The Villainous Noble Regressed With The Villain System
Chapter 35: Class Division Exam [27]

Chapter 35: Class Division Exam [27]

ACT 2 : THE RADIATA

From the eerily spread mist, arose a naked body of a human looking creature.

His body was as white as snow, and as cold as the moonlight.

His long brown hair extending till his legs, blew through the mist, displaying a horrifying shadow, like tentacles.

After a few seconds, words came out of his mouth.

"I am hungry......."

It sent a wave through the mist and echoed throughout the cave, warning every other creature—real or illusory—of a new apex predator’s return.

The traitor knelt silently, blood still dripping from her palm as she bowed before him.

"Varkhazel Noctis, Progenitor of the Night... I have fulfilled the covenant," she whispered, her voice trembling between reverence and fear.

The vampire’s crimson eyes opened wider. Slowly, he raised his hand and flexed his fingers, as if relearning the feel of existence.

"How many years has it been?", his deep voice echoed.

"This is the Valerian Year 978, Your Highness.", she spoke, her head down, showing respect.

"Ah....a mere 500 years then. It was like just yesterday, I was walking around my kingdom, basking myself in it’s beauty. Well, it seems like things have changed, more than I had expected."

The human Kingdom, Sylvanna, as it is now, was not even formed until 200 years ago, that is the Valerian Year 700.

Not even the elves or dwarves had their own nations, until that time.

It was due to the rule of the demons.

And not only them, apart from the demons the most powerful entities were the vampires.

Well, not for long though.

Along with demons, the vampires also had to be dethroned by the other races, as new powerful beings arose.

They united among themselves to defeat the entirety of the vampire and demons’ empires.

And, they won eventually, after years of war.

But the world did not recover easily from the fall of the vampire empire.

Though Varkhazel Noctis had been sealed beneath the ruins of Nyztheria, his influence lingered—faint echoes of despair that haunted bloodlines, cursed artifacts, and half-finished rituals still festering in forgotten crypts.

Entire cities needed to be cleansed with flame and holy magic.

Survivors were left broken, their memories too twisted to recall, or too painful to relive.

The Age of Blood had ended, but the scars it left behind reshaped the world.

In the aftermath of the sealing, the alliance of Caelan Seraph, Elyndra Vel’thael, Throngar Stonevein, and Naala the Beast forged a pact known as the Compact of Dawnlight—a vow that no single race or kingdom would ever again rule unchecked.

From this, the first foundations of the current world were laid.

The dwarves, once bound by bloodsteel chains, sealed their mountain halls and began crafting their own rule—led by Throngar himself until his death centuries later.

The elves, free from forced breeding and arcane harvesting, returned to their forests, shattered and wary. Elyndra founded the Silver Accord, a circle of mages that would one day evolve into the current Council of Elderglen.

Naala led the scattered beastkin tribes northward and carved out a new home in the Ashwold Wilds, uniting them under a banner of strength and vengeance.

Her people would become feared warriors and guardians of the old ways, distrusting civilization and its laws.

And as for humanity...Caelan Seraph disappeared.

Some say he ascended, becoming something more than human. Others claim he was devoured by the very curse he tried to destroy.

His sword, Oathbreaker, was sealed in a vault beneath what would one day become the capital of Sylvanna.

For nearly two hundred years, chaos reigned.

Without the vampires or demons to rule or threaten them, the world plunged into power struggles.

Petty kings and warlords claimed lands, borders shifted like tides, and betrayals were as common as rain.

But something strange happened.

Humans, long treated as little more than prey, rose fastest.

With stolen knowledge from vampire ruins and reverse-engineered spells, they advanced rapidly.

Magic academies were built atop the ashes of blood altars.

Cities were formed from reclaimed strongholds.

Where once they cowered in fear, humans began to dominate trade, politics, and invention.

By Valerian Year 700, the human Kingdom of Sylvanna was officially founded by King Elric I, a descendant of one of Caelan’s forgotten students.

It was the first kingdom to unify under a single banner in over three centuries.

Their rise was meteoric.

Other races followed suit.

The elves consolidated into the Forest Realms.

The dwarves opened trade through the Skyforge Gates.

Even the beastkin, once scattered, began sending envoys and warriors to the growing centers of power.

Yet, none dared touch the ruins of Nyztheria.

Its memory was buried by design.

Maps labeled it "The Black Scar."

No records remained of its location—not publicly.

Those who stumbled upon it by accident were found days later, eyes white, tongues removed, madness infecting their minds like rot.

But there were always whispers...

Whispers that Varkhazel Noctis had not died.

That his seal weakened with every drop of innocent blood spilled in war.

That a day would come when he would rise again—not as a king, but as a god.

And now, as the forbidden ritual awakens him once more, those long-forgotten fears begin to stir.

The Age of Blood had not ended.

It had only been postponed.

Varkhazel, now stood at the center of the dungeon, reminiscing about his past, and how everything was already decided, by the time he realized.

The King of the Eternal Night has returned.

Varkhazel stood motionless for a moment longer, as if listening—not to sounds, but to the very breath of the world.

He inhaled deeply.

"...The air stinks of mana manipulation. Runic interference. False gods."His voice dripped with disgust, and the mist around him swirled faster.

The traitor remained kneeling, head bowed, but her shoulders trembled under the crushing weight of his aura.

She didn’t speak again. She didn’t dare.

Instead, Varkhazel stepped forward, bare feet pressing against the cold stone.

With each step, the mist slithered across the floor like starving serpents.

The cavern lit up in pale red as the runes bled light into the mist, now reacting to his very presence.

Above them, in the dungeon passages where students still fought monsters of illusion and ego, a change began.

Spells started failing.

Illusions twisted, corrupted by the malice now infecting the dungeon.

Students who once laughed in confidence began to feel something... wrong. Their mana flow slowed. Their vision blurred for a second too long.

And in the center of it all, Aster Renholm’s group, still recovering from Dorian’s ambush, began to hear whispers—soft, cold voices at the edge of their thoughts.

Unseen eyes watching.

Unfelt hunger rising.

Meanwhile, deep below, Varkhazel’s eyes snapped open wider.

"Magic... has evolved," he murmured. "The races have flourished in my absence. But they’ve also grown... weak."

He turned his gaze toward the traitor, who was still trembling in place.

Her aura flickered—a sign of instability in her blood.

"You gave me your blood freely. Tell me—do you crave power?"

The girl slowly raised her head. Her crimson eyes met his, burning with a mixture of fear and ambition. "I do."

Varkhazel smiled. A slow, cold smile that made the mist recoil for a moment.

"Then be reborn... as my Radiata."

He pressed a single clawed finger to her forehead, and her body convulsed.

Blood erupted from her back, forming grotesque crimson wings of bone and flesh.

Her scream echoed into the cavern and beyond.

The first of the Radiata—his loyal vampire heralds—was reborn.

And she would not be the last.

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Author’s Note :

Please comment down your thoughts.

Next - ACT 3 : GLIMPSES OF CHAOS

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