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[Villian] Book 2 - Chapter 30: Woman Troubles
🕑 Added 2025-06-14 09:04:04 +0000 UTCDamien tapped his foot with an impatient rhythm as he watched the incompetent employees of Thar attempt to hoist a piece of magisteel armor onto the final Aurel.
To be fair to them, this particular Aurel was being uncooperative despite being smothered in Angel Tears.
“Come on, men! One more time! HEAVE!”
“HO!”
“HEAVE!”
“HO!”
Grunts of manual labor echoed through the stone prison as the men used an improvised pulley system to bring the titanic suits of armor up to the floating Aurel. Eventually, with a distinct clang, the pieces fit together. A worker then moved around on a step ladder and fastened the straps and buckles. It was a labor-intensive task, and a thin layer of sweat covered the young lad’s forehead. With a final grunt and grin, the lad finished the job and hopped off the ladder.
“All completed, Master.”
Thar smacked the lad on the shoulder. “Good job.” Thar then turned to his master, who was patiently waiting. “That was the last one.”
“I can see that,” Damien snapped back. Watching such incompetence for three hours had driven him nearly insane. On multiple occasions, he had secretly helped with psychokinesis despite being engrossed in his own project. If not for Thar begging him to let the men improve their teamwork, he would have handled all the manual labor with a simple flick of his eyes and a mere thought.
It was times like these that Damien realized how practical magic was. He always focused on magic’s destructiveness or killing potential but never its everyday uses. But unfortunately, time was of the essence now, as this job had taken far longer than necessary, and the portal was soon going to close.
Damien walked past his new favorite toy. The Aurel with whom he had formed a mutual understanding was decked out in the most impressive armor Damien had ever seen. Since the Aurel floated, it made the enormous mass of armor even more intimidating. An amber glow shone through the slits in the helmet, and Damien admired the well-crafted horns that gave the floating warlord a more menacing presence.
But these details mattered not when one took a moment to appreciate the black metal armor covered in intricate blood runes that Damien had spent the last few painstaking hours engraving. The runes pulsed with life, making the armor feel alive.
Thar whistled as he joined Damien’s side and inspected his handiwork. “Such craftsmanship. Master, you must have immense concentration to perform such a feat with this lot grunting and shouting around you.”
For once, Damien appreciated his traits. He understood they were a part of him, and there was little he could do to change them. But his concentration trait had worked an absolute charm during this process. Besides reading through some magic books, this was the first time he had sat down and focused all his attention on something. To Thar’s untrained eye, the runic scripts were a masterpiece, but to Damien, they were glorified blood graffiti on the black armor; it looked sophisticated with a subtle danger hidden within.
“So…”
“No need to look so confused, my disciple. It’s only natural you can’t read this advanced runic script. But as your master, it is my duty to teach you. So come, look here.” Damien pointed toward the runic graffiti covering the juggernaut’s headpiece. “The head is by far the most crucial area for the Aurel, just like many sentient creatures. However, in this case, the Aurel can keep fighting without a head, but I would lose control.”
“The amber mask?”
“Exactly.” Damien nodded. “The Aurel below the suit of armor and robes is immortal. It cannot die. But the clothes it wears are only so strong. Moreover, the amber mask cannot have any runes drawn upon its surface as they may interfere with the absorption of Angel Tears. Hence I heavily enchanted the helmet.”
Damien traced a finger along one line of the script. “This here reads, ᚱᛖᚠᛟᚱᛗᚨᛏᛁᛟᚾ (Reformation).”
Thar gasped at the ancient-sounding word. “A one-word script! How profound. What does it do?”
Damien grinned. “Whenever the helmet gets bent or broken, it uses the enemies’ blood with a spell called Blood Transmutation to patch up the holes.”
Thar looked horrified. “So this armor repairs itself with the blood of others?”
“Not quite. Blood Transmutation allows quick constructs from blood. For example, I could erect a meter-high wall of pure blood or create a sword from my blood.” Damien slashed his finger with his nail, and a few droplets of blood trickled out. He then willed the droplets to expand into the form of a sword.
Some of the workers who stood around gasped in amazement at Damien wielding a shimmering blade that whistled through the air as he practiced a few clumsy movements. Never trained with the sword, and my germophobia trait prevents me from learning any skills, what a shame.
“It is one of the reasons vampires can walk around naked all the time. It takes only a second to form weapons such as this sword. Anyway, the point is they are temporary constructs, so the armor would still need repairing once the battle is over.”
I got the idea from space movies where spaceships had forcefields to patch holes. Unfortunately, to create a runic circuit that could repair the metal on the fly is far too advanced for me and would require the Aurel to have endless magic pools and the ability to create metal from thin air.
