Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 271: Familiar crest

The fall was long and agonizing. As the organic submersible plummeted from the sky-ocean, the bio-organic hull sensed the impending impact.

Suddenly, clusters of gravity spores erupted from the beetle-like shell, expanding into a thick, pulsing parachute made of living tissue.

The descent slowed. The vessel swayed, drifting over a landscape that looked like a painting rendered in bruised purples and jagged blacks.

CRASH.

The submersible slammed into the ground, sliding through a thicket of vegetation before coming to a violent halt.

Damien was the first to kick the hatch open. He stepped out, his boots sinking into a carpet of deep, crimson grass.

The air here was different. It didn’t smell of rotting fungus or salty brine rather it smelled of iron and fresh copper, the metallic tang of blood.

The sky above was a heavy, sunless purple, and the horizon was jagged with obsidian mountains that pierced the clouds like broken teeth.

"The Red Plains," Elian wheezed, stumbling out behind him. He looked around, his eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror.

"This is a Noble Realm, Master. The Abyss mana... can you feel it?"

Damien inhaled. The mana density was suffocating, far thicker than anything on the surface.

To a normal demon, it would feel like trying to breathe liquid lead. But Damien’s dual-core pulsed., his new physique and hollow kings authority acted, his Will effortlessly filtering the corruption and stabilizing his internal pressure.

"It’s dense," Damien noted.

He raised his hand. A flick of his fingers ignited a small spark of hollow kings that consumed the remaining organic tissue of the submersible, leaving nothing but ash behind.

He reached into his coat and pinned a heavy iron medallion to his chest. He unfurled the black scroll, feeling the weight of the Wandering Baron identity.

"From this moment on, I am not Zero," Damien said, his voice dropping into an arrogant, resonant tone.

"I am a Baron of a fallen house. Act accordingly."

With that said, Both Elian and Isabelle nodded as they knew the seriousness of the situation

Taking a few minutes to survery their initial surroundings, they began to walk toward a dirt road that cut through the crimson grass.

Unlike the wildlands of the upper layers, this place had structure. There were paved stones, carriage ruts, and distant stone fortresses.

CLANG. SHING.

The sound of steel on steel echoed from behind a nearby ridge.

"Fighting," Isabelle said, her hand going to the hilt of her blade.

"Let’s see the locals," Damien replied.

They crested the ridge and looked down at a desperate scene. A black, ornate carriage, bearing a Silver Serpent Crest on its door was pinned against a rock wall.

Its defenders, a handful of pale, elegant guards in silver armor, were being overwhelmed.

They were fighting a squad of armored Orcs. But these weren’t the primitive brutes of the surface.

These were Iron-Blood Demonic Orcs. They wore heavy, abyss-grade steel plate and wielded massive, steam-venting axes.

"Indeed, as chaotic he described, also is that what I think it is," Damien whispered.

His eyes locked onto the Silver Serpent. It was identical to the crest he had seen in the Imperial Capital.

The same crest worn by Duke Vane. The same one Elise Vane had carried with such arrogance at the Academy.

The Vane family isn’t just a noble house on the surface, Damien realized, his lips curling into a cold smile. Interesting! Interesting!

Collecting his thoughts, Damien took another look at the ongoing battle

The defenders were falling. A massive Orc Captain, his armor stained with blood, raised a steaming greataxe over a wounded Vane guard. Inside the carriage, a muffled scream could be heard.

"Isabelle, Elian. Stay back," Damien ordered.

For this group of orcs, he didn’t run neither did he draw the Pantheon Sword. He simply walked down the ridge with the measured, terrifying grace of a predator.

The Orcs noticed him. Two of them broke off from the carriage, roaring as they leveled their heavy steel pikes.

"Halt, traveler!" the Orc Captain barked, his voice a guttural rasp.

"This is Iron-Blood business! Leave ordie!"

Damien didn’t stop. He didn’t even look at them.

"You are blocking the road," Damien said, his voice distorted by the porcelain mask.

"Move."

The Orcs laughed a wet, metallic sound. "A puny ’humanoid’ thinks he can—"

Damien’s eyes flashed with a cold, golden-black light.

[Will Art: King’s Pressure].

He released his Will.

The air around the Orcs suddenly turned into a physical weight. It was as if the gravity of the entire layer had suddenly focused on their shoulders.

CRUNCH.

The two Orcs charging him were slammed face-first into the dirt, their heavy steel armor buckling under the invisible force. The ground beneath them cracked.

The Orc Captain froze, his axe trembling. He looked at the masked man who was walking toward him, unaffected by the carnage.

He felt a primal, bone-deep terror, the kind of fear a commoner felt when standing before a God.

"I won’t say it again," Damien said, his King’s Intent radiating out in suffocating pulses.

"Move."

The Captain tried to lift his foot, but his knees gave way. He collapsed into the crimson grass, gasping for air as the pressure crushed his lungs.

Realizing they were facing a monster, the surviving Orcs scrambled back, abandoning their weapons and fleeing into the obsidian hills.

"Silence...."

Witnessing what just happened, the surviving Vane members looked at the new intruders, wondering if these were friend or foe

It wasn’t until about five minutes later that this silence was broken only by the crackle of the carriage’s broken wheels.

Damien stood ten feet from the carriage door. He retracted his Intent, the heavy atmosphere returning to normal.

The carriage door creaked open.

A female demon stepped out, leaning on a silver rapier for support.

She was breathtakingly elegant pale, translucent skin, and long, flowing silver hair that shimmered like moonlight. She wore a high-collared black dress trimmed with blood-red lace.

Damien stared.

She looked almost exactly like Elise Vane. The same sharp jawline, the same cold, haughty eyes. But here, in the Abyss, the features were more pronounced, more lethal.

The woman looked at the armored Orcs crushed into the dirt, then at the man in the white mask and the Baron’s medallion.

"You..." she whispered, her voice like velvet. "Who are you?"

Damien tilted his head, his smile hidden behind the porcelain.

"A traveler, My Lady," Damien said, his tone dripping with mock-nobility.

"And a man who hates violence."

He looked at the Silver Serpent on her carriage.

"But now it’s my time to ask you, who are you and what does that crest mean?."