Summoned a Hero But Got a Villain Instead-Chapter 99: Forged in Four Weeks

The walk back to their assigned building was a long, silent journey through a city that now felt like a beautiful, gilded cage.

Dante’s mind was a storm of calculation and strategy. The headmaster’s threats, the revelation of the champion Lucaris, the cruel, elegant trap of the one-on-one duels—it was a complex, dangerous puzzle, and he was already moving the pieces in his head.

His first move was simple and practical.

As he passed over a narrow bridge crossing one of the academy’s many serene, magically lit canals, he paused. He took the sleek, silver smartphone he’d taken from the bully out of his pocket.

He’d already drained it of its last credit—a small, petty act of revenge that had brought him a flicker of satisfaction. Now it was a liability. A tracking device. A breadcrumb trail leading back to a crime he had no intention of answering for.

With a casual, almost lazy flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the dark, flowing water.

Plink.

The sound was small, insignificant. The phone vanished without a ripple, its secrets swallowed by the canal.

The evidence was gone. The trail was cold. He was a ghost again.

When he finally reached the tall, imposing building that was their temporary home, the front doors slid open with a soft, magical hiss.

The common room was dimly lit, the only light coming from a low, crackling fire in the grand stone fireplace.

A figure was waiting for him.

"You’re back."

Lana’s voice was a low, soft purr from the shadows. She was curled up in a large, velvet armchair by the fire, a book resting unread in her lap. She rose as he entered, her movements fluid and predatory. She was the first to greet him—a silent, possessive claim in the quiet of the night.

"Where are the others?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, his eyes scanning the empty room.

"Sleeping," she replied, a small, knowing smile on her lips. "They were exhausted. Worried. You were gone for a long time."

She glided closer, her amethyst eyes searching his face. "Did you have fun on your little adventure?"

Before he could answer, another door opened.

Erica stood there, her fiery red hair a stark, beautiful contrast to the simple grey sleep clothes she wore. Her eyes were wide, her expression a mixture of profound relief and deep, wounded hurt.

"Dante," she breathed, her voice small and trembling. "You’re okay."

He simply nodded, his gaze sweeping over the two of them. The valkyrie and the queen. His two most powerful, and most unstable, weapons.

"Gather the others," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I have gifts."

The word, so simple and so unexpected, hung in the air.

A few minutes later, the entire team was assembled in the common room. They were a collection of weary, battle-scarred soldiers, their faces full of cautious, tired curiosity.

Dante stood before them, a king before his court.

He reached into the empty space beside him, his hand disappearing into the invisible tear in reality that was his Rift Storage. One by one, he began to pull out his treasures.

He presented the first outfit to Talia.

It was the sleek, practical, deadly ensemble Clara had chosen. Talia took it, her usually guarded expression softening into genuine, surprised appreciation. She ran a hand over the tough, stylish leather of the jacket. A rare, small smile touched her lips.

"Thank you, Dante," she said, her voice quiet and sincere. "It’s perfect."

Next was Jin.

Dante handed him the simple, black martial arts uniform and the formal, dark blue blazer. Jin accepted them with a solemn, grateful nod. He saw not just clothes, but a gesture of respect from his commander—a recognition of his role as a disciplined, dedicated warrior.

Then came Masha.

Dante held out the elegant, powerful gown. It was a dress of deep, rich fabric, its color the shade of a winter sky just before a storm. And woven into its threads, almost invisible, was a subtle, shimmering pattern that seemed to hold a faint, inner warmth.

Masha stared at it, her cool, composed mask faltering for a second. She reached out and touched the fabric, her fingers tracing the warm, hidden pattern.

Her gaze lifted to his, her intelligent eyes full of a new, complex, utterly unguarded emotion.

She saw not just a dress, but a message. ’Something warm.’

He’d remembered. He’d listened. The cold, calculating tyrant had, in his own strange, logical way, shown her a flicker of something that was almost... kindness.

"It is... acceptable," she said, her voice low and quiet, though her eyes told a different story.

Erica was next.

Dante presented her with the crimson, firelight skirt, the elegant black top, and the tough, stylish leather jacket. She took the clothes, her hands trembling slightly. She looked at the outfit—at the perfect, beautiful expression of her own fiery, warrior spirit.

She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of pure, unadulterated joy.

