Reincarnated As A First Rate Villain: I Don't Know How To Play My Role Chapter 11

Lucien drifted between rows of gleaming garnts and polished mannequins, each modeling attire that scread wealth and history. The polished wood beneath his feet was rich mahogany, lacquered to the point that he could see his reflection shimr back at him. Fragrances wafted through the air—sandalwood, polished leather, and sothing faintly sweet, perhaps enchanted incense. Crystalline lights above flickered like candle flas, giving the grand boutique a warm, almost sacred atmosphere.

Just as he was admiring an intricately embroidered midnight-blue waistcoat lined with frost-silver threading, a commotion a few aisles down drew his attention.

He turned his head.

What he saw imdiately broke the genteel rhythm of his mood.

A rotund man with glistening cheeks and a voice that echoed like an angry drum was standing over a thin, timid boy no older than Lucien himself. The man wore garish velvet—deep maroon with gold trim that scread poor taste rather than true nobility. A gaudy monocle was clipped awkwardly to his left eye, making his expressions seem even more distorted and an-spirited.

"You miserable little worm!" the man shouted, raising a thick hand before slapping the servant boy across the face.

The sound was sharp—a skin-on-skin crack that cut through the soft, refined background of murmuring custors and harp music. Gasps echoed faintly.

Lucien narrowed his eyes but made no move to interfere. Not yet.

The boy's cheek was already red and swelling. He wore plain, well-maintained servant's clothes, but they hung off him slightly—as if he hadn't been fed properly for days. His dark brown eyes darted to the floor, avoiding the gazes of everyone watching. Yet, he didn't cry. He didn't even flinch as the fat man shoved him backward against a stand of cloaks.

"Do you think coin grows on trees?" the man roared, shaking a finely tailored shirt in his hand. "You dropped this. You filthy, worthless slave! How dare you sha in front of these rchants!"

Lucien's heart skipped.

Slave?

He had assud the boy was a poorly treated servant, which was already bad enough. But to hear the word "slave" spoken so casually, so venomously, struck him deeper than he expected.

So there are slaves here...

He felt an odd chill run down his spine. He had read in the estate's library about indentured labor and servant contracts, but no ntion of slaves had surfaced so far. Or perhaps it was simply hidden behind euphemisms and layers of nobility-approved language.

Lucien leaned against a display of winter cloaks, arms crossed, smirking slightly.

Not because he was enjoying the boy's pain.

But because he had always loved drama.

Back in his old world, he would sotis sit at the back of his school courtyard, watching couples argue over petty misunderstandings or classmates sche behind each other's backs. It was a source of endless entertainnt—sothing about the chaos of human interaction fascinated him. He even took pride in stirring the pot when things got dull.

And now, he was seeing drama live, up close and unscripted.

The fat man waved the shirt like a banner of righteousness. "Do you know how much this costs? Do you? One wrinkle, one stain, and it becos unfit for nobles like ! You exist to serve , you waste of space!"

The boy didn't respond. He simply nodded and lowered his head.

Lucien could see the subtle twitch in the boy's fingers—clenched into a fist. Not out of rebellion, but sheer humiliation.

Other patrons glanced nervously but kept their distance. This man's clothes, as gaudy as they were, marked him as soone with influence—perhaps a minor noble or a rchant guild mber with backing.

Lucien, anwhile, remained perfectly still, though a flicker of mischief burned in his mismatched eyes.

"Should I get involved?" he murmured to himself. "Or just... enjoy the show?"

His dark aura pulsed faintly, a remnant of his true nature humming beneath the surface.

He could see the dramatic beats lining up like a stage play. The abused slave, the boorish noble, the silent onlookers, and him—a noble boy in disguise.

A perfect storm was brewing.

But for now, he chose to watch. To learn.

And perhaps... to let the tension simr a little longer.

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The tension in the air lingered like a bad aftertaste as the rotund nobleman continued his verbal assault. "You useless dog! How many tis have I told you to keep your hands off the noble silk?! Do you think soone like you is even worthy of folding it?" he bellowed, his fleshy face red with anger, a gold-plated cane clutched tightly in his fist. The servant—a young boy, barely older than ten, thin to the bone and visibly shaking—bowed again and again, his knuckles scraping against the polished wooden floor.

"Forgive , master... I didn't an—"

"Didn't an?! Then an it next ti! Useless slave!" the fat noble spat. His words struck with venom, and his voice echoed through the grand halls of the store.

So passersby stopped and turned, watching the scene unfold with mixed reactions. A few well-dressed nobles nodded in agreent, murmuring under their breath, "Discipline is important. Slaves these days need reminding of their place." Others looked away, uncomfortable yet unwilling to speak out.

A rchant near the scarves section chuckled dryly. "At least my servants know better than to touch anything unless I say so."

