A Psychopath Reborn as a Third-rate Villain

The lesson finally came to an end.

Andras left the classroom with the other students, his expression calm as he walked through the academy corridor. The conversations around him gradually faded into the background.

His thoughts remained on the day’s classes.

Elowen’s explanation had been useful. Magic was not limited by the fixed structures most students memorized. The real limitation was knowledge. If someone understood a spell’s structure well enough, they could alter it. That was something he intended to explore later.

There was a more immediate problem, however.

He needed to learn spells.

The previous Andras had spent most of his effort on swordsmanship and the development of Echo Resonance. Despite possessing decent magical talent, he had never learned a single spell—not even a basic First Circle technique. It was an almost absurd neglect. Nearly every other noble student arrived at the academy already competent in at least the lower circles.

In this world, people generally fell into a few broad categories:

Pure mages.

Pure warriors.

Warriors who used spells.

Mages who used weapons.

Andras had originally intended to walk the path of a mage. The Devouring System had changed the calculation. Because he could acquire the talents of warriors as well, there was no reason to restrict himself to a single path.

He would become a mage who used weapons.

Magic would remain his primary strength. A weapon would serve as a secondary means of fighting when spells were inconvenient or when an opponent closed distance. As for the weapon itself, there was no reason to change.

The sword.

The previous Andras had favored it, and Echo Resonance aligned cleanly with swordsmanship. Andras himself had no particular attachment to any other weapon. A sword was versatile. It could attack, defend, counter, and adapt. He did not need anything else.

The thought of better natural compatibility with another weapon crossed his mind briefly.

He dismissed it.

Weapons were tools. The person using them mattered more than the tool itself. He would simply master the sword.

"Andras."

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.

He stopped and turned. A girl with silver hair stood a short distance away, her crimson eyes meeting his.

"Lenore."

A faint smile touched his face. "I thought you were ignoring me after the entrance examination ended."

Lenore’s expression became slightly awkward. "It’s nothing like that."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

She glanced along the corridor. Several students were still passing by. Lowering her voice, she continued,

"Can I ask you for something?"

"Speak."

Lenore hesitated, then said, "You let me drink your blood during the entrance examination. I could feel drunk."

"I remember."

Her cheeks slowly turned pink. "So... I want to experience that feeling again."

Andras studied her for a moment. "So you want me to drink alcohol first, then let you drink my blood."

She nodded. "Yes. But if you don’t want to, that’s okay."

Andras considered it briefly. The request was not unreasonable, and he had not drunk anything since the examination.

"It’s not a big deal. I wanted a drink anyway." He glanced down the corridor. "But I can’t exactly sit out here and drink."

Lenore thought for a moment. "You can come to my room."

Andras regarded her for a second, then shrugged. "All right. Let’s go."

---

Lenore’s room was farther down the residential corridor. She unlocked the door to Room 10 and stepped inside. Andras followed.

The temperature was noticeably cooler than his own room—not unpleasant, but distinct. Dark crimson curtains muted most of the afternoon light, casting a reddish glow across the dark wooden furniture. A large bed with deep burgundy sheets stood against one wall. Near the window sat a small table with neatly arranged books, most of them related to magic. A few dark candles rested on another surface, their faint scent lingering in the air. A small shelf held several glass bottles.

The room was elegant rather than extravagant. Dark. Quiet. Refined. It suited her.

"You can sit there," Lenore said, gesturing toward a chair near the table.

Andras sat and withdrew a bottle of rum from his storage ring. The familiar scent of alcohol spread through the room as he opened it and took a drink. The warmth settled steadily down his throat.

Lenore watched him quietly.

After a few moments, Andras looked at her. "Vesperia. You come from there, don’t you?"

"Yes."

"I’ve read about it, but most of what I’ve seen comes from books written by humans. What’s it actually like?"

Lenore considered the question. "Vesperia is cold. Compared to Valtharyn, yes. The land is darker as well. There are places where the sun barely reaches the ground because of the mountains and the thick forests. The nights are much longer in some regions."

"Because of the atmosphere?"

"Partly. Vesperia has an unusual mana environment. Crimson moons are especially common there."

Andras took another drink. "How are the vampire clans organized?"

"There are many clans. They don’t all answer to one ruler right now. That’s one of Vesperia’s biggest problems. Some cooperate. Others have been enemies for generations. Bloodline superiority matters a great deal. Powerful bloodlines are respected. Weak ones are often looked down upon."

"Sounds troublesome."

"It is. But it’s also normal to us."

Andras studied her. "You don’t seem particularly interested in that hierarchy."

"I don’t dislike vampires with strong bloodlines," Lenore replied. "But I don’t think someone’s worth should depend entirely on what blood flows through their veins."

Andras said nothing.

