Daily Life of a Transmigrating Villain

Damien slipped through the mansion's entrance like a shadow, his steps calculated as he moved down the dim hallway. The eerie quiet only heightened his focus. When he reached a large wooden door, his hand hesitated on the handle.

"Who are you?"

A voice echoed, causing his pulse to spike. He turned sharply but quickly realized it came from elsewhere—far off in the mansion, not directed at him. Wasting no more time, Damien turned the knob and entered the room, softly closing the door behind him, his movements smooth and deliberate.

He took in the room with a glance—spacious, grand, luxurious, yet cold. It was almost the size of a suite you'd find in the best hotels, with a chandelier dangling overhead, casting a muted glow over the sleek leather furniture and polished wooden floors.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with untouched books, more for decoration than use. The air was thick with the scent of wax and old wood, the kind of room that looked lived in but never truly was.

But his eyes didn't linger on the furniture for long. No, they were drawn to a large portrait, hidden behind a curtain, at the center of the room. Its presence, commanding and secretive, made his curiosity flare.

Straightening his suit jacket, Damien moved forward, his footsteps silent on the hardwood. He was here for a reason, though this room seemed almost too pristine, too intentionally untouched.

His fingers grazed the edge of the curtain, feeling the thin layer of dust that had gathered there.

"Let's see what we've got here," he muttered quietly. The dust confirmed his suspicion: whatever this portrait held, it had been sealed away for a long time, unseen and unacknowledged.

His mind raced, piecing together what he already knew about the Harrison family. This room had significance. It wasn't just the luxury that tipped him off—this was personal.

The portrait likely belonged to Luna Harrison's late mother, a figure who clearly hadn't been forgotten but had perhaps been erased in other ways.

As he pulled back slightly from the curtain, his attention shifted inward.

'Open the reward box for your first kill,' Damien thought, feeling a twinge of suspicion as he regarded the painting. The room, undoubtedly belonging to one of the mansion's family members, felt preserved yet forgotten. The curtains remained closed, hinting that either the past had left its mark, or someone was unable to confront the memory it held.

Already familiar with his next target's history, Damien recognized that this was the portrait of Luna Harrison's late mother.

[ Opening the Reward Box received for first kill....]

[ Congratulations! ]

[ Reward: Inventory with a 20 square meter area ]

The system notification flashed across his vision, but Damien barely reacted. His eyes continued to scan the room, taking in every detail before seeing the reward, which was what he needed right now, given the help of Lyra; he was able to manipulate the reward to his needs.

Damien pulled back the curtain, revealing the portrait of Luna Harrison's mother. Without hesitation, he stored it in his inventory, the painting vanishing instantly. He turned back to the room, scanning for anything useful.

Opening a drawer, he found an old oil lamp, some candles, and a box of matches. Odd for such a modern mansion, but clearly, someone had preserved these items intentionally.

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He grabbed the matchsticks, scraped their phosphorus tips together, and gathered the material.

Whatever he was planning, it was now in motion, his actions swift and deliberate.

Karl stood outside the Harrison family mansion, blood dripping down the side of his face, his wrists bound tightly in handcuffs. The bright daylight only made the situation feel more surreal. He looked desperately at the guards, his heart racing.

"Please, listen to me!" Karl begged. "I was brought here by a man!"

One of the guards stepped closer, eyes cold and skeptical. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," Karl replied, his voice cracking with frustration. He watched in panic as the guard unlocked the car door, dragging him out roughly. "Maybe he went inside. The mansion, I swear. He could've gone in there!"

The guards exchanged quick glances, one raising an eyebrow. "That's impossible. No one gets into the mansion without us knowing."

Karl felt a rush of desperation. "No, no! You have to believe me!" He tried to step forward, but a guard yanked him back, keeping him firmly under control.

"Take him to the corner room," another guard ordered, gesturing toward a small side building. Karl looked back at his taxi—his only source of income—sitting abandoned by the entrance. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he was pulled along.

More guards arrived, one of them leveling a gun at him. "On your knees," the guard said firmly.

Karl dropped to his knees, his cuffed hands raised above his head. "Lie down," came the next command.

With no other choice, Karl lay face down on the hard ground, feeling the cold concrete beneath him.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of how things had spiraled so quickly. He had only wanted to explain, but now it was clear—he was in deep trouble, and no one was listening.

"What is happening here?" Damien, jumping from the mansion's walls, immediately locked his gaze onto the scene unfolding before him.

His gaze briefly landed on Karl, handcuffed and lying on the ground, surrounded by guards.

Damien's eyes flicked to the blood stains near Karl's face, and a faint smirk appeared on his lips. It was clear he felt some satisfaction in seeing Karl in such a position.

But as the guards noticed him, Damien's expression quickly shifted to a cold, stern look.

One of the guards straightened, eyeing Damien's well-fitted suit and sharp features. "Please identify yourself, sir," the guard requested, sensing Damien's status but cautious nonetheless.

Damien didn't answer immediately, instead taking a slow, deliberate step forward. "I asked," he said coolly, "what's happening here?"

One of the guards pointed towards Karl. "This man," the guard started, "claims he entered the property unopposed. He was saying something about an intrusion, but we found no evidence—"

Before the guard could finish, Karl, still on the ground, suddenly yelled, "He's the one! Arrest him! He's the man I brought here!" Even with his hands cuffed, Karl desperately pointed towards Damien.