Why Am I The Villain?! Reincarnated in My Favorite Novel-Chapter 42: Purificamus Per Ignem

Joranis, Southern District – Ritterheim Command Post

H-Hour +1 after the Imperial Edict

Stavos closed his eyes for a moment.

"Thermal scan of Sector 7-G: objective achieved at 98%," reported a metallic voice from one of the officers in the control room. Dozens of bluish screens cast sharp shadows across his angular face.

On the monitors, red silhouettes moved frantically through a maze of tunnels. Green dots surrounded them with mechanical precision, unfazed by the improvised projectiles bouncing off their armor. A close-up captured a mother clutching her child, mouth twisted in a silent scream—the cameras picked up no sound. The image jolted as an incendiary grenade exploded nearby.

"We could’ve evacuated them..." murmured a young operator at her console, fingers hovering above the holographic keyboard.

The crisp smack of a leather glove on metal echoed through the room, making everyone jump. Stavos had turned. His grey eyes pierced straight through her.

"A question, Operator?" His voice was soft—too soft. The kind of softness that slid like a blade being slowly drawn from its sheath.

She turned pale. Nearby technicians quickly averted their eyes, hands flying over controls.

"N-no, Commander."

Stavos stared at her for ten seconds—an eternity measured by the shrill tick of the chrono-devices—then gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Evacuations are over," he said to the room. "Those who remain have chosen their side."

His finger brushed the central display, where crimson shapes twitched. "Increase ionizing radiation."

The red figures began to convulse.

---

H-Hour +2

Sweat trickled down the back of a man’s neck, mixing with plaster dust. His pulse rifle burned against his shoulder, but he didn’t dare let go. In the deathly silence following the explosions, each creaking beam sounded like the heavy steel steps of the Legionnaires.

"They’ve cut the oxygen," panted a voice behind him. His comrade was pressing a bloodied cloth to another man’s side. Her red headband had slipped, revealing a bruised temple. "We’re done. Maybe two hours left, tops."

The man looked around at the forty survivors huddled in the quake shelter. Children gnawed protein tablets, unaware of how their parents stared at the ceiling with eyes like hunted animals.

A low rumble shook the walls. Wisps of violet light seeped through the cracks.

"The shields..." whispered an old man, pointing a trembling finger at the flickering defense holograms above the control panel. "They’re using Valkyries. The bastards are using Valkyries on us!"

"Trigger the blackout!" the man shouted, lunging toward the controls.

Too late.

A violet beam struck the complex’s rear shield. The barrier dissolved into a shower of silver sparks—each one a micro-drone latching onto the walls.

"Molecular dissolution..." the old man gasped, just before a plasma shard pierced his throat.

Black shadows dropped from above. Heavy-armored legionnaires landed in rolls, visors catching firelight. Their unit’s motto blinked across their pauldrons: Purificamus per ignem.

A gloved hand lifted an unconscious woman.

"We surrender!" the man cried, rushing forward with hands raised.

The visor lifted—revealing a teenage boy. No more than sixteen.

"Sorry," the young soldier whispered, unleashing a plasma beam.

The man didn’t even feel his chest burst into ash. His final sight: the boy lowering his visor and stating,

"Zone purified."

---

H-Hour +3

Stavos studied the data feed with the focus of a chess grandmaster. Each extinguished red square on the holographic map marked a neutralized rebel cluster.

A coarse laugh echoed as the elevator opened. A senior officer stepped in. His pristine white uniform stood out starkly among the others’ black suits.

"You call this pacification, Commander?" he growled, pointing at the screens.

Stavos turned his head slowly. His thin lips curled in disdain.

"Surgery often requires removing gangrenous limbs, Captain. Even from a healthy body."

"There are conventions! Triage protocols! Prisoners—"

"—are a burden. The Emperor was clear: these worms dug their graves by rejecting the light. I’m simply covering them with dirt."

A sharp beep cut him off. The central screen flickered—showing the Crown Prince, Varen Rostchild.

"Commander Stavos. His Majesty is monitoring your progress with... interest. Has Protocol Zero been initiated?"

Stavos bowed slightly. "Containment satellites are in position."

The prince’s face hovered on-screen, draped in digital purple. His features were motionless, that strange blend of boredom and predator-like tension. His eyes—an unnaturally pale blue—swept the room without emotion.

The captain stood stiff, fists clenched against his uniform seams.

"Your Highness," he said, half-turned to the screen, "I do not question the Emperor’s orders. But what the commander is doing here goes beyond anything I’ve seen. No warnings, no humanitarian corridors, not even an attempt at negotiation. This isn’t pacification—it’s extermination."

Silence fell like a curtain.

