Chapter 1: I Reincarnated as History’s Greatest Villain

Chapter 1. I Reincarnated as History’s Greatest Villain

"I need more coffee..."

That was probably the last thought I had in my first life.

My name was Evan Veyr.

Twenty-eight years old. Single. Magic researcher. Professional enemy of normal sleeping schedules.

I had entered the Arcane Research Institute when I was eighteen and somehow became the youngest officially recognized magic researcher in modern history. Ten years later, I had publications, awards, several unfinished projects, and absolutely no ability to recognize when my body was begging me to go to bed.

Tonight was particularly bad.

Or morning.

I wasn’t sure anymore.

An ancient book lay open across my desk, its yellowed pages covered in archaic magical symbols and notes written in a language that hadn’t been properly used for thousands of years.

It had recently been excavated from an ancient tomb.

And the subject was none other than Rey Valen.

Royal Magus.

One of the legendary Five Heroes who killed the Dark Lord.

And later...

The most infamous magician in human history.

According to modern records, Rey became obsessed with forbidden magic after the war. Eventually, he sacrificed his five wives, five princesses from different races whom he had once saved.

Then his former teammates killed him.

Classic heroic tragedy.

Except this book contained details that didn’t match the official records.

Which was why I had been sitting here all night.

I squinted at another damaged paragraph. "Come on... Just one more symbol..."

My eyes burned.

The clock read 5:37 AM.

There were six empty coffee cans around me.

"Okay." I stood. "I need more coffee."

What I actually needed was sleep.

But researchers rarely make sensible decisions when they’re one paragraph away from discovering something academically offensive.

I stepped away from my desk.

My heel landed on something wet.

Ah, right... The water I had spilled hours ago.

I had told myself I would clean it later.

Apparently, later had arrived.

My foot shot forward.

"Whoa—!"

I grabbed for the desk.

Missed.

My other foot betrayed me too.

For one beautiful second, I floated horizontally through the air while wondering whether magical researchers received dignity after death.

Then the back of my head met the floor.

-CRACK!

Everything went black.

And that was how Evan Veyr, the youngest magic researcher in history, died because he was too lazy to wipe up a puddle.

A dignified end.

Truly.

My final regret?

Not love.

My three unfinished research projects.

Those poor things would never know how brilliant they were supposed to become.

I imagined future researchers standing before my portrait in the institute.

Evan Veyr. Genius. Pioneer. The Brilliant Magic Researcher.

Then I opened my eyes.

For several seconds, I didn’t move.

Mostly because I was waiting for the pain.

Head trauma should hurt. A lot. There should have been nausea. Confusion. Maybe blood. Maybe screaming. Maybe a very concerned emergency medic asking why a grown man had six empty coffee cans and an ancient cursed manuscript beside his corpse.

Instead, I felt...

Cold.

Not emotionally.

Literally cold.

The floor beneath my knees felt like polished stone, and the air smelled faintly of incense, salt, metal, and something darker I couldn’t immediately identify.

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then noticed the blade in my hand.

I became very still.

It was beautiful.

That was admittedly not the first reaction a recently deceased person should have when waking up holding a knife, but professional habits were difficult to kill.

Apparently even death hadn’t managed it.

A crimson gemstone sat beneath the guard.

I slowly lifted it.

Mana moved through the inscriptions.

Not modern mana circuitry.

Older. Much older.

"Oh." I turned it toward the light. "Nice blade."

I studied the runes. My brows rose. "I wonder where it came from."

Something flashed directly in front of my face.

[Congratulations!]

I flinched so hard that I nearly stabbed myself. "Gah—!"

The glowing letters remained suspended in the air.

Black text surrounded by faint violet light.

I stared.

The text stared back.

Technically, text couldn’t stare.

This one somehow felt judgmental anyway.

[Reincarnation successfully completed.]

[Compatible soul synchronization: Complete.]

[Memory integration: In progress.]

[Congratulations, Evan Veyr.]

[You have successfully reincarnated as...]

The final line appeared larger than the others.

[REY VALEN]

...

No.

I read it again.

[REY VALEN]

Still no.

"That’s not funny."

The system did not apologize.

My fingers tightened around the blade.

Rey Valen.

Royal Magus.

One of the Five Heroes.

Murderer

Historically documented psychopath.

Husband of five women who all ended up dead.

And, more importantly, the man whose ancient records I had literally been studying less than a minute before my highly respectable encounter with the floor.

"Absolutely not."

I rose too quickly.

The room tilted.

I caught myself against a nearby table.

Then froze again.

That hand wasn’t mine.

Longer fingers.

Paler skin.

Small cuts around the knuckles.

I looked down.

My body was wrong.

Well. Technically it was excellent.

But wrong.

I wore dark trousers, black boots, and what appeared to have once been a very expensive white shirt. The shirt was now partly open and stained with blood around several places.

My chest was broader than before.

My arms actually had muscle.

How offensive.

Ten years of research had given me terrible posture and the cardiovascular endurance of a decorative pillow.

Whoever owned this body had clearly been unfairly blessed.

I noticed a mirror near the far wall.

Large.

Silver-framed.

I walked toward it slowly.

The man inside walked toward me.

I stopped.

So did he.

Dark hair fell messily over his forehead, almost reaching his eyes. His face was sharp without being too severe. Straight nose. Defined jaw. Pale skin.

Handsome.

Annoyingly handsome.

Around my age too.

Twenty-eight, perhaps.

Maybe twenty-nine.

Good build.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Lean waist.

And those eyes...

I leaned closer.

Cold.

Not dead.

Just naturally sharp, like he had spent his entire life looking at people and finding them disappointing.

"Damn."

I tilted my head.

The reflection copied me.

"Rey Valen was good-looking."

History books had severely undersold that detail.

Most paintings made him look like a sleep-deprived demon who hadn’t smiled since childhood.

Though, admittedly...

I pushed my hair back.

Messy.

There were faint shadows under my eyes too.

So perhaps the painters hadn’t been entirely dishonest.

Then I noticed the cuts.