Why Am I The Villain?! Reincarnated in My Favorite Novel-Chapter 40: When Darkness Knocks on a Noble’s Door

The old man blinked, as if the words made no sense. Then, slowly, he straightened up, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair.

"The Dark Hands?" he repeated, his voice low but vibrating with suspicion. "Here? In my manor?"

The servant nodded, terrified.

The butler, still on his knees, dropped a shard of glass that chimed against the floor.

"My Lord, this is madness! The Dark Hands are criminals! If anyone learns you’ve received them..."

The old man ignored him, his narrowed eyes staring at some invisible point.

"Let him in," he ordered suddenly.

The servant’s eyes widened. "My Lord, are you sure—"

"I said: let him in!" the old man roared, leaping to his feet.

The servant vanished down the hallway, and the old man turned to a wall mirror. He adjusted his jacket, smoothed his hair, and muttered to himself,

"Achalon wants to play the tyrant? Very well. Let’s see what the shadows have to offer."

---

A room: black marble columns, carpets woven with golden thread, and a crystal chandelier. The old man stood in the center, arms crossed.

The door opened, and a man entered. He was tall, clad in a grey coat. His face was partially hidden by a scarf. Only his icy blue eyes behind tinted glasses were visible. He gave a slight bow, more ironic than respectful.

"Count Voryn," he said. "Thank you for receiving me."

The Count didn’t move, his gaze drilling into the intruder.

"You’ve got nerve coming here after the Emperor’s announcement. Speak quickly, or I’ll have you beheaded."

Corwin chuckled, a strangely casual sound.

"Straight to the point. I like that." He stepped forward, ignoring the butler’s murderous glare.

"The Emperor has declared war on the Underground—and on you nobles too. You know that, don’t you? This purge won’t stop at the mafia. The Emperor wants to crush anyone who threatens his power. Including old houses like yours."

The Count clenched his fists.

"And you think I’ll ally with criminals? Drug traffickers who poison my people?"

Corwin shrugged. "We’re not your enemies."

The butler couldn’t hold back. "This is absurd! You’re terrorists! You slaughtered innocents in Damos!"

Corwin slowly turned to the butler.

"In Damos, it was an overdose. Controlled, Crimson Eclipse makes one... invincible."

The butler turned to the Count.

"My Lord, no. This is madness. Better to die with honor than—"

He didn’t finish. He was hurled against a wall by an invisible force, pinned in an inverted gravity field.

The butler growled. In a flash of raw willpower, he channeled the energy pressing on him, twisted the wave until it snapped. He landed in a smooth roll, sprang to his feet, and charged straight at Corwin, his fist crackling with supernatural force.

He struck an invisible wall. The impact shook the columns, sending a sonic boom through the room.

Corwin, unfazed, raised an eyebrow behind his blue-tinted glasses.

Side doors burst open. Guards stormed in, firearms aimed at the intruder.

"Don’t shoot!" the Count shouted, eyes locked on the scene.

But the butler didn’t need backup. He bellowed a battle cry, cracked the floor beneath him, and with a sharp blow shattered the barrier with a burst of kinetic energy. The field broke like glass. Corwin staggered back several steps, a gust whipping his coat into a whirl.

The butler charged again.

PANG!

A new shield activated, even denser. The butler slammed into it, the air ripped from his lungs.

"You bastard!" he growled, his voice trembling with pure hatred.

Corwin finally smiled—a calm, almost amused smile. He brushed off his shoulder and turned slightly toward Count Voryn.

"You are quite resourceful. Admirable... but pointless. Count, think. We don’t have to be friends. Just allies. The Emperor is coming for you. As far as he’s concerned, you’re already dead."

He paused, those icy eyes fixed on the noble.

"But I offer you a way out. A war can be won from the shadows."

The butler sliced through the air again, breaking the invisible shield, ready to crush Corwin with a devastating blow.

But before his fist could land, a voice rang out.

"Enough!"

The butler froze, his fist inches from Corwin’s face.

Corwin blinked. "Impressive."

The Count wasn’t listening anymore. He stepped forward slowly. When he was just a few feet away, he spoke in a deep voice, colder than the emissary’s eyes.

"You dare come here, into my domain, threaten my people, and insult me with illusions of power... Very well. I’m listening. What do the Dark Hands want from me?"

Corwin tilted his head slightly. Then replied, calmly,

"Information. Access. Your networks, your contacts among the nobility, the army, the old families. House Voryn is one of the few that still inspires fear and respect in the Empire. The nobles listen to you, local governors bend to your will, even the Emperor’s officers hesitate to cross your path. You’ve spent your life building a political chessboard. We want to play on it."

The Count growled. "In exchange for what?"

Corwin extended a hand.

"In exchange for a future. A firebreak against the purge. And, if you want it... a vacant throne when the dust settles."

"You’re asking me to betray the Empire."

Corwin smiled, slowly. "No, Count. I’m offering you the chance to survive its fall."

The Count narrowed his eyes. "And if I refuse?"

Corwin shrugged again, the gesture casual. "Then I’ll leave. You’ll never see us again."

Count Voryn stood still, staring at Corwin.

At last, he spoke, his voice slow and measured.

"You’re asking me to betray everything I am. And you think I’ll accept that for a vague promise of survival?"

Corwin tilted his head again, the smile returning—sharper this time.

"I’m not asking you to betray, Count. I’m asking you to survive. To play the game, as you always have. You didn’t build House Voryn by staying pure. You know war isn’t won with ideals—but with choices. So choose. Us, or oblivion."

The Count glanced at the butler, who trembled with restrained fury. Then turned his gaze back to Corwin.

"If I do this," he said, "it’ll be on my terms. Not yours."

Corwin chuckled softly. "Of course. We’re not here to put you on a leash, Count. We want a partner, not a pawn."

The Count didn’t reply right away. He slowly walked over to one of the columns, placed a hand on the cold marble. Then, without turning, he murmured,

"Tell me your plan. And don’t waste my time."

Corwin nodded, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"With pleasure, Count. But first..." He glanced at the butler, whose fist still hovered inches from his face.

"Perhaps you could ask your guard dog to calm down. Strategic discussions are always more pleasant without a punch in the face."

The butler growled, but the Count raised a hand—a silent command. Reluctantly, the butler stepped back.

The guards, still standing by the doors, lowered their weapons at a discreet sign from their master, though their eyes remained locked on Corwin, ready to act at the slightest wrong move.

"Speak," said the Count.

Corwin adjusted his coat collar.

"Very well," he began.

"The Dark Hands are not what you think. Yes, we operate in the shadows. Yes, we have blood on our hands. But we’re not ordinary criminals, and certainly not terrorists. We’re a response. A response to an Empire rotting from the inside."

The Count raised an eyebrow but did not interrupt. Corwin continued, his voice steady, laced with cold conviction.

"The Emperor isn’t a leader. He’s a tyrant hiding behind a crown. His purge isn’t about justice—it’s about consolidating power. He doesn’t just want to crush the Underground; he wants to eliminate every voice, every force that could challenge him. Nobles, old houses, local governors... you’re all on his list. You know it, Count. You’ve seen it in his decrees, in the public executions, in the garrisons he’s sent to your lands under the guise of ’protection.’

Tell me, Count Voryn—how many nobles have ’disappeared’ in recent months? How many houses accused of treason for invented crimes? How many lands seized under false pretenses?"

The Count crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.

"Stick to the facts."

Corwin walked to a table where a crystal decanter and glasses sat. Without asking, he poured himself a glass of wine, swirled it, then set it down untouched.

"Our plan begins with a lie," he said simply.