Transmigrated as the Villain: I Will Destroy Fate

Chapter 176: Duality [8]

The red pillar tore a wound in the sky.

It was not merely light or energy, but a presence that carried extreme weight. From the shattered selection boundary to the heart of the forest, every living thing felt it. The mutated demons, half-formed things of blood and rage, froze in place, their monstrous instincts overridden by a far more primal fear. Surviving students staggered, clutching their chests as the air grew thick and heavy, and each breath became a struggle to breathe. Trees bent, not from the wind or the weather, but from the sheer pressure of the demonic energy that was present in the battlefield.

Bruce was one of the first to put a name to the massive presence in front of him.

He stared at the crimson beacon, his heart hammering against his ribs, and a single, desperate name took root in his defeated mind.

Lord Mesmer.

In his mind, only one being could command such power.

This had to be his arrival.

His true arrival.

Had he sensed Bruce was in danger.

Thinking this, Bruce felt a sense of relief.

He risked a glance around the clearing. Luca was on one knee, struggling under the weight of it, his face pale and strained as he tried to force himself to fight the pressure. Iris stood beside him, one hand pressed to her chest as she fought to draw a full breath.She was far worse than Luca. The remaining mutated humans turned demons were almost all dead, or unconscious from the sheer pressure.

Only Grace was different.

The vile woman who knew too much.

Bruce’s gaze settled on her.

She was beautiful, he had to admit, with a radiant, untouchable quality that made her seem entirely out of place in the smoke and blood of the battlefield. But it was her reaction that held him in place, putting his attention directly on her and no one else.

She was not struggling.

Not like Luca. Not like Iris.

Instead, she stared at the pillar with wide, starstruck eyes.

It was not awe. It was not fear. It was something stranger, a look of profound shock, as if she were witnessing something impossible and trying to decide whether she should hope or panic. That was the conclusion he made seeing her expression.

This is my opening.

If Lord Mesmer was giving him a chance, why should he refuse it?

He created the illusion immediately.

A decoy Bruce remained in place, injured and tense, also facing the massive pillar of energy like he didn’t know what was going on either. The copy was not perfect. Not against Grace and her artifact that she supposedly planned in preparation for him alone. She could see through him if she focused.

But she was not focusing.

She was staring at the pillar.

The sound from that direction was extremely loud, screeching against his ears. But this worked in his favor, as it allowed him to not worry about being quiet as he ran. The light was worse, bright enough to burn small red suns into his vision even when he looked away.

Bruce slipped backward.

Then he ran.

Luca and Iris did not react. Grace did not even turn.

He risked one last look back as the distance between them grew.

For a moment, he wondered if she was allowing him to leave, another piece of her infuriating, all-knowing game. Or if she simply didn’t notice.

He decided it was the second. Her face was still lifted toward the pillar, her expression too caught, too shaken.

Whatever she knew, whatever she had planned, this was not part of it.

That comforted him, but not enough to erase the hate.

As Bruce moved deeper into the forest, he thought of her one last time.

Hatred rose first, a clean and simple fire.

Then rage.

Then a confusion that tasted like poison in his heart.

He hated the way she spoke to him, as if she understood his past, his pain, his loneliness.

As if his life were a story she had already experienced and could judge from an omniscient point of view.

It disgusted him.

He hated people like that.

People who spoke gently while standing miles above you. People who claimed to understand while never once being trapped inside your skin. People who used kindness as a weapon.

He hated it.

Bruce turned away fully, running away deeper and deeper in the forest.

—

Farther from the battlefield’s centre, Kazuma Momozono watched the red pillar slowly recede. He stood perfectly still, his presence so faint it was less than a shadow. Unlike the others, he was not surprised by the invasion.

How could he be?

He had not known every detail.

Mesmer had not explained more than was necessary, and Kazuma had never been foolish enough to assume demons were honest partners.

But the broad shape of the attack was not unexpected.

After all, he had helped make it possible.

He had given Mesmer information. Academy routes. Security patterns. The selection event’s structure. The faculty’s response habits. The names and likely locations of key students. Insider details that only someone embedded deep within Luminara could provide.

He did this because the elves and Mesmer were working together. It was not a friendship. It was not an alliance bound by trust and comradery. It was a professional relationship, a temporary alignment of interests.

Nothing more.

Kazuma looked down at the soft leather glove on his right hand.

Divine Cloak.

The name was an irony he appreciated secretly, as it wasn’t even a cloak. It was a Rank 5 artifact, subtle enough that most never noticed it, and powerful enough that noticing often came too late.

Its ability was perception correction.

Those around him instinctively reinterpreted his actions as normal.

It was not mind control in the crude sense that many people thought it was, it was cleaner.

If someone questioned him, their own thoughts would resolve the contradiction.

For example, if there was a situation where Kazume left the room and someone died. No one would question him. Kazuma leaving a room seconds before a murder? Suspicious for a moment, then reasonable. He must have had somewhere to go. Someone else must have done it. In a room full of his peers, he could walk out, kill someone, and return to watch them wonder who the culprit was without his name ever properly sticking in the list of culprits.

The stronger the target, the weaker the correction.

But in Luminara’s freshman class, it was more than enough. It was why he remained unremarkable. Why his absences felt natural. Why his silences seemed harmless.

Then suddenly, he remembered the voice.

The girl who had approached him.

No. Not approached. Reached him, without anyone knowing.

Kazuma closed his hand, the leather creaking softly.

He had been trained since childhood to remove himself from emotion. Fear, guilt, hesitation – all were weaknesses carved out of him long ago.

But that voice still chilled him.

She had spoken to him as if she knew the shape of the world from outside it, as if his choices were strings she was merely pointing at. She had said things that made no sense, and somehow, they made too much sense. He still did not know if what she had told him was true. Even now, it felt impossible.

His thoughts drifted to Ronan and Elara.

He had given information about them, too. Small, useful pieces, but nothing too dangerous. Enough that he could almost pretend he was being a friend.

He had also been behind Brutas challenging Ronan. Why? Because he had been ordered to. Because Mesmer was his superior for this operation.

And Kazuma was a weapon.

What right did a weapon have to think on its own?

A weapon did not question who pointed it. A weapon did not choose what it cut.

That was what he had been taught. That was what he had survived by believing.

Still, regret surfaced. Small. Sharp. Unwelcome.

Ronan and Elara are my friends.

The thought arrived before he could stop it, and it was entirely unwelcome. He pushed it down immediately.

Friends did not matter more than orders. They simply could not.

But the voice returned in his memory, soft and chillingly calm, asking a question he had not been able to dismiss.

What right does a tool have to accept orders?

Kazuma’s expression remained blank. His hand tightened around the Divine Cloak. For a long moment, he simply watched the last traces of red fade from the sky. Then he put the conflict away. There was no point in thinking about it, so he simply put it aside int he depths of his own mind.

Not resolved.

Only buried.

He stood alone in the damaged forest, still wearing the artifact that his father had gifted him in order to complete this mission.

Kazuma took it off, looking at it with an appraising expression.

And he steeled his mind.

This had to be done.