She didn’t need to speak. Her entire being was a silent, screaming testament to her happiness.

Finally, he turned to Lana.

He held out the simple, flowing gown of midnight blue silk. It was a dress of pure, perfect, understated beauty—a quiet canvas for the chaotic, vibrant storm that was her personality.

Lana looked at the dress. Then she looked at him.

A slow, genuine, completely dazzling smile spread across her face. Not her usual manic grin or her predatory purr. It was a smile of pure, unadulterated delight.

"It’s gorgeous," she whispered, her voice full of soft, childlike wonder he’d never heard from her before.

She took the dress, holding it up against herself. The deep blue silk was a perfect contrast to her pale skin and raven-black hair. She looked at him, her amethyst eyes shining with a new, different kind of light.

Not possession. Not obsession. A flicker of something that was almost... happy.

The room was filled with a rare, fragile moment of peace and happiness. They weren’t soldiers or heroes. They were a group of friends, sharing in a simple, human moment of gift-giving.

Dante let them have their moment. He let them enjoy the feel of new clothes, the taste of the desserts he’d brought back, the simple, profound relief of a mission accomplished.

Then he shattered it.

"The bet is made," he said, his voice cold and hard, cutting through the warm, happy atmosphere.

They all froze, turning to look at him.

"We have one month," he continued, his gaze sweeping over each of them, his eyes now burning with cold, familiar fire. "One month to prepare."

"We’ll face six champions, one from each of the great kingdoms. They’ll be the best of the best, warriors who’ve spent their entire lives training for a battle like this."

He took a step forward, his presence filling the room. The happy, gift-giving friend was replaced by the ruthless, demanding commander.

"The stakes aren’t just our freedom," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "They’re our lives. Rowan of Thalric, the king of the north, wants me dead."

"He’ll send his strongest warrior, a hero from a past trial named Lucaris, and he’ll order him to kill me in the arena. The Vampire King wants our blood. They’re not playing a game. They’re coming to execute us."

He let the weight of his words settle over them. The cold, hard reality of their situation extinguishing the last of their warmth.

"We cannot lose," he declared, his voice a final, absolute command. "We must win at least four of the six duels. A draw is a loss. And a loss is death."

He looked at each of them, his gaze a physical, demanding thing.

"So for the next four weeks, you will not rest. You will not relax. You will train until your bones ache and your muscles scream."

"You’ll push yourselves past every limit you thought you had. You’ll become the gods they think we are."

---

The next four weeks were a blur of pain, sweat, and a single, unifying purpose.

The luxurious building they’d been given became a training ground. A forge where he would hammer his broken soldiers into an army of gods.

Jin and Talia became a single, deadly unit. They sparred from dawn until dusk, their movements a blur of steel and shadow. Jin, with his new gauntlets, learned to parry not just with his sword, but with his body, becoming a living fortress of offense and defense. Talia, with her poisoned daggers, became a ghost—her movements so fast, so silent, that even Jin could barely track her.

Masha locked herself in the library, the Grimoire of Hoarfrost her only companion. She didn’t just learn its spells; she absorbed them, dissected them, made them a part of her very being. The air in her room was a constant, swirling blizzard. Her control over her element became absolute.

Erica and Lana, their rivalry now a focused, competitive fire, pushed each other to new, terrifying heights. They spent hours in the training grounds, their battles a chaotic, beautiful symphony of fire and force. Their power grew with every explosive, near-lethal exchange.

And Dante... he was the eye of the storm.

He oversaw it all. His commands were sharp, his critiques brutal, his expectations impossibly high. He pushed them, broke them, and then, with a single, carefully chosen word of praise, he would build them back up—stronger than before.

He trained himself with relentless, merciless intensity. He mastered his new sword skills, his body a blur of motion as he practiced the Void Rending Waltz, his black sword a whisper of death in the air. He tested the limits of his new, immortal body. His new, limitless mana. He learned to weave his necromancy with precision.

They were no longer just a team.

They were a weapon. And they were being sharpened to a razor’s edge.

---

The final day arrived. The month was over.

The morning of the fight dawned, a pale, grey light in the sky.

They gathered in the common room one last time. They weren’t the same people who’d stumbled out of the trial. Their eyes were hard, their bodies were honed, their spirits were forged in the fires of a desperate, unifying purpose.

They were ready.