Another noblewoman whispered to her young maid, "Aren't you lucky I'm nothing like that beast?" Her maid smiled nervously and nodded, murmuring a soft agreent, but her eyes told a different story.

Lucien stood nearby, hidden behind a rack of ornate coats, amused beyond words. His crimson and gray eyes glead with morbid delight as he watched the absurd display. "This really feels like one of those scripted dramas from back ho," he thought, suppressing a laugh. "The wicked noble, the trembling slave, and the peanut gallery pretending they're morally superior. It's perfect."

He leaned against the display casually, lips curled into a smirk. "So this world has slavery too, huh? How villainous. I love it," he muttered, relishing the twisted entertainnt. He rembered the countless lodramas he had enjoyed in his previous life, and now he was living inside one. He couldn't help but think, "Being a villain doesn't sound so bad."

Just as the scene began to grow stale, the bell above the entrance gave a soft chi.

Knight Rex entered the store.

With heavy, composed steps, he scanned the room beneath his dark crimson cloak, the golden winged lion sigil of House Velebrandt resting proudly over his shoulder. His presence drew imdiate attention—so custors stiffened, and the fat noble imdiately ceased shouting, his jowls tightening.

Approaching the nearest store clerk, Knight Rex spoke in a calm but firm tone. "Have you seen a boy with silver-white hair and eyes of red and gray? He would've co in a short while ago. Accompanied by ."

The clerk, startled but respectful, nodded quickly. "Yes, Sir Rex! He's in the fitting area, looking around. He asked to explore a little while waiting for his garnts to be prepared. Would you like to escort you to him?"

Knight Rex shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I'll find him."

He turned his gaze across the shop, his sharp eyes sweeping every aisle with military precision. A subtle tension followed his wake, the kind only soone of imnse power and authority could command. As he walked past the coats, the absurdity of the previous drama seed to lt away. Even the fat nobleman instinctively took a step back.

Lucien, still watching with a devilish grin, straightened his posture and waved slightly. "Took you long enough, Sir Rex."

Knight Rex's lips twitched in response. "Enjoying yourself, young master?"

"Imnsely."

The stage was set. The drama had passed.

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The mont Knight Rex stepped into the luxurious Velebrandt clothing store, the air shifted.

His entrance was not loud or exaggerated, but his presence alone caused the gathering of nobility and well-to-do rchants to instinctively move aside. His polished black armor, adorned with silver trim and the unmistakable winged lion insignia of House Velebrandt upon his chestplate, glead under the soft magic lights of the ceiling. His boots thudded quietly but confidently against the marbled flooring, and his piercing gaze swept through the store like a blade.

Gasps and murmurs filled the room like rising steam.

"That's Sir Rex... the Shadow Fang of Velebrandt..."

"He serves directly under the Grand Duke himself..."

"Wait, wasn't he that fad S-rank knight who cut down the Beast King of Gorrath?"

"But who's that boy with him...?"

So had already noticed the boy from earlier, but now their eyes darted between the silver-haired youth sitting near the display racks and the formidable knight. Their thoughts raced as pieces began to fall into place.

A lady whispered into her husband's ear. "He called him... young master."

"You don't think—!" the man muttered in disbelief. "That boy is the child of Grand Duke Velebrandt?"

"The heir himself? Here?!"

Knight Rex ignored the rising tide of gossip like a river stone ignores the current. His stride took him directly to the boy, who had been quietly chuckling to himself with a mischievous twinkle in his heterochromatic eyes—one red like burning embers, the other gray like tempered steel.

"Young master," Rex said, kneeling slightly to be at eye level with Lucien. "Your clothing should be ready shortly. But in the anti, I'll find a cloak for you and for . Sothing modest, to conceal our identity. The attention is starting to swell."

Lucien blinked, still grinning faintly from the drama he'd just witnessed. "Yeah, I was thinking the sa thing. It's getting a bit theatrical in here."

Knight Rex allowed himself a faint smile. "It always does when House Velebrandt is involved."

He gently gestured for Lucien to follow, guiding him to a set of finely crafted wooden chairs near the main counter, where a glass case displayed ornate accessories—brooches, rings, pocket watches, and enchanted pins. The store's warm glow, scented faintly with aged wood and lavender-scented enchantnts, contrasted sharply with the chill of nobility that had overtaken it monts ago.

Lucien sat down, his small fra dwarfed by the plush, high-backed chair. He leaned back, sighing contentedly as he watched Rex disappear down a velvet-lined aisle filled with cloaks and traveling mantles. The boy's excitent bubbled again beneath the surface.

He was in another world. A better world. A world that was vibrant and alive. And here, among gold-trimd counters, enchanted fabrics, and swirling whispers, he felt that he was finally beginning to understand what it ant to be the child of a first-rate villain.

And it was glorious.