Villain Throne:I Build An Empire On Bones

The sun cut through the forest canopy, spilling golden light over blood-stained earth. We rode in silence—captives chained, their faces bruised and broken, some bleeding from wounds barely scabbed over. The dense woods parted, revealing open plains, and in the distance, a town's silhouette sharpened into view. It wasn't a grand capital—just a fortified village with stone walls, iron gates, and knights with faces carved from stone. But after the smoldering ruins we'd left behind, it felt like the first flicker of civilization.

The bandits dragged behind us were barely alive—mangled bodies, missing arms or legs, some clinging to consciousness. Their mana cores, shattered during capture, left them empty. Once mages, they were now nothing but broken shells.

I rode at the rear, my cloak hiding last night's wounds. My side burned where fire had torn through my shield. The knife wound in my arm throbbed with every heartbeat, even after the potion. But I didn't flinch. I remembered the bastard's words before I drove my blade through his throat. I remembered who I was—and who I had to become.

At the gate, a knight in polished armor stepped forward, hand on his sword. "Halt! State your purpose."

Captain Varek dismounted, his cloak brushing the dust. "We are the Ashen Fangs, a machinery group. These captives are the bandits who've been terrorizing the region. We captured and killed them under Viscount Draven's orders. We seek an audience with him."

The knight blinked. "Wait here." He returned with a mage who scanned Varek's badge and nodded. Moments later, we were waved through.

The townsfolk's eyes burned with raw, unspoken pain, their gazes locked on the bandits—shattered husks of men, their mana cores broken, their bodies barely clinging to life. Women clutched their children tightly, as if shielding them from the ghosts of the massacre. Old men gripped their canes, knuckles white, while vendors stood frozen, baskets half-filled, their faces a mix of rage and grief. Some spat at the captives, saliva mixing with the dust. Others wept silently, tears cutting tracks through dirt-streaked cheeks. A few just stared, their eyes cold and hollow, as if the horrors they'd witnessed had carved out their souls.

Suddenly, a woman broke through the crowd, her scream tearing through the square like a blade. Her tattered dress was stained with ash and blood, her hair wild, her eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to set the air aflame. She charged forward, a rusted cleaver raised high, aimed at one of the bandits—a trembling wretch with a mangled arm. Her voice cracked as she shrieked, "You! You took everything!"

Before the blade could fall, one of the Ashen Fangs' machinery members, a wiry man with oil-stained hands, stepped in, grabbing her wrist. The cleaver clattered to the ground. She collapsed, sobbing, her body shaking with the weight of her anguish. "Justice!" she wailed, her voice raw, breaking like glass. "I need justice! This bastard—he killed my husband! He didn't spare my child—my baby!" Her words dissolved into a guttural scream, a sound so primal it clawed at the hearts of everyone nearby. "They took everything from me! Everything!"

She lunged again, fingers clawing for the bandit, but the townsfolk surged forward, gently pulling her back. Their hands were soft but firm, their faces etched with shared sorrow. She sank to her knees, her cries echoing across the square, a haunting lament that spoke of loss too deep for words. "I won't forgive him," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'll never forgive."

Zairen watched, his chest tight, his breath shallow. Everyone suffers their own hell, he thought, his jaw clenching. What a life. The weight of it pressed down on him—the blood, the screams, the endless cycle of pain. I won't end up like them. Not again. I need to be stronger. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, the pain in his arm pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He couldn't afford weakness. Not now. Not ever.

After the commotion ended, we were led to a communication tower, three stories tall, lined with glowing mana crystals. At its center stood a mirror, its frame etched with shimmering runes.

Varek turned to us. "Stay here. I'll report our situation to Viscount Draven."

We all nodded, and Varek stepped into the tower. The mirror flickered to life.

Viscount Draven appeared—Purple-haired, dark purple-eyed, his robes pulsing with power. Behind him, velvet banners and golden furnishings hinted at a world untouched by mud and blood.

Varek bowed. "My lord."

Draven folded his arms. "The bandits?"

"Defeated. Completely. Captives are outside."

"The cost?"

Varek's gaze dropped. "Heavy. Four of our 2-star mages are dead. Over a dozen men lost. Edna among them."

Draven's jaw tightened. "And the villages?"

"Burned. One was destroyed before we arrived. Few survivors."