The prince’s gaze fixed on him.

"Your name, Captain?"

"Marvek, Your Highness. ID 47-TR. Seventeen years in Ritterheim. I fought in the Iskar wars, the Dreth campaigns, even on the Northern front. I’ve never disobeyed an order. But I’ve never seen such barbarity executed with so much... satisfaction."

The prince blinked. Once.

"Commander Stavos."

"Your Highness?"

"This captain questions imperial doctrine in front of subordinates. He speaks of honor and protocol, as if parasites deserve mercy. He hesitates. And hesitation..." The prince’s pupils shifted to steel-blue, "...is cancer."

Stavos nodded. With a snap of his fingers, judgment fell.

A red line opened on Marvek’s throat.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then his body collapsed like a toppled statue. His insignia clinked against the floor.

No one spoke.

No one screamed.

Stavos didn’t avert his gaze. He looked at the prince, breathing steady, his face unmoved.

"Protocol Zero will be completed on schedule. Southern district archives are already undergoing erasure."

The prince barely nodded.

"Good. The Emperor demands results. Continue."

The screen went dark.

---

H-Hour +6 – Yllowen Commercial District

Neon signs still glowed over storefronts—cafés, karaoke bars, velvet-shrouded clubs. Nothing on the marble-paved streets hinted at the inferno beneath.

A man in a beige suit nervously adjusted his watch. Massive frame, neck tattoos.

"Channel B active," a deep voice buzzed in his earpiece. "Strike in thirty seconds."

He tapped the left side of his collar twice—the signal.

In the alley, passersby laughed over chemically flavored bubble teas. None noticed the golden mist rising from the sewers.

Then, a crimson flash split the horizon.

A silhouette pierced the sky.

Silent landing. Just a faint shockwave trembling the windows.

A woman raised her head.

Two energy blades retracted from her wrists. No insignia. Just a tattoo carved into her bare shoulder.

She stepped into the mist.

In a nearby armory, thirty men shouted commands.

"Hold the line!"

A column of light swept the room.

The woman didn’t stop.

The mist was her. Her aura.

One man screamed, firing a rifle. The shot ricocheted.

A flutter of invisible wings.

One by one, they fell. Hearts stopped. Bones liquefied.

Upstairs, above the café, young people clapped for a show. They didn’t feel the ground shake. Didn’t hear the muffled screams.

When she emerged, her blade dripped black light.

She wiped her cheeks with a white cloth and tucked it into a pocket.

"Zone purified."

The encrypted message reached command instantly.

---

H-Hour +7 – Outskirts of Aernok

The market bustled—fish, spices, fabric vendors shouting over one another.

Inside a nondescript container, two men stood guard.

"They’re coming..."

"This’ll get ugly."

Suddenly, three knocks on the wall.

The men sprang up, tense.

Then, the steel liquefied.

A man passed through the wall like fire through dry paper.

The first guard launched cryo-blades. The intruder dodged with a single step. A spike rose from the floor, skewering the man soundlessly.

The second yelled, unleashing a shockwave.

The intruder smiled, touched his temple—

—and imploded the man’s chest without laying a finger.

Only sacks of meat remained.

Outside, customers haggled over shellfish.

At the same moment in Aernok

"We have to burn everything! They’re already here!"

A woman slammed keys, screaming. Behind her, server towers.

"Too late."

The voice was calm. Almost gentle.

Time stopped.

Literally.

Air froze. Dust hung motionless.

An androgynous figure appeared.

They walked through the room, brushing the terminals. One by one, they dissolved into nothing.

At the end, two fingers touched the woman’s forehead. A spark. A suspended tear.

Then, nothing.

Time resumed.

---

H-Hour +9 – Keth City Center

Guilia watched the rain fall across the glass canopy, cradling a baby.

Behind her, Vincent laced up polished leather shoes.

"They took Lucas. And Francesca."

She nodded and gently offered the child.

"At least protect this one."

Vincent vanished down the hall. Two agents awaited him. No helmets. No visible weapons. Just black gloves.

He smiled—almost relieved.

"How long do I have?"

"As long as it takes to disappear."

A hand passed him a key. He took it silently.

"And the old woman?"

"She’s already erased from the records."

He nodded.

---

H-Hour +12 – Ritterheim Central Command Meeting Room

Stavos swiped the holographic map. Thousands of red dots had gone dark. He lingered over the few still pulsing.

"There are stragglers."

A female officer stepped forward.

"Draklor and Fenbel families hired black-market guilds. Three S-class deviants confirmed."

"It’s dragging. You have one hour."

She nodded.

Stavos closed his eyes and whispered,

"Purificamus per ignem."