Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 318: Victorian Fashion Enthusiast

The woman exhaled, marching over with an expression that screamed maternal exasperation and restrained public embarrassment.

She gently took hold of her son's wrist and pulled him a step back. "Elian, sweetheart, that is not your daddy. Now be polite, apologize for bothering the nice man, and let's get going, okay?"

Elian didn't budge. "But, Mommy," he protested, voice rising in disbelief, "how can he look so much like Daddy? Maybe… maybe he's Daddy's long-lost twin brother!"

His mother turned to give him a deadpan look. "Elian, your dad doesn't have a twin. He has an older brother, remember? The one who moved to Paris last year. We literally went to see him off at the airport. You cried because they didn't let you keep the boarding pass."

Elian tilted his head, visibly undeterred. "Even so… what if Daddy's real twin got separated at birth and grew up in a different family, like in the drama Twins of Destiny? He might not know he's Daddy's brother!"

"How many times have I told you to stop watching daily soaps with Grandma? I swear, you're starting to sound like her. They are not healthy for a developing brain. Watch cartoons. Or anime. Something that makes sense for your age."

Elian's face scrunched into a pout. "I'm not a little kid, Mommy."

"Oh, sure," she muttered with an exaggerated shrug, "you're practically paying bills."

The boy huffed and pointed accusingly at Vyan, who looked equally parts confused and secondhand embarrassed. Vyan couldn't find the right time to interrupt the duo and peace out.

"But Mama! Just look at his face! He looks exactly like Daddy! How can you just ignore that?"

His mom rubbed her temples and turned back toward him, eyes flicking over his features with reluctant acknowledgment. "Okay, okay. I'm not denying he looks like your dad. The resemblance is freakishly strong. But he's not your dad, honey."

She gestured vaguely in Vyan's direction. "I mean, look at him. He looks like he's, what, a college student? Twenty-one, twenty-two, tops. Your dad is at least ten years older than that. And," she gave Vyan a once-over, "your dad doesn't dress like a stage actor auditioning for a Shakespeare play."

She glanced back at Vyan, belatedly realizing how that might have sounded. "No offense, mister. If you are a stage actor, no judgment—I respect all professions."

"I'm not a stage actor," Vyan simply responded.

"Oh. So… Victorian fashion enthusiast?"

"Victoria who?"

There was a pause. She gave another once-over to his attire. Yep, he definitely looked like a nobleman from movies.

She laughed awkwardly, shifting on her feet. "Hah. You don't know who Queen Victoria is. Okay. That's cool. That's fine. To each their own. Fashion is personal. Expression of the self and all that." She waved a hand as if to erase the entire interaction. "Either way, this isn't our business. You do you, mister. I'm just gonna take my conspiracy-theorist son and go away before he starts suggesting something crazier."

She gave Elian a tug, who dramatically sighed as if he were leaving behind a key to a mystery no one else would solve.

They had just begun to walk away, the woman gently nudging Elian along with one hand while steering the stroller with the other, when a hesitant voice floated after them.

"Um, excuse me," Vyan called out. "What's your name?"

The woman glanced over her shoulder with a curious squint. "Why?"

Vyan scratched the back of his neck. "There's no reason. You just… look a lot like someone I know."

That earned him a smirk. "The name's Emma. But don't you think that pick-up line's a bit outdated? Also," she motioned toward her entourage of tiny humans, "clearly, I'm with kids. Not exactly the vibe for flirting."

Vyan made a face so flat it could be used as a cutting board. "I'm not trying to flirt, that too with a married woman who has to be double my age—"

Emma gasped, offended. "Did you just say I look forty?"

"Anywayyyy," he continued, ignoring her furious remark, "you really do look like my fiancée."

Emma arched a brow. "Fiancée? At your age?" She laughed, incredulous. "I swear, kids these days… Shouldn't you, I don't know, finish college and get a job before diving into a lifelong commitment?"

Vyan's face didn't change. "I have a job." He was the Grand Duke. "And people my age do get married." It was rather baffling not to be married by his age, especially for women. "Why do you keep acting like I'm a twelve-year-old child?" He was twenty-one and a full-grown ass adult.

Emma narrowed her eyes, trying to place his accent. "Is that… common somewhere to get engaged at your age? Where exactly are you from? Asia, maybe? You don't look Asian, though." He had the same accent as her, in fact, more pronounced.

Vyan looked genuinely baffled. "Asia? What kingdom is that? Is it in the Northern Continent?"

Emma also looked baffled. "By Northern Continent, do you mean North America?"

"Where in the Goddess's name is North America?"