A long pause followed. "…I see," Draven said.

His eyes shifted to me. "And Zairen? How did he perform?"

Varek glanced back, then nodded. "Flawlessly. His swordwork is unmatched. He's not Awakened yet, but his mana is stable. With training and a mana stone, he could awaken easily."

Draven's gaze lingered, sharp and calculating. "The losses are worse than I feared. Set up the portal and come to my fief immediately. I won't risk more deaths on the return."

"Yes, my lord."

The mirror dimmed.

Varek turned to leave, but an assistant rushed back, eyes wide. "Sir… there's trouble. Outside."

We stepped into chaos. The bandits were surrounded—not by guards, but by villagers. Dozens of women, wielding axes, knives, and pitchforks—survivors of the massacre. Some wore blood-stained dresses, others had eyes hollowed by horrors too raw to name.

Our mercenaries tried to hold them back, but rage answered to no one.

"They killed my son!" one screamed.

"They burned my baby alive!" another cried.

"I want her hands—give me her hands!" a third demanded.

Varek raised a hand. "Stand down."

One of our men blinked. "Sir… they'll kill them."

Varek's voice was steel. "Let them."

I turned to him, eyebrow raised. "You're allowing this?"

He shook his head. "These women… their justice has been denied too long. Let them claim it in blood."

The bandits' screams tore through the air. Axes swung. Knives plunged. Hammers crushed skulls like brittle clay.

The same woman who'd charged earlier, her hands still trembling from her grief, broke through the machinery group's protection. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears, but her grip on the cleaver was steady now. She didn't hesitate. With a scream that seemed to carry the weight of her shattered life, she drove the blade into the bandit's mouth. The metal crunched through bone, splitting his jaw in a spray of blood and teeth. The crowd gasped, but no one moved to stop her. Her hands shook as she pulled the blade free, blood dripping onto the cobblestones. She didn't look away. She couldn't. This was her justice.

Another woman joined her, then another. Axes swung, knives plunged, hammers crushed skulls like brittle clay. A child, no older than ten, picked up a brick and smashed it into a bandit's fingers, grinding them to pulp with a ferocity that belied his age. The bandits' screams filled the air—pleas for mercy, choked gurgles, desperate cries of "Please—PLEASE!" But their mouths were stuffed with mud and steel. Skulls split open. Eyes burst. Necks were torn apart with jagged glass. The square became a slaughterhouse, the air thick with the stench of iron, sweat, and death.

This wasn't justice. It was vengeance—raw, untamed, a storm of pain unleashed. The knights stood by, their faces unreadable. The townsfolk cheered, some with tears in their eyes, others with grim satisfaction. Zairen stood motionless, his cloak hiding the wounds that burned beneath. He didn't flinch, but his heart pounded, each scream carving itself into his memory. He felt the weight of it all—the blood, the rage, the endless cycle of loss.

When it was over, the bandits were no longer men. Only pieces remained—scattered limbs, crushed faces, twitching torsos. The woman who'd struck first, her apron drenched red, her cleaver still dripping, turned to Varek. Her eyes were moist, softened now, as if the act of vengeance had drained her fury and left something fragile in its place. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling with gratitude and exhaustion.

Varek said nothing, his eyes sharp, and he only nodded. The woman stumbled toward him, her hands shaking as she clutched his arm. "Thank you," she repeated, tears streaming down her face. "Because of you, I got my justice." Her legs gave out, and she collapsed, her body wracked with sobs. Varek's expression softened, and he gestured to a nearby villager. "Take her to the infirmary," he said quietly. "She's carried enough today."

The villager nodded, gently helping the woman to her feet and guiding her away, her steps unsteady but her shoulders lighter, as if the blood on her hands had freed something inside her.

That night, the air was heavy. No one celebrated. No one drank.

Varek came to me. "You did well, Zairen. You exposed a traitor. Fought like a demon. Never faltered."

I met his gaze. "I did what I could."

He smirked. "More than most." He tossed me a scroll. "The Viscount approved the portal. It's costly—hundreds of mana stones—but he wants us at his fief by morning. No more losses. We leave at dawn."

I nodded, thinking, The Viscount's generous. A portal's no small expense.

Varek paused, then added, "The world will come for you soon, Zairen. Once your power shows… don't let it consume you."