Lenore glanced at him. "Why are you asking so many questions about Vesperia?"

"I’m curious."

"Just curious?"

"Yes."

She stared at him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You’re strange."

"So I’ve been told."

Andras continued drinking until the bottle was noticeably lighter. He set it on the table and extended his wrist toward her.

"All right."

Lenore’s eyes focused on his offered hand. "Thank you."

She took it carefully. Her fangs pierced cleanly. Warm blood flowed into her mouth, and almost immediately her expression changed. Her shoulders relaxed. A faint blush spread across her pale cheeks as the familiar intoxication settled over her.

This time, however, her movements remained controlled. She did not lose herself the way she had during the entrance examination. After several moments, she stopped on her own and gently released his wrist.

"Thank you..." Her voice was softer than usual, and distinctly drunk.

Andras looked at her. "You stopped this time before I had to tell you to."

Lenore lowered her head. "Sorry... about last time. That was my first time getting drunk. I wasn’t in control. That’s why you had to make me unconscious."

"It’s fine. At least now you can control yourself even after becoming drunk."

She smiled faintly, looking unusually relaxed.

Andras glanced toward the door. "I’m going back to my room."

"Okay. Bye... and thanks for today."

Andras nodded and left.

---

The corridor outside was quiet. He walked back to his room at an unhurried pace and knocked once. Lyra opened the door almost immediately.

"Young Master."

Andras stepped inside. Lyra’s expression changed slightly as she caught the scent of alcohol.

"Young Master... you’ve been drinking."

"Yes." He walked past her. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, Young Master."

Andras stopped. "Have you eaten lunch?"

"Yes. Since you usually eat at the academy, I assumed you would eat there today as well."

"I didn’t. Make lunch for me."

"Of course, Young Master."

Lyra turned toward the kitchen. Andras watched her for a moment, then spoke again.

"Wait."

She stopped and looked back. "Yes, Young Master?"

"I’ve been thinking. How about I cook today?"

Silence.

Lyra stared at him as though she had misheard. "No, Young Master. It’s my responsibility to prepare your meals. You shouldn’t have to cook."

"Why not?"

"Because you’re a nobleman. Noblemen don’t cook."

Andras regarded her calmly. "I don’t care about those things."

Lyra hesitated. "But... can you cook? I’ve never even seen you enter the kitchen at Darkmoor House."

"That’s because I haven’t. I’ve never tried." That much was true for both the original Andras and for Alex in his previous life. "That’s why I want to. You’ll teach me."

Lyra’s expression became complicated. She clearly wanted to refuse. After a few seconds, she exhaled quietly.

"...All right, Young Master."

---

The kitchen was clean and carefully organized. Lyra began preparing the ingredients while Andras stood beside her.

"First, we need to cut these." She handed him a knife.

Andras looked at the knife, then at the vegetables, then back at the knife. He placed one on the cutting board and brought the blade down.

Too hard.

Thud.

Lyra blinked. "Young Master... you don’t need to cut it that hard."

He looked at the nearly crushed piece. "I see."

His next attempt produced a piece that was too large.

"Smaller."

Another.

"Smaller."

Andras looked at her. "How small?"

She pointed. "About that size."

He continued. It took considerably longer than expected. Cooking, he quickly realized, was filled with small, inefficient steps—cutting, washing, measuring, heating, waiting, adjusting, then repeating the process again.

"Young Master, don’t put that in yet."

Andras stopped. "Why?"

"The pan isn’t hot enough."

He looked at the pan. "How do you know?"

Lyra smiled faintly. "You can tell."

Andras stared at it. He could not tell. Not even slightly.

Eventually she nodded. "Now."

He added the ingredients. A loud sizzling sound filled the kitchen, and he immediately stepped back.

"Young Master."

"What?"

"You’re holding the spoon incorrectly."

He adjusted his grip. "Like this?"

"Yes. Slower... now turn it."

A piece flew out of the pan. Lyra caught it neatly with a utensil. The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment.

"Cooking is difficult," Andras said at last.

Lyra’s lips twitched. "Yes."

He continued under her guidance. He made several mistakes—adding slightly too much seasoning, nearly burning one side, cutting ingredients unevenly. At one point Lyra had to take over briefly to keep the food from sticking. But eventually the meal was finished.

It was not beautiful. It was not particularly impressive. But it was edible.

Andras sat at the dining table. Lyra brought the food over and placed it in front of him. As he picked up his utensils, she spoke.

"Young Master."

He looked up. "What?"

"Should I try it first? This is your first time cooking. If it’s good, I’ll tell you. If it isn’t, I’ll prepare another lunch."

Andras regarded her for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay."

Lyra sat down, carefully took a small bite, and chewed slowly. Andras watched her expression more closely than the food itself.

Finally, he asked,

"How is it?"

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