Why Am I The Villain?! Reincarnated in My Favorite Novel-Chapter 45: He Who Should be Dead

A guttural scream shattered the silence.

"GET OUT!" the man bellowed, eyes wild, his face contorted with raw fury. "Both of you! You don’t belong here! When will you finally leave me alone?!"

He pointed an accusing finger at Roman, then at Nereva, his hands trembling with emotion.

"People like you... the powerful... all you do is scorn the weak! You only ever talk about yourselves! Look around you—look at the damage you’ve caused!"

Two youths stepped forward—a boy with a hardened face beyond his years, and a girl whose eyes brimmed with tears. They gently took the man by the arms.

His gaze dropped to the children, shame washing over him. His voice cracked, reduced to a broken whisper.

"This is my fault... I ruined everything... I promised you peace... and now it’s threatened because of me..."

A laugh rang out.

Nereva.

"How touching," she said. "But how utterly boring."

She lazily raised a hand—and a black tendril shot toward the two children.

A whistle in the air.

Then Roman burst forward.

His blade cleaved through space, intercepting the tendril in a flash. The impact was brutal, the ground trembling beneath the force—but Roman held firm. The children stumbled back in alarm.

He turned to the man, his voice resolute.

"Run. Keep your garden if you want. Protect them. But I’ve chosen to fight for something bigger."

He locked eyes with Nereva.

"And you..."

He leveled his blade at her.

"...you are my enemy."

Nereva’s gaze darkened, her smile twisting into something feral.

"Perfect," she whispered. "Much more fun this way."

Roman’s coat was in tatters, a thin trail of blood running down his temple. His sword, still intact, gleamed in his hand.

He stepped forward—slowly at first—then broke into a sprint, charging at Nereva without hesitation. This time, he was even faster.

Nereva’s eyes widened. She barely had time to raise another barrier of tendrils.

The clash was violent.

Roman’s blade sliced through the black mass like a saw through wet wood. He struck again, and again—each blow executed with surgical precision, with icy rage.

Nereva was forced back for the first time, her black dress torn by the assault. She lifted a hand to counterattack, but Roman moved faster—springing from debris around them, hurling shards of metal to distract and pin her down.

Then a scream tore through the chaos.

A refugee, frozen in fear, had been left behind. A stray tendril, uncontrolled by Nereva, lunged toward him.

Roman shifted course instantly.

He leapt, body taut, sword raised.

He reached the tendril a fraction of a second before it struck the child.

His blade sliced clean through the appendage, which collapsed with a sinister whimper.

Nereva watched, frozen, her eyes oddly clouded.

"You’re still protecting... even when you know you won’t win."

Roman turned toward her, panting, streaked with blood and soot.

"You’re not the judge of this fight."

Nereva smirked.

"I like you. But you’re an idiot."

Behind him, the man rushed to the child, scooping him into his arms.

"I told you to—"

Roman turned, ready to shout another order, eyes still on the fleeing refugees—

—when a brutal impact struck his jaw.

His body flew several meters, crashing through debris. He rolled across the ground and slammed into a container, the air knocked from his lungs. Pain exploded in his skull. It took him several seconds to grasp what had just happened.

"What the hell was that?!" he groaned, wiping blood from his lip.

It was the man.

He was staring at Roman, implacable—his eyes glowing red.

Roman lifted his head, blood on his tongue, stunned.

Nereva burst into laughter. Mocking. Amused.

"I told you you were an idiot," she whispered. "Throwing yourself in to protect prey you know nothing about..."

Roman gritted his teeth, pushing aside a shard of metal as he tried to rise. His gaze locked on the man.

He now stood at the center of the makeshift clearing, surrounded by rusted containers. The refugees, driven by urgency, were already retreating toward a half-collapsed structure.

The man turned slightly to the boy in his arms. He gently set the child down, offered a brief smile, and laid a hand on his head.

"Go, little one. Join the others at the base. Shut the doors behind you."

The boy hesitated, wide-eyed with fear and confusion.

"But... what about you, Uncle?"

"I’ll talk to them. Now go."

The boy nodded, throat tight, and ran toward the rear of the camp where the others huddled.

The man waited until they were safe—then turned. Slowly. Deliberately.

