Transmigrated as the Villain: I Will Destroy Fate

Ronan stood with Elara and three other Class B students at the edge of Class A’s territory. The camp spread before them. They were organized in a way that class B couldn’t match. Guards noticed their approach immediately, weapons raised, but Armani stepped forward before tension could escalate.

"Elara." He nodded. His gaze shifted briefly to Ronan. "What brings you here?"

Elara didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

"We need information on the Class C/D alliance. Their current location."

Armani’s expression remained neutral, but something flickered behind his eyes. Calculation.

"I know where they are," he said slowly. "But that information isn’t something I can give away easily."

His eyes flicked toward Ronan again for half a second, before he looked away just as quick.

Elara leaned forward slightly. "You have information about them?"

"I do." Armani paused, then added, "Ronan came to me earlier requesting this exact information."

Ronan nodded without hesitation. "I did."

Elara’s head snapped toward him. "Why didn’t you tell me immediately?"

"Wasn’t sure if the information was accurate." Ronan kept his tone even. "After the node got stolen, I figured it was worth the gamble to trust it."

The explanation came without hesitation, and Elara accepted it with only a slight narrowing of her eyes before turning back to Armani.

It was a lie of course, but she didn’t need to know the full story. As long as Armani would keep up the act, that’s all that mattered.

"What do you want in exchange?"

Armani’s posture shifted. More confident now that they’d moved past suspicion. "Ten runic artifacts. Made by Sapphire. Within twenty-four hours."

"That’s not possible!" Elara’s voice rose sharply. "Sapphire isn’t a machine. She can’t–"

"Then the deal is off." Armani turned slightly, as if preparing to dismiss them.

Ronan stepped forward.

"Wait." His tone carried no aggression, only diplomacy. "Can we bring the number down? Ten artifacts in that timeframe isn’t realistic for anyone."

Armani stopped. His shoulders tensed, but he turned back too easily.

"How low?" Armani asked.

"Five."

"Seven."

"Five."

Armani’s jaw tightened. "Six."

Ronan glanced at Elara. She looked like she wanted to argue, but she caught the silent question in his expression.

Can Sapphire manage six?

Her hands clenched. Six was still too much. Too fast. But refusing now would waste the negotiation entirely.

"Fine," Elara said through her teeth. "Six artifacts."

Armani smiled faintly. "Good. I’ll need two transfer artifacts–"

Elara’s glare sharpened. "Transfer runes are difficult to make."

"That’s why I only asked for two." Armani’s smile didn’t waver. "And four detection runes."

Elara’s frustration bled into her posture, but she didn’t refuse. She couldn’t. They needed this information more than Armani needed to give it.

"Fine," she repeated, voice low.

Armani nodded, satisfied. He gestured toward one of his nearby scouts, who handed him a rolled map. Armani unfolded it across a nearby flat stone, pointing to a marked location southeast of their current position.

"Class D split from Class C three hours ago," Armani said. "They moved to this clearing near the dried streambed."

Ronan studied the map. The location matched what he expected. Class D had taken the bait exactly as predicted.

Elara memorized the position, then looked up at Armani. "How do you know they split?"

"We’ve been watching." Armani rolled the map back up. "Class C stayed near the swamp statue. Class D left. And they weren’t quiet about it. But we also have an informant in their class which we would rather not name."

Ronan filed that away in his head. Class A’s intelligence network was better than he’d assumed.

Elara straightened. "We’ll deliver the artifacts within the timeframe."

Armani inclined his head. "Then we have a deal."

Elara turned without another word, motioning for the others to follow. Ronan lingered a moment longer, meeting Armani’s eyes.

He gave Armani a small smile telling him he’d done well, and then followed behind Elara.

Freya sat against a tree near the outer edge of Class S’s base, her posture was relaxed but her mind was anything but.

Around her, students moved through routines familiar to them throughout the past few days.

Checking runes, practicing formations, discussing the locations of other classes. The efficiency impressed her.

Two statues already claimed.

Grace had somehow identified the closest targets before anyone else, then coordinated the captures with precision that felt almost rehearsed.

Class S now controlled more territory than any other freshman class, and they’d done it without internal conflict tearing them apart first.

Smart, Freya thought, watching Grace speak quietly with Iris Lockhart near the central fire. Very smart.

Grace Light was useful.

That was the simplest way to frame it.

She understood people.

What they needed to hear, when they needed to hear it, and how to shape a room without ever raising her voice.

Freya had watched Grace unify Class S from fractured egos into something scarily efficient, and she’d done it so smoothly that most students probably didn’t even realize they were being managed.

In all honesty, Freya was slightly in awe. It was really that impressive, and even she wasn’t sure she would be able to emulate a similar result.

Freya’s gaze drifted, then caught on movement beneath another tree.

Aura Acheron. Rank two. Not just in Class S, but across nearly the entire first-year body.

The demon – because Freya knew what she was now, thanks to that night in the courtyard – lay sprawled against the tree trunk, one leg bent, the other stretched out.

A book rested open in her lap. Though she didn’t seem particularly invested in whatever she was reading.

Her posture screamed indifference, as if the war, the competition, and every problem their class was having bored her.

Freya’s chest tightened.

Not in fear this time.

That was gone.

The terror she’d felt when Aura’s energy had pressed down on her, crushing her lungs and making her legs buckle, had faded into something sharper.

Annoyance.

She humiliated you.

Freya’s fingers curled against her thigh.

That night replayed in her head.

The assassins she’d brought – three trained killers who should have been more than enough to take care of a first year, rank 2 or not – dragged unconscious through the dirt like discarded toys.

The rabbit-masked man speaking with casual certainty about Clara’s death, about poisons and schedules and plans Freya had forgotten about years ago.

And Aura, standing behind him, radiating power she wished she could have without effort.

Freya had felt helpless.

Just like she had as a child.

Clara’s face surfaced. Her cousin. The heir. The one everyone said would lead the branch family into greatness, despite being weak, shortsighted, and incompetent.

Clara had enjoyed making Freya feel worthless. Little comments. Backhanded compliments. Public humiliations that left Freya standing silent, holding back tears while adults nodded and praised Clara’s "guidance and maturity."

You’re nothing. You’ll always be nothing.

Freya had proven Clara, and now she was the heir.

She’d proven the branch family wrong too.

And now Aura Acheron, this demon girl who treated Class S like a nap between meals, had made Freya feel that helplessness again.

Aura’s eyes flicked up from her book.

They met Freya’s.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Aura’s lips curled into a faint, amused smile. Not hostile, not threatening either. Just... entertained, as if Freya’s stare was mildly interesting but ultimately harmless.

Aura scoffed softly, and returned her attention to the book.

Freya’s eye twitched.

Someday, she promised herself, forcing her expression back into the calm, friendly one she usually wore.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Perhaps not even in a year. But eventually, she would wipe that smirk off Aura’s face.

Freya Lockhart did not forget debts owed.