A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

Screams echoed through the eastern corridor of Ambrose Academy.

Elowen turned sharply toward the sound.

A group of students came running around the corner, their faces pale with terror. Some dragged injured classmates, while others could barely keep their footing.

“Professor! Demons have invaded the academy!”

For a brief moment, Elowen’s expression hardened.

Demons.

Inside the academy.

“Everyone, remain calm,” she ordered, her voice cutting cleanly through the panic. “Take the injured to the nearest shelter. Do not wander alone, and do not attempt to fight the demons yourselves.”

“But, Professor—”

“Go!”

The students obeyed at once.

Elowen turned toward a nearby instructor who had been helping evacuate another group.

“Professor Marissa Everhart!”

The dark-blue-robed woman hurried over, her green eyes alert despite the chaos.

“What’s happening?”

“Demons have breached the academy. Evacuate the students and contact the Empire immediately.”

Marissa’s expression grew grave.

“I’ll handle the evacuation and the authorities. Be careful, Elowen.”

Elowen nodded once.

“Keep the students away from the fighting.”

Without another word, she moved toward the source of the disturbance.

The eastern corridor had become a battlefield.

Broken pillars lay scattered across the floor. Deep claw marks scarred the walls. The air carried the acrid scent of blood and scorched stone.

Her attention settled on three figures farther ahead.

A white-haired young man stood between a demon and a wounded girl.

Andras Darkmoor.

He was injured. Blood soaked through his uniform. His posture suggested he was preparing to risk everything on a single ability.

There was no time to waste.

Elowen’s emerald eyes locked onto the demon.

“Seventh Circle Spell.”

Her voice was quiet.

“Astral Severance.”

The spell activated.

There was no deafening explosion. No massive wave of destructive mana.

Instead, several hair-thin lines of emerald light appeared across the corridor.

For the briefest instant, they seemed almost harmless.

Then Elowen moved two fingers.

The lines vanished.

The demon took one more step.

Its head slid cleanly from its shoulders.

The severed head struck the stone floor and rolled to a stop. The headless body collapsed a moment later, blood splashing across the broken ground.

The entire exchange had lasted less than a second.

Elowen lowered her hand.

—

Andras’s gaze shifted from the demon’s severed head to the corridor beyond.

A woman with long, flowing green hair stood amid the ruins. Her elegant ears marked her as an elf, and her emerald eyes swept briefly across the battlefield before settling on him.

Professor Elowen.

Andras finally understood who had killed Draegor.

He had never seen the actual attack.

A faint crease appeared between Andras’s brows.

Elowen approached.

“Professor Elowen,” Andras said, his voice steady despite his injuries. “Did you kill that demon with a spell? I didn’t even see it. I only saw its head fall at my feet.”

Elowen gave him a brief glance.

“Save your observations for later, Andras. You look as though you’re barely standing.”

“I’m still capable of standing.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Her expression suggested she was not entirely convinced.

Andras silently activated his system.

System. Show me Professor Elowen’s status.

A familiar chime sounded.

[Ding!]

[Name: Elowen]

[Race: Elf]

[Age: 126]

[Class: Mage]

[Bloodline: None]

[Realm: Peak Eighth Circle Mage]

[Talent: Arcane Eyes (S-Rank, Low Tier)]

Andras examined the information carefully.

Arcane Eyes.

He already knew the talent from the original novel. It granted extraordinary perception of mana and magical structures. By observing the flow of mana within a spell, Elowen could identify its construction, recognize weaknesses, and understand the relationships between its components far more quickly than an ordinary mage.

It also allowed her to detect minute irregularities in mana circulation, making precise spell execution considerably easier.

In short, it was not merely a talent for seeing through magic.

It was a talent that allowed a mage to understand what she was seeing.

Combined with Elowen’s experience, it made her exceptionally dangerous.

His gaze returned to the bloodline entry.

None.

Among the noble elves, bloodlines carried enormous significance. They were regarded as inheritances from their ancestors — proof of heritage and a source of innate power.

An elf born without one could easily become the subject of contempt.

The title that came to mind was an ugly one.

Disgrace of the noble elves.

And yet, looking at the severed head still lying on the floor, Andras found the irony difficult to ignore.

Whatever the elves thought of her bloodline, Elowen had reached a level of magical mastery that most mages could only dream of.

He dismissed the status window.

There were more urgent matters.

Elowen’s attention had already shifted away from him.

Seraphina.

The young woman was struggling to remain conscious. Her face had grown pale, and the mana surrounding her was so faint it was barely perceptible.