He looked at Nereva first. Then Roman.

Nereva tilted her head, intrigued. "Now this is getting interesting..."

Roman rose to his feet.

The man hadn’t moved. When he spoke, his voice was icy.

"I gave you a chance. I let you leave."

Roman took a step back. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

Constantin’s aura swelled—becoming almost tangible. The surrounding structures quivered, a low hum filling the air.

"Now," said Constantin, his voice low and thunderous, "you’re going nowhere."

Nereva tilted her head to one side, a smirk on her lips.

"How dramatic. Let’s see if you can live up to it."

With a flick of her hand, she launched her tendrils forward.

They hissed through the air like living whips—

—then froze mid-flight. Petrified. Suspended in time.

A single look from Constantin.

A single furrow of his brow.

The appendages convulsed, collapsing in on themselves—then were crushed by an invisible force, disintegrating into dust-like fragments of black matter.

Nereva stumbled back, visibly shaken for the first time.

"You..."

Constantin raised a hand. The air trembled again.

Nereva was hurled backward like a ragdoll, crashing into a container, the metal warping beneath her. She grimaced, slowly pushing herself up.

Roman stood, stunned, watching.

"You want to know who he is?" Nereva murmured, wiping a trail of blood from her lips. Her eyes locked on Roman.

"You really want to know, dear man?"

Roman said nothing. He didn’t need to.

She smiled—a twisted grin.

"Constantin Rufus. Also known as... the Prophet."

Silence fell—sharp as a blade.

Roman blinked, even more confused.

Nereva bared her teeth.

"They didn’t even tell you what you were hunting, did they? You’re standing before a man said to have seen the future, who defied the Empire 300 years ago—and survived. Who carries a power that even the world’s five greatest nations once feared. A ghost of modern history. A man who was supposed to be dead. Or insane. Or both.

And yet, here he stands—in this forgotten dump—protecting a bunch of refugees."

Constantin stepped forward, his gaze unwavering.

Nereva, still crouched by the container, chuckled darkly.

"What a waste you are."

Constantin turned toward her.

And then, it hit.

His aura exploded outward—

—a tidal wave of raw mental force sweeping the ground. Invisible lightning cracked the air. The containers shook, some toppling.

Roman dropped to his knees, overwhelmed by the pressure.

Nereva writhed beneath the force, her tendrils folding in on themselves, melting away under the assault.

Constantin, motionless at the storm’s center, stared her down.

"What you think doesn’t matter," he said simply.

"You’re going to die—right here, right now."

The ground split beneath his feet.

He raised a hand—and unleashed another shockwave.

Roman was thrown back, slamming into a container. Pain ripped through his body. He rolled aside just in time to avoid another blast that shattered a pile of debris where he’d been.

Nereva didn’t budge.

Her tendrils coiled and exploded outward, forming a living shield that absorbed the wave with ease. She laughed—a high, almost hysterical sound.

"Oh, Prophet, you’re delicious! That rage, that power... Why hide in this rat’s nest when you could be toppling nations?"

Constantin didn’t answer.

Roman staggered to his feet, one hand gripping the container for support.

Constantin clenched his fists, and the aura around him pulsed stronger, the ground quaking.

Nereva stepped forward, her tendrils hissing in the air. Her smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, focused expression.

"Prophet or not, you’re prey.

And you, dear man—" she added, glancing at Roman,

"—you’re in the way. Let’s end this."

She raised both hands. A dozen tendrils shot toward Constantin, their tips aimed at his chest, head, and legs.

But Constantin didn’t flinch.

With a simple wave, he unleashed another, even stronger wave of energy. It sliced the tendrils like an invisible blade. The black fragments fell twitching to the ground like dying serpents.

Nereva’s eyes widened.

Roman, seizing the opening, stood tall, blade ready. He took a deep breath—and charged, not at Constantin, but at Nereva.

His sword slashed through the air, aiming for the tendril-wielding woman.

She reacted instantly—a wall of tendrils rising to block the blow.

But Roman was faster.

He slid under the living shield—his blade slicing deep into Nereva’s side. She stumbled back, clutching the wound.

"How disappointing," she hissed.

"I really thought you might be useful."