He left.

Later, I walked the empty square. The cobblestones gleamed black with blood under the moonlight.

I knelt, touching the stains.

Still warm.

I closed my eyes, sighed, and returned to the inn. Tomorrow, everything would change.

A loud thud-thud woke me at dawn. I stumbled to the window and saw people rushing toward the fortress. Children ran, shouting, "Hurry, or we'll miss it! It's our first time seeing a portal!"

A knock came at my door. "Zairen! Zairen, get up!"

I opened it to find a member of the Ashen Fangs' machinery group—a lean man with oil-stained hands and a belt of glowing tools. His eyes were sharp, his voice urgent. "Let's go. The portal's ready. Hurry, we leave in hours."

I nodded, shut the door, and got ready.

At the communication tower, a crowd buzzed with excitement. Soldiers stood guard, keeping the chaos in check. I pushed through to the front. The machinery group was assembling the portal—a massive ring of black iron, embedded with mana crystals that pulsed like heartbeats. The air crackled, heavy with energy, as if the world itself was holding its breath. The crystals glowed brighter, their light weaving into a shimmering vortex at the portal's center, swirling with raw power. It felt alive, dangerous, like staring into the maw of a beast.

Varek spotted me. "Zairen! Over here."

I approached. "Right on time," he said. "The portal's set. Hundreds of mana stones, perfectly aligned. You ready?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"It'll feel like the world's spinning. Brace yourself."

A deep thrum shook the ground. The portal roared to life, its vortex now a blinding whirl of light and shadow. The crowd gasped. Some whispered thanks to the Ashen Fangs for bringing justice.

Varek shouted, "Ashen Fangs, move out! Our work here is done!"

We stepped toward the portal. The air tightened, pulling at my skin. A flash of white swallowed my vision, a deafening whoosh filled my ears, and my stomach lurched as if I'd been yanked through the sky.

Light exploded around me. I stumbled forward, blinking. Draven's estate loomed ahead—towering spires, marble walls, gardens blooming with unnatural hues.

Varek clapped my shoulder. "Let's go. The Viscount's waiting."

We were escorted inside. At the manor's gate stood Viscount Draven, his sharp eyes locking onto Varek. He stepped forward, embracing him. "Thank you, Varek. Because of you, people live free."

Varek nodded. "Just doing our duty."

Draven turned to me, a faint smile on his lips. "Zairen, I hear your role in the raid was significant."

I shrugged. "I did what I could, my lord."

He chuckled. "I like your honesty. Come inside. Someone's waiting for you."

I frowned, confused.

The machinery group entered the mansion, treated like nobility. Each member got a lavish room. As I walked the halls, I caught Seresia's glare—her eyes burning with hate. I ignored her and headed to my room.

Inside, I stopped dead. A woman stood by the window, her black hair flowing like a river of ink. She turned, her face pale, eyes sharp with a familiar fire.

"Hello, brother," she said softly.

Rage erupted in Zairen's chest, a tidal wave of searing, unstoppable fury. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms until blood welled up. His heart pounded like a war drum, each beat fueling the fire that roared through him. He saw it all again—his previous life, the nights he lay dying, choking on pain and betrayal. His sister, standing over him, her eyes brimming with fake tears, that hollow regret, that crocodile's sympathy he despised with every fiber of his being. Those eyes—those damned eyes—mocked him even now, pretending to care, pretending to feel. He hated them. He hated her.

The memories flooded back, sharp as shattered glass: the accusations, the blame, the way they'd stripped him of everything—his dignity, his hope, his life. His vision blurred, red at the edges, his breath ragged. Every scar on his body seemed to burn anew, every wound screaming for release. His muscles tensed, ready to lash out, to break something, to make her feel the pain she'd caused.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he spat, his voice trembling with a rage so deep it felt like it could burn the world to ash. His words dripped with venom, each syllable a blade aimed at her heart. Her calm smile only made the fire burn hotter, twisting the knife of betrayal deeper.

She stepped forward, her expression unchanged, and Zairen's hands shook with the urge to destroy something—anything—to make the pain stop. But he stood his ground, his eyes locked on hers, burning with a fury that promised no forgiveness, no mercy. Only the truth remained: he would never let her hurt him again. Never.