The Villain's Grimoire

Dark clouds were beginning to gather in the sky, swallowing the golden afternoon light.

Damien paused mid-step, his gaze lifting toward the heavens.

Heavy, gray storm clouds loomed above, their presence thick with the promise of rain.

The wind had picked up, rustling the leaves around him, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant thunder.

He had been pacing for a while now, trying to make sense of his situation. The weight of his new reality pressed against him, like invisible chains wrapped around his limbs.

A year.

That was all he had. One year before he was thrown into the same stage as the Hero and his radiant heroines.

A year before the story's events would unfold, leading him toward inevitable ruin — unless he changed everything.

Damien exhaled sharply, his breath misting slightly in the cooling air. The Nightshade estate wasn't too far from here, if he recalled correctly. He needed to return before the rain came down.

But before that…

His fingers twitched, his mind returning to the strange screen that had appeared before him earlier.

Fatebreaker's Grimoire.

A legendary, cursed tome. His supposed ultimate weapon.

He hadn't gotten a proper look at it yet, but if it was truly something meant to defy fate, then understanding it was his first priority.

Damien extended his hand and willed it to appear.

A pulse of energy surged through his body, and in an instant, a book materialized in his grasp.

It was heavier than expected. Bound in dark leather, its surface was smooth yet unnervingly cold, like marble left in the night air.

Strange silver engravings ran along the cover, shifting under his gaze like living ink. It didn't look like any ordinary grimoire.

He turned it over, fingers brushing along the spine.

No title. No author. Nothing to indicate what knowledge it held.

Damien flexed his grip, rolling his wrist experimentally. The book reacted.

A soft hum filled the air as the engravings pulsed with faint blue light. It was responding to him.

Curious, he channeled a thread of mana into the book.

The moment his energy touched it, the grimoire came alive.

Pages flipped open on their own, glowing with intricate arcane symbols.

Sparks of blue lightning crackled from the edges, leaping between his fingers before dissipating into the air.

The entire book thrummed like a living thing.

Damien grinned.

He flicked his wrist, and a sharp arc of mana-infused energy shot from the grimoire's cover, striking a tree a few feet away.

The bark sizzled where the energy had touched it, leaving a faint scorch mark.

This was… fun.

He experimented a little more, channeling different amounts of mana into the tome.

Each time, the grimoire responded with different effects — one moment, a soft glow of energy rippled across the cover; the next, a condensed zap of mana shot from its surface, crackling like a miniature storm.

He could feel it — an extension of himself.

But this was no mere plaything.

The Fatebreaker's Grimoire wasn't just for tossing out bursts of energy.

Damien steadied his breath and focused.

The book understood.

The pages stopped flicking at random and settled on something.

A deep, inky black script formed across the parchment, shifting and rearranging itself until it became something readable.

─── [Fatebreaker's Grimoire – Index] ───

🔹 [Rewrite Fate] – (Locked)

🔹 [Predation] – (Locked)

🔹 [Corrupt Heroic Destiny] – (Locked)

🔹 [Limitless Evolution] (Passive) – Active

──────────────────

Damien narrowed his eyes.

Most of the abilities were locked.

He clenched his jaw. That meant he couldn't rely on the full potential of the grimoire just yet. But one thing was active — Limitless Evolution.

His gaze flicked to the description below it.

[Limitless Evolution] (Passive) – No Growth Limits.

He wasn't sure how that worked yet, but the implications were… dangerous.

If he had no limits, then theoretically, there was nothing stopping him from surpassing even the Hero.

A slow, calculating smile spread across his lips.

Maybe this world had doomed Damien Nightshade to failure, but this Damien Nightshade wasn't the same as before.

He would carve out his own fate.

He would rise.

And he would take everything for himself.

A sharp gust of wind rushed through the clearing, rustling his silver hair as he closed the grimoire with a soft thud.

The clouds overhead had thickened, dark and brooding. The scent of rain had grown stronger.

It was time to return.

───

The Nightshade estate was a towering fortress of obsidian stone, surrounded by a dense forest that separated it from the rest of civilization.

Unlike the grandeur of other noble estates, the Nightshade household was isolated, almost abandoned in its atmosphere.

Damien stepped past the iron-wrought gates, the metallic creak echoing behind him as they swung shut.

The estate was massive, but cold.

Tall spires rose against the darkened sky, their pointed peaks clawing at the heavens. The windows were mostly dark, save for a few faint glows of candlelight flickering from within.

He had never seen the place in person before.

In the novel, Damien had been raised in this house, neglected by a father who saw him as a failure and despised by the servants who feared his bloodline.

That didn't bother him.

This was his home now, whether it welcomed him or not.

The entrance hall was silent when he stepped inside. The floors were polished black marble, reflecting the dim light of the grand chandelier hanging above.

The walls were adorned with ancient portraits, their subjects watching him with cold, lifeless eyes.

A pair of servants passed by in the distance, their expressions wary the moment they caught sight of him.

They lowered their heads, murmuring hasty greetings before disappearing down another corridor.

He was used to that kind of reaction.

Damien's reputation in the novel had been that of a cursed heir, unwanted and unloved. Someone whose existence carried the weight of a failed legacy.

But they didn't know.

They had no idea that their young master had changed.

And in time, they would see.

Damien took one last glance at the empty hall before making his way toward his quarters. He needed rest. He needed a plan.

And most of all, he needed to get stronger.

What better way to get stronger than a Training Montage?