Reincarnated in a novel: I am the villain!-Chapter 290: The Empty Chair

[Location: The Melting Pot Inn – Abyss Layer 6]

Time soon passed, and after talking about the event with Ziriork, Damien soon found a room for he and the others to rest

Unfortunately, the room smelled of stale oil, rust, and cheap alcohol.

It was a small, cramped box made of riveted iron plates, typical for the Slag Heap district of Argentum.

Outside, the mechanical hum of the city never ceased, a constant, grinding reminder that they were deep underground.

Damien sat cross-legged on the rusted metal frame of his bed.

He looked at the other bed in the room.

Isabelle was sleeping. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling with a fragile rhythm.

The violet fire that usually danced in her eyes was extinguished.

Her skin, usually pale and flawless, was grey and crisscrossed with fine, glowing cracks, the physical scars of a soul pushed past its breaking point.

She looked small.

"Rest well Isabelle ," Damien whispered, brushing a strand of orange hair from her forehead.

"I’ll handle the reat."

He stood up and walked to the center of the room.

He checked the spells he had placed on the door and window. Secure.

He closed his eyes, reaching into his soul, past the Shadow Core, past the Dragon Aura, finding the golden thread that bound his family together.

[Skill Activated: The Roundtable of the Greedy King.]

ZOOM!

The smell of oil vanished. The noise of the city faded into silence.

Damien opened his eyes.

He was no longer in a rusted inn room, instead he sat on a high-backed throne of shadows at the head of a massive, polished obsidian table.

Around him, grey mist swirled endlessly, revealing glimpses of a starry void.

One by one, the chairs around the table began to flicker.

*ZZZT.*

A massive, armored figure slammed into the seat to his left. Leona.

She wore the Crown of Fangs, her Void-Gauntlet glowing with purple energy.

*ZZZT.

A slender figure cloaked in grey wind appeared next. Lyra. She was wiping blood from a dagger, her eyes sharp and alert.

ZZZT.

A stout figure covered in soot, holding a wrench, materialized. Prince Hephaestus. He looked exhausted but manic.

ZZZT.

And finally, to his right, a figure in an impeccable black suit adjusted his glasses. Alfred.

"Young Master!" Leona roared, slamming her metal fist onto the table. The sound echoed through the mental space.

"It’s been so long, you don’t know how much I missed you"

"Haha it’s good to see you all too," Damien said, his voice echoing with authority.

"The Abyss is quite stubborn. But I am making progress."

He looked around the table, His team. The Black Thread.

These were the people who he could rely on and trust in this chaotic world.

"Report," Damien commanded, leaning back in his throne.

"I’ve been gone for months. Tell me what I’ve missed."

Alfred stepped forward first. His projection flickered slightly, showing a background of jagged grey rocks and ash.

"I have located Elder Magnus," Alfred announced calmly.

Damien’s eyes widened behind his mental mask.

"Is he alive?"

"Alive and... evolved," Alfred corrected.

"The Eastern Wastelands are a dead zone for mana. To survive there for sixteen years, the remnants of the Voss family have practically mutated."

Alfred adjusted his glasses.

"They have developed a technique to Nullify Magic using physical force and solidified shadow. They call it "’Mana-Breaking’. Magnus is eager to join your side. He says he has sixteen years of rage to burn."

"Anti-Magic?" Damien mused.

"That will be useful against the Mages of the Empire. Tell him to hold position until I give the signal."

"Understood," Alfred bowed.

Damien turned to Leona. "And the North?"

"Bloody," Leona grunted, crossing her arms.

"The Central Empire is frantic. Emperor Aurelius is throwing legions at our borders daily. But my Beast-kin are holding well"

"The Magitech armor Hephaestus sent us is holding the line."

"The Empire is also distracted," Lyra cut in, her voice sharp.

"Because of Astra."

"The Headmistress?" Damien asked.

"Yes, she’s left the Spire," Lyra said, a hint of awe in her voice.

"She recovered from the invasion. Now? She is on a warpath. She declared a personal vendetta against the Twilight Association."

Lyra brought up a map projection. Red dots were vanishing across the continent.

"She is hunting cultists personally. An angry Demi-God rampaging across the countryside... the Cults are terrified."

"This is especially good for us, since ever since a few months ago they’ve been springing up like ants everywhere spreading propaganda that the end of the world is coming."

"Indeed that is good for us," Damien realized. "Is there more?."

"There is," Lyra continued.

"The Kingdom of Light has launched a Holy War. Paladins are marching to purge the ’Darkness.’ And leading the charge on the Southern Front... are three familiar faces."

Lyra smiled.

"Alaric, Elena, and Lukas. They are calling them the ’Trinity of Heroes.’They are traveling to the Holy City to claim the Sword of Heroes."

"Everywhere they go, they destroy Cult cells and slay demons. The public loves them."

Damien leaned back, a proud smile touching his lips.

"The Protagonists are doing their job," Damien murmured.

"They are the light that draws the eye, while we move in the dark."

"And the Dwarves?" Damien looked at Hephaestus.

"We are ready," the Smith Prince grinned, wiping grease from his nose.

"The Tank Divisions are operational. The Titan Project is in mass production. When the war starts, Ironforge will not be a victim this time. We will be the victors!"

Damien nodded slowly. The pieces were moving. The world was preparing for the end.

"Good," Damien said. "Maintain the pressure and continue to gather resources for when I return"

"Young Master?"

Leona interrupted, her voice dropping. The boisterous energy faded from her face.

She pointed to the empty chair to Damien’s immediate right.

The seat that always belonged to the maid who stood closest to him.

"Where is **Isabelle?" Leona asked, her golden eyes narrowing with worry.

"She is always with you. Why isn’t she here?"

The table went silent.

Alfred adjusted his glasses, his expression tightening.

Lyra stopped playing with her dagger.

Even Hephaestus put down his wrench.

They all knew Isabelle. They knew she was the shadow to Damien’s light.

If Damien was at the Roundtable, Isabelle should be standing behind him.

Damien looked at the empty chair.

He remembered the Altar of Iron , everything that had happened there, especially with the violet fire consuming her body as she burned her very soul to become strong enough to fight by him.

He remembered her cracked skin and the silence of her mind as she lay in the bed next to him in reality.

Damien frowned. The shadows around his throne grew heavier, darker, reacting to his mood.

"About that..." Damien whispered.

He looked up at his vassals, his eyes cold with a promise of violence that made the spectral mist recoil.

"She is sleeping, however don’t worry she’ll soon wake up."

"I promise!"

He said, his eyes behind the mask glowing with determination