his cheek, feeling the smoothness of it. His fingers trembled slightly.

"All those hours..." he muttered. "All those hours adjusting the brow arch, cheekbones, lip symmetry—worth it."

He turned sideways, running his fingers along his chin and jaw, then struck a faint smile. "I don’t just look good. I look...deadly."

Lucien broke away from the mirror and jumped back onto the bed like a falling star. The plush mattress caught him with a soft bounce as his limbs sprawled out like a relaxed starfish. A low, satisfied sigh escaped him.

"Fufufu..." he laughed to himself in a half-whisper, a mock-villainous chuckle slipping out. "With this face, I can get all the girls... hell, even some of the future heroes might fall for me if they’re girls. Beauty truly is a weapon."

His voice slowed at the end of that thought. A quiet moment settled.

"...Though I can’t forget what that goddess said."

He turned his head to the side, looking at the intricately carved ceiling. The Goddess Elyssira’s voice echoed in his mind—not a memory, but a divine imprint.

’If you can... act as the villain. Drive them to grow stronger. This is the only way to prevent the next failure.’

Lucien had agreed then, when she offered him this life in exchange for playing a necessary evil. She had promised he would be strong enough to survive it all.

"Act like a villain, huh..." he muttered. "But what if I end up liking the role too much?"

His chest rose and fell slowly.

He closed his eyes. "No use thinking about it now."

His lips curved into a grin once more. "First... let’s enjoy being beautiful."

As the soft hum of a magic cooling glyph sprang to life on the walls, a refreshing breeze swept through the room, rustling the curtains.

Lucien’s breath slowed, and his thoughts began to unravel. Drifting on a tide of plans, memories, and futures yet to unfold, he curled onto his side, his form evoking a prince in stillness.

Lucien surrendered to sleep, enveloped in the tranquil hush of his sanctuary.

_______________________________________

The room was steeped in a gentle twilight hue, the only illumination a faint green glow that pulsed softly from the embedded mana circuits woven into the etched patterns along the walls. It was neither day nor night here—only the tranquil silence of evening preparation, where the mansion itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of celebration.

In the center of this silence, Lucien slept soundly.

His breathing was deep and even, his chest slowly rising and falling beneath a silk-lined tunic wrinkled from restless movement. A small trail of drool had formed at the corner of his lips, shimmering faintly in the green light. His silver hair—usually impeccable under the care of maids—was now a chaotic mess, strands flaring in different directions like a halo of moonlit feathers. His arm lay draped over the side of the bed, and one leg had escaped the warm sheets, as if the young master had long given up fighting for any proper sleeping position.

Beyond the door, soft footsteps paused.

A muffled knock came—three gentle taps against the oaken surface.

"Young master?" a woman’s voice whispered with a respectful lilt, barely louder than the rustling of silk. "Please forgive me for the intrusion. The Grand Duke has given his request... I must prepare you for the evening’s celebration."

The door creaked open, its hinges soundless thanks to years of well-kept maintenance.

Marie stepped into the dim room, dressed not in her usual working uniform but in a formal maid’s ceremonial attire. The fabric shimmered subtly with threads of starlight-silver and midnight-blue, clearly sewn from high-tier enchanted cloth that resisted stains and maintained pristine form. A white rose pin was nestled in her chestnut-brown hair, which had been tied back neatly into a twist, giving her a softer, more mature appearance.

In her arms, she carried a noble’s cloak—long, dark, and lined with silver embroidery that bore the proud winged lion crest of House Velebrandt. It was an outfit fit for an heir... no, fit for a prince.

Marie gently set the garment down on the cushioned bench by the bedside and turned her attention to the sleeping boy.

She approached quietly, careful not to wake him too abruptly.

Kneeling beside the bed, she tilted her head slightly, observing his peaceful expression. Even in sleep, Lucien exuded an odd charm—no longer the sickly noble child the estate once knew, but someone whose mere presence commanded attention. The new, striking beauty of his features made her pause for just a moment longer than she meant to.

"...You really did change," she murmured under her breath, almost like a confession.

Then, leaning forward, she gently nudged his shoulder.

"Young master... it’s time to wake up," she said softly, voice barely above a whisper, as the green luminescence flickered across her face.

Lucien stirred faintly, a grunt escaping his throat.