THE PERFECT VILLAIN: Another chance with a system

He returned to the institute the next day. Inside, the place sat far quieter than it had the day before, the usual bustle of clerks and messengers thinned to a handful of hushed conversations.

Kira stood behind the counter, a stack of paperwork piled beside her, her expression pale with exhaustion, dark circles pressing beneath her eyes like she hadn’t slept.

He crossed toward her with unhurried steps, stopping in front of the desk before she registered his presence at all.

"Good day, Miss Kira. Is everything alright?"

His voice pulled her out of whatever had swallowed her attention. She blinked at him, confused for a beat, before gathering herself. "Oh — it’s you. Good day, sir...?"

"Val."

"Is everything alright?" he asked again, watching her dig through a locker drawer for a file, her hands moving faster than the situation seemed to call for.

She produced a small envelope and gestured toward the door leading deeper into the office, nodding at his question even as her face said the opposite of fine.

"Your request was approved," she said, still facing the door. "Second floor, office 312 — that’s your assignment. The envelope covers your role."

She turned back to her papers without another word, and Val took the envelope, heading for the stairs. Whatever had stripped yesterday’s warmth from her face, he’d learn soon enough. The thought didn’t linger long before the envelope in his hand claimed his attention instead.

Climbing the stairs, he tore it open and pulled out the letter, scanning it as he walked. Assistant researcher — Earthstone war and threat crisis. Simply put, he’d been handed the job of flagging anything that might pose a danger to the kingdom.

*Whatever’s bothering her,* he thought, *I’ll find out soon enough.*

He reached the door marked 312, paused a beat, and knocked.

"Come in," a voice called from inside.

Val turned the knob and stepped through.

The room beyond was stacked floor to ceiling with books, folders, and tightly rolled scrolls, every available surface claimed by paper — a clear sign the kingdom took its threats seriously, perhaps more seriously than most. Shelves lined all four walls, and two desks sat inside — one facing the door with a broad window at its back, the other tucked into a shadowed corner.

His gaze swept the room before settling on the man behind the near desk — middle-aged, a monocle fixed over one eye, dressed in a pristine black suit. His dark hair carried streaks of grey throughout, the kind that came less from age and more from years spent buried too deep in research to notice the toll.

"Good day, Mr. Val. I’ve been expecting you." The man’s voice carried a practiced, professional calm as he gestured to the chair opposite him. "George Lansville. Head researcher."

"A pleasure, Sir George." Val crossed the room and took the offered seat, extending a hand. George met it with a firm, brief shake.

"You all seem rather busy this morning. Something urgent happen overnight?" Val asked.

George reached for a thin stack of papers at his elbow and slid it across the desk, adjusting his monocle before answering. "Word reached us that Dulthmune’s been destroyed. Something else has taken its place. Some say demon. Others aren’t so sure."

He paused, drew out an empty sheet from his drawer, and handed it over. "We need to know exactly what struck them, and whether it poses a threat to us. We’re their closest neighbor, after all."

Val took the blank sheet and pulled the file stack closer. "What kind of destruction did this ’thing’ cause? Did anyone survive Dulthmune to give a proper account of it?"

George offered a brief, warm smile. "You’ve got a researcher’s instinct. Glad I picked you."

Val held his gaze evenly. His questions weren’t really about the destruction — he cared far more about which version had already gotten out — but the assumption worked in his favor either way. "That’s the job, isn’t it?"

"It is." George leaned forward. "A handful of survivors, plus accounts from Kelter’s warriors. Apparently the King of Dulthmune broke their trade agreement out of nowhere, took a bride, and tried working his way into Kelter’s royal administration through some noble’s backing. A war broke out — and then something else arrived at the last moment. That’s the piece we’re actually chasing. These are the statements — from Dulthmune’s surviving citizens and Kelter’s soldiers both."

Val pulled one of the sheets closer and began reading through it.

"Any suspects already in mind?" he asked, not looking up.

George slid a small sheet across the table. Val set down what he’d been holding and picked it up instead. Three names, written plainly: the Sinners, an unidentified demon lord, and Twin Calamity — which he assumed, on instinct, meant Lambadack and Dreece.

"Those are our top three," George said. "I need you to cross-reference the witness statements against each and find which one lines up closest."

Val studied the paper longer than strictly necessary — the real answer sat clear enough in his own mind, but the testimonies were bound to read differently than expected, given that Warstone’s version of the Sinners had never included anyone matching Shadow’s description.

"Your desk’s over there," George said, nodding toward the corner. Val gathered the small note and blank sheet — meant, he assumed, for his written speculation — and rose. Before he could move, George slid one more sheet across the desk.

Val looked up, surprised, but George’s expression gave nothing away. His gaze dropped to the new sheet. He set the pile back down and picked it up instead. Four titles, written in a tight, careful hand. Val sank back into his chair, staring.

"What’s this? Who are they?"

George removed his monocle, leaning back with a heavy sigh.

"They’re the Four Great Calamities of the Iron Pyre Era."

He folded the paper across his knee and watched the dust motes drift in the window like slow, indifferent witnesses. George sat forward, monocle between forefinger and thumb. "Since you’re already on the team," he said, "you should know what we’re really tracking. It isn’t a band of brigands. It’s something older—something that reshaped an entire century."

Val drew the blank sheet closer. George set his jaw and began.

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