Surviving In This Filthy World As A Novel Villain

Unaware of the schemes unfolding around him, Ethan boarded the sleek black car arranged by Edwin Wells and his grandfather.

The leather seats and smooth hum of the engine only added to his growing sense of anticipation. This was it, the moment he’d been waiting for.

The thought of future things he can do with Wells family direct support brought a smile to Ethan’s lips as the city lights faded behind him.

Half an hour later, the car pulled to a halt at the outskirts of the city, where the rugged silhouette of the hillside loomed against the night sky.

The air smelled faintly of earth and grass, mingled with the distant hum of insects. Stepping out, Ethan adjusted his jacket, his eyes sweeping over the area with a discerning gaze.

The old man was already waiting at the designated spot, hands clasped behind his back, his tailored coat barely stirring in the cool breeze. A faint smile curved his lips as Ethan approached.

"Boy, right on time," The old man greeted, his tone warm yet measured. "What do you think of the setup?"

Ethan’s gaze moved across the terrain. The low-lying ground that could have served as cover had been carefully filled in.

The dense shrubs that might have provided an escape route were gone, leaving only open space. It was as if the landscape itself had been reshaped to ensure no one could evade the gunfire.

"You’ve done a thorough job," Ethan remarked, stepping forward as his eyes traced the line of sight from several vantage points. "With the low ground filled in and the foliage removed, there’s practically nowhere to hide. Anyone caught here would have no chance of escape."

The old man nodded, his expression calm. "And if I position several marksmen equipped with machine guns at key points, do you think there’s any possibility of the target slipping through?"

Ethan tilted his head thoughtfully. The cool wind brushed against his cheek as he weighed the scenario in his mind. "Theoretically? No. With this setup and that level of firepower, it’s as close to a guaranteed kill as you can get. But…" He paused, his brows furrowing slightly. "No plan is ever truly foolproof. There’s always a slim chance something could go wrong."

The old man’s smile deepened slightly. "Caution is wise. Still, I appreciate your insight. In fact, I’d like you to take another look—just to be certain. Walk through the area as if you were the target. See if there’s anything we might have overlooked."

Ethan hesitated for a moment. Something about the request nagged at the back of his mind, but he quickly pushed the thought aside.

After all, this was his chance to secure the Wells family trust—and with it, a future backed by wealth and influence.

"Of course," he replied, nodding.

Stepping onto the field, Ethan moved carefully across the terrain, testing the footing as he examined every angle of approach.

His trained eyes caught subtle details, a slight dip in the ground that could trip someone running at full speed, a scattering of loose gravel that could betray a misstep.

He circled the area twice, making sure to consider every possibility.

Finally, he stopped and turned back toward The old man. "No major issues. The terrain’s been prepared well. Any intruder caught here would be trapped with no way out."

"You’re certain?" The old man asked, his gaze sharp despite the faint smile on his lips.

"Positive," Ethan replied with confidence. "In fact, I’d stake my life on it. With this setup and your marksmen in place, not even a god could escape."

The old man’s smile widened, though his eyes seemed colder now. "Well then, I suppose that settles it."

Turning slightly, he raised his hand with a casual grace and snapped his fingers. "Positions."

In an instant, the air shifted. Shadows moved atop the surrounding ridges as a dozen figures stepped forward, each raising a sleek black submachine gun.

The metallic clink of safeties being switched off echoed faintly through the night.

Ethan’s heart lurched. His gaze darted to the gunmen, then back to The old man. "Sir… what is this?"

"Don’t worry," The old man replied smoothly. "We’re simply running a final test. After all, you’ve assured me this setup is inescapable. Now, we just need to see if that holds true in practice."

A chill shot down Ethan’s spine. "You’re testing it on me?!"

The old man gestured toward the field’s center. "If you’re confident in your assessment, then there’s nothing to fear. Please—stand in the middle, where the target would be. Let’s make this as realistic as possible."

Ethan’s mind spun. This was wrong, something was horribly wrong. But before he could voice his protest, the distant click of magazines sliding into place echoed like a death knell through the air.

"Move," The old man said softly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Swallowing hard, Ethan stepped into the center of the clearing, his pulse hammering in his chest.

The silence was deafening as he glanced around, meeting the cold, unwavering gazes of the gunmen encircling him.

The air felt heavier now, thick with tension and the faint scent of gun oil.

Despite the fear curling in his gut, Ethan forced a smirk. "You’ve got this place locked down tight, I’ll give you that. Anyone standing here wouldn’t stand a chance."

The old man’s smile faded, his eyes gleaming with something darker. "Good to know. And since you’ve guaranteed the outcome…" He lifted his hand one last time… then dropped it.

"Fire." The surroundings sounds exploded in a hail of gunfire.

Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

The air shattered with the deafening roar of automatic weapons, muzzle flashes painting the night with bursts of orange light.

Bullets ripped through the air, churning up dirt and sparks as they struck stone.

"Shit!" Ethan’s body moved before his mind could catch up. Driven by pure survival instinct, he lunged sideways into a desperate roll, feeling the searing heat of a bullet slicing through his shoulder.

…

Bonus Chapters on: 500, 1000, 1500 Power Stones.

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(A/N: Next Chapter Soon! Some Golden tickets guys!!!)

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