Elowen’s expression hardened.

“Seraphina!”

She crossed the distance at once and knelt beside her.

“Can you hear me?”

Seraphina’s eyelids fluttered.

“Professor…”

“Don’t speak.”

Elowen placed two fingers against Seraphina’s wrist, then examined the blood staining her clothes.

The injuries were severe.

The wound along her side continued to bleed. The damage to her shoulder made even the slightest movement difficult. Her breathing was shallow, and her depleted mana reserves left her with almost no ability to protect herself.

Elowen’s eyes narrowed.

Seraphina had been pushed to the brink of death.

Elowen retrieved a high-grade healing potion from her storage ring, removed the stopper, and carefully supported Seraphina’s head.

“Drink this slowly.”

Seraphina tried to lift her hand but lacked the strength.

Elowen helped her bring the bottle to her lips.

Seraphina swallowed a little at a time until the potion was gone.

Color gradually returned to her face, though the improvement was limited. The potion would help stabilize her injuries and slow the bleeding, but it could not immediately restore the mana she had exhausted or erase the strain her body had suffered.

Elowen placed a hand over the wound at Seraphina’s side and began channeling a controlled stream of healing mana.

“Stay awake, Seraphina. You’ve survived this long. Don’t lose consciousness now.”

Seraphina’s eyes moved weakly toward Andras.

He was still standing nearby, his sword hanging at his side.

For a moment, their gazes met.

Andras gave her a slight nod.

It was not a promise that everything would be fine.

He did not make promises he could not guarantee.

But he was still there.

Seraphina’s tense expression eased a little.

Elowen noticed the exchange but said nothing. She continued stabilizing the injured mage while keeping part of her attention on the surrounding corridor.

The academy was still under attack.

And the fighting was far from over.

—

Meanwhile, on the western training grounds, the battle had reached a desperate stage.

Lucian staggered across the shattered earth, his sword held firmly in both hands.

Blood ran down his forehead and dripped from his chin. His uniform had been torn in several places, and every breath sent pain through his battered body.

Across from him stood the demon leading the assault on this part of the academy — a Sixth Circle Warrior.

The difference in their strength was obvious.

The demon possessed overwhelming physical power, reinforced by dense demonic mana. Every exchange sent tremors through the training grounds, leaving fresh cracks in the stone and deep gouges in the earth.

Yet Lucian refused to retreat.

Behind him, several students were desperately making their way toward the academy’s evacuation routes.

The demon glanced at them and grinned.

“Still trying to protect them?”

Lucian raised his sword.

“Yes.”

The demon laughed.

“You can barely stand. What makes you think you can stop me?”

Lucian did not answer.

He had already tried to overwhelm the creature with direct attacks. He had used his swordsmanship, defensive magic, and every opportunity he could find to disrupt its movements.

None had been enough.

His mana was dwindling.

His body was approaching its limit.

And the demon knew it.

The creature suddenly lunged.

Lucian barely managed to raise his sword before the blow struck.

**BOOM!**

The impact sent him sliding backward.

Pain exploded through his arms. His knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to remain standing.

The demon tilted its head.

“Impressive. You’re still conscious.”

It advanced.

“Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Lucian’s grip tightened around his sword.

He could not win by trading blows.

He could not afford another direct collision.

If he continued fighting the same way, he would eventually fall — and the students behind him would be next.

He needed to end this.

Not later.

Now.

Lucian lowered his gaze to his sword.

Golden mana began gathering around the blade.

At first the glow was faint.

Then it intensified, flowing from the hilt toward the tip in thin, luminous streams.

The demon slowed.

“What is that?”

Lucian remained silent.

The golden mana did not simply coat the sword. It condensed into several tightly layered bands, each one reinforcing the weapon’s structure while extending the cutting edge beyond the physical steel.

The air around the blade began to distort.

Lucian’s breathing grew heavier as he concentrated his remaining mana into the weapon.

He could feel the strain immediately.

Maintaining the structure demanded precision. If the layers became unstable, the concentrated mana would disperse before reaching the target.

He could not afford to waste even a fraction of it.

The golden layers settled into place.

His sword now carried an edge of condensed mana, extending beyond the steel without losing its shape.

Lucian slowly raised his head.

The fear in his eyes had disappeared.

In its place remained a quiet, unwavering determination.

The demon’s grin faded.

For the first time since the battle began, it stopped advancing.

Lucian stepped forward.

The golden edge of his sword gleamed amid the ruined training grounds.

Heroic Armament.

Lucian bent his knees and shifted his weight forward.