“So how does it attack?”
Damien blinked at the question. “They…eat people? Tear them limb from limb?”
Thar took a single hesitant step back. “Right. That makes sense. But what if they could use ranged weapons, like a crossbow?”
Why did I never think of that? Damien frowned. “A ranged weapon, huh? That’s a good idea, but crossbows don’t match the aesthetic I’m going for here. They make me think of weak and untrained soldiers or perhaps an assassin. But an immortal juggernaut wielding a puny crossbow? Ridiculous.” Suddenly a dangerous thought crossed Damien’s mind, one so horrifyingly beautiful that he felt evil even thinking about it.
“Guns. We need to make guns,” Damien proclaimed with gusto. “Blood bullets with guns, it’s genius!”
“Guns, Master? A foreign type of weapon, perhaps?”
Damien grinned as he slapped his gloved hand on the half orc’s shoulder. “You are going to love this. Maybe I should use one as well? My skill set matches their use like a well-tailored suit.”
***
Damien spent the next few hours using psychokinesis and his spatial storage to move the heavier materials that the residents had struggled to move by themselves over the previous few days through the portal. I am beyond wealthy now; alas, this wealth is only so useful. I should start minting my own coins now that I have reserves of foreign coins to trade with. At this thought, he realized something. Although not official, he was technically a king. He had land, people to rule, and enough wealth to rival a tiny kingdom. Isn’t this how the kings of old ascended to power? I still have Earth’s silly values of democracy and being officially declared a title by an external organization. But this is a fantasy world; whoever has the biggest stick to hit back armies and keep the peasants in line is a king.
Shaking his head, Damien focused on the task at hand. Best not to get sidetracked. For now, my dreams of carefree living forever in a grand palace are still as distant as ever, especially with the central continent making an unpleasant appearance.
With the portal finally closed, Damien took to the skies and looked over his domain. Blackthorn months ago had reminded him of a rural farming village out in the sticks. It smelled awful, the people were poor and depressed, and the place crawled with criminal activity.
But under his meticulous rule and supervision, which some may consider a dictatorship, he had transformed the shoddy village into a bustling city. Stone and wooden houses spread out for miles, lining cobbled and sometimes smooth stone streets. Well-maintained walkways connected the upper floors making it a multi-level city that allowed for foot traffic to avoid the roads below that were bustling with carriages. However, the most impressive sight was the ten-meter tall castle walls, constructed with the help of Richard Cunningdal’s Earth magic and hundreds of employed residents.
Surrounding the impressive castle walls were miles of lush farmland. Aqueducts brought water from Tarlington Lake down to feed these well-maintained farms. Due to the blood tax, Roselyn had a lot of blood to fill the soil with lifeforce and nutrients.
Randy had reported to Damien that sometimes farmers came to him with poorly written letters expressing their gratitude, and some even fainted from trying to overpay the tax. Not everyone is keen on the blood tax, but seeing the farmers so happy and getting so much cheap food will win them all around eventually.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the farmers returned to their grumpy wives or to drown their problems in crude ale.
Damien watched as undead under Roselyn’s control climbed from hidden chambers beneath the land and began patrolling the fields. Sometimes, the occasional monster would attempt to steal or trample the fields, but sadly, the bigger issue was thieves.
The weak skeletons would die from a simple wooden club to the skull, but they acted as a deterrent and warning system. Few were brave enough to face the undead in the darkness; even if they did, once they perished, Roselyn was notified of the position, and her roots apprehended the target.
“Maybe I should gift this city to Roselyn,” Damien mused. “She does so much of the work around here. Perhaps a noble title will suffice?” He liked the idea. Should he follow the standard noble system or create his own? Such was the fun of owning a country. He could make all the choices since this is a fantasy world with no annoying organizations… Except the central continent nobility may have a say in the matter, especially since I am now one of them.
“Speaking of nobility…” Damien knew he needed to have that talk with Emilia, but maybe now was not the best time. “The bloodline awakening is tempting, but I must handle this issue carefully.” Despite his elusive thoughts of being a king, he was not a king yet. The negotiations between the two would favor him if he had a stronger leg to stand on. “Although she has fled north, her father, Edward Greentail, still lives. Until he dies, she can call on his support involving matters.” Although he was quietly ruling his kingdom, for now, the king was no pushover. His experts and connections threaten me even with Vanity’s support.
Damien grumbled as he watched the final golden glow of the setting sun. “Did not expect a woman to be more of a headache than running a city.”
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Austin T Delpier
TFTC
