The Villainous Noble Regressed With The Villain System
Chapter 41: Class Division Exam [33]

Chapter 41: Class Division Exam [33]

ACT 8 : THE RAHU

[Skills - Dorian Valen]

Basic Swordsmanship Level 2

Basic Magic Theory Level 3

Crimson Pact Arts Level 1

I had the skill named crimson pact arts, of the Valen House, but I wasn’t able to execute it.

A skill is necessarily the manifestation of a more efficient flow of mana particles inside your body through those chakras.

Just yesterday, I was practicing with that thug, Dulhard, with this technique.

Well, it was more like, I was using this technique on him, but never really could execute it.

The Crimson Pact Arts wasn’t like other techniques that you simply cast.

No fancy hand seals, no elemental affinities, no chanting under the moonlight.

It was a contract, written in the language of the body—executed through blood, breath, and choice.

And at the heart of every contract...

...was a bargain.

The Valen family built this art on one fundamental principle: "Dominion through decision."

You do not overpower your enemy.

You make them choose their own ruin.

When invoked, Crimson Pact presents your opponent with two outcomes—both devastating, both binding.

The spell links your mana with their core through their chakra paths, forcing their subconscious to decide which punishment to endure.

The decision is made instantly—instinctively—even if they don’t consciously realize it.

That’s the genius and horror of it.

It is psychological warfare written in mana.

For example:

"Choose: Suffer the rot of your dominant arm, or the collapse of your vision for an hour."

"Choose: Grant me access to your fourth chakra for five minutes, or lose half your stamina instantly."

Sounds terrifying, doesn’t it?

It is.

But there’s a reason it’s sealed.

Because for the user to offer such deals, they must first sacrifice something equal or greater—in advance.

The first condition of Crimson Pact: the user must give up control over something they cherish.

The more severe the curse you offer, the more painful the payment you must make beforehand.

For those at the third chakra and above, the trade is spread across multiple reserves—mana, vitality, memories, or emotions.

But I only had two chakras opened.

That meant my margin was razor-thin.

I couldn’t access higher-layer mana pathways. My reserves were laughably small. So, to use even a low-grade pact, I had to give up something crucial.

Yesterday, while practicing with that thug Dulhard, I offered him a pact:

"Lose control of your right leg for ten minutes, or suffer vertigo until sunset."

The effect was weak, barely noticeable—but it worked.

He stumbled.

Chose vertigo.

But it cost me: I gave up my sense of hearing for three hours. I had to sit in my hut, completely deaf, blood trickling from my ears.

The spell didn’t warn me—that was the penalty I offered unconsciously.

So, this time, I had to offer something more drastic, to make it work.

And this time, the opponent is way stronger.

I am not even sure, this would be a success this time, and if it fails, my sacrifice wouldn’t cancel out.

So, I am going to try out exactly what Dorian did.

I gritted my teeth and made a shallow cut on my palm.

Blood slid down my fingers, not fast, but deliberate—like the ritual knew what it needed.

Then, I whispered.

No incantation. Just intention.

> "I offer it—

One gate to be sealed,

And the touch of form to be forgotten."

My body trembled violently.

A burning snapped in my spine—my second chakra, just recently opened, closed with an audible pulse like the slam of a dungeon door. Mana reversed. Pathways twisted.

And then, silence in my hands.

I couldn’t feel the sword anymore.

Not the weight.

Not the edge.

Not the difference between cold steel or my own flesh.

My stereognosis—the sense of shape through touch—was gone.

The price was paid.

The Crimson Pact Arts awakened.

A blood-red sigil exploded around me, sprawling like an inkblot across the floor. Symbols danced upward, spiraling into runes etched into the air itself.

And then—my aura shifted.

It was no longer human.

Crimson tendrils extended from my shadow, flickering like chains, coiling toward the Radiata One.

The temperature in the chamber dropped.

Even Monica blinked, wide-eyed, sensing something unnatural rise beside her.

Then—

> "Crimson Clause."

"Choose."

The runes floated toward her.

> "Either lose your ability to regenerate wounds for the next 24 hours..."

"Or surrender your mobility—your legs shall betray you."

She froze.

Even with her monstrous power, her mind flickered at the weight of the bargain. The chains hovered mid-air, vibrating—waiting for her instinct to betray her.

And in that instant, her body jerked.

Not back.

Not forward.

Down.

Her knees buckled.

The spell had chosen for her.

She had chosen.

The pact locked in.

And her legs—twisted sideways.

Veins cracked.

The mist around her faltered, and for the first time, I saw fear in her expression.

"...You..." she whispered, breath ragged. "You really are a Valen."

I stood there, panting, blood still leaking from my hand, my sense of touch vanishing like fog in morning sun.

But I grinned.

Because now?

Now the playing field had shifted.

Perhaps she chose the loss of regeneration ability, as she was out of the pact and moving like normal.

But the flinch on her expression was clearly visible.

The short sword dropped from my hand, as Monica noticed something , and lunges forward in the direction of that vampire, while sending waves of laser beams.

And in just one strike, the boldness of the Radiata One was gone, and was pinned to the ground by Monica’s beastified form.

"So, you were saying?", Monica asked as if taunting her.

"Tch."

She was frustrated at her loss, but didn’t move or try to overpower Monica.

The power of regeneration was her biggest advantage to be specific.

That’s why she charged without any fear in mind.

Now she is probably scared of being mutilated somehow, so she is not reacting much.

It was my win.

Our win, if I must say.

And just as I was going to swiftly make my escape, the air around us changed.

The mist, which has been cleared completely in this particular chamber, returned once again, with much more intensity.

I tried to exit, despite the commotion, but my muscles gave out.

Or, it was more like, I was held by something else.

"For the next 24 hours, I forbid every living being inside this dungeon not to move."

A voice echoed.

A sinister one at that.

The mere sight of another silhouette of an unknown being appearing from the mist sent chills down my spine.

"Now then, let the Age of Blood return."

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Author’s Note:

Please comment down your thoughts.

Next - ACT 9 : THE STRONGEST MEET

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