Emma gave him a long, suspicious stare, then crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Are you… roleplaying a fantasy character or something? 'Cause I gotta admit, you're good. Like, freakishly convincing. I might just believe you if you tell me you're not from this world and transmigrated or something."

"Oh, my Goddess, yes! That's exactly what happened. I have come from another world. That's strange. How did you figure that out?" Was this finally hope? Perhaps, the people here were progressive enough to believe in him? Maybe this woman could help him get back?

Emma didn't know how to react. "Oh. Wow. Okay. So, we've crossed the line from cosplay to actual head trauma." She took a cautious step forward, examining his head for a bump or blood. "Did you… maybe hit your head? Do you need to see a doctor? I can show you where the nearest clinic is—"

"I did not hit my head," Vyan groaned, slightly annoyed. "I'm telling you the truth. I actually need help getting back—"

His words cut off mid-sentence.

The world tilted beneath his feet like a rug yanked underneath. A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he staggered.

All of a sudden, his limbs felt far too heavy, his vision flickered, and the pounding in his skull screamed of days without proper food, of potion side effects wearing off, of no mana to sustain him.

Emma's eyes widened. "Hey—"

Vyan collapsed backward, landing on the park bench with a thud before sliding sideways into unconsciousness.

Elian peered down at the now-limp stranger sprawled on the bench. He poked his arm curiously. "Mommy… I think he really did hit his head."

The baby in the stroller babbled something incomprehensible but distinctly cheerful. Emma, on the other hand, looked between the man and her kids and groaned under her breath.

"Well, there goes my peaceful Sunday."

———

The first thing Vyan noticed when he stirred was that the ceiling was boring. Off-white, smooth, with no murals, carvings, or painted cherubs serenading him from above. No gold. No velvet. Not even a grand sparkling chandelier.

The second thing he noticed was the chill brushing against his skin, sending pleasant shivers down his arms. He glanced upward at the strange box mounted high on the wall, humming softly and breathing out cold air like some sort of mini frost dragon.

A temperature-controlling relic?

He wondered what its name would be.

The people here had amazing alternatives to magic, to the point that they didn't even require magic. It was a science-based world, right? As far as he remembered from Leila.

He sat up slowly, eyeing the room. The bed beneath him was wide and soft, dressed in sleek grey sheets. The walls were a muted blue, the furniture clean-lined and glossy. They clearly looked expensive by this world's standards.

But it was all so… sterile. No grand tapestries, no thick carpets, or ornate carvings. Just ceramic, glass, marble, and metal. He wondered how the lights worked here without mana stones.

He swung his legs off the bed, cautiously stepping into the hallway. As he walked out of the room, the space opened up into something completely unfamiliar. And yet, it was stunning.

A vast, two-storied expanse greeted him. The size was nothing compared to the Ashstone manor, but it was still beautiful.

Smooth white walls, a floating staircase with glass railings, a plush couch that looked like it belonged to royalty who enjoyed minimalism, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in streams of sunlight and a beautiful view of the sprawling city. The white floor was polished and shining beneath his bare feet, and a strange black rectangle hung on the wall. Definitely not a piece of art. A moving painting, perhaps?

For an unenchanted world, it really was impressive.

"Hello," a small voice said.

He turned, and there was the tiny human from before, walking toward him with excitement and a face that reminded Vyan a little too much of people he knew—a blend of his own and Iyana's face.

"You're awake! How are you feeling?" the boy asked.

"I… I'm okay," Vyan replied.

"Aunt Sara said you haven't been eating good," the boy added, very matter-of-fact. "You shouldn't skip your meals, you know. It's bad for health."

"Ah." Vyan was amused first, then gave a sheepish nod. "I see. I will be more careful."

Inwardly, he hesitated. Children had never been his forte. Their unpredictability, the noise, the piercing observations… they always left him stiff and awkward, like a deer surrounded by feral rabbits. They reminded him of those early days—when the other children used to bully him, lock him up in the orphanage basement, and put insects in his food.

But this boy… he didn't have that same energy.

Elian had a kind warmth about him, like the soft glow of a hearth fire on a cold night. And somehow, being near him didn't make Vyan uneasy at all.

"Anyway," Elian continued, "you should come eat something, Daddy's twin brother."

From somewhere near the open kitchen, a voice called out—amused and exasperated all at once.

"Elian! How many times do I have to tell you, he is not your daddy's twin brother!"

Elian gave a sage nod and a very dramatic sigh, as if he'd long accepted his mother's skepticism but had chosen to believe what his heart knew.

Then, without warning, the boy raised his arms up toward Vyan.

Vyan stared at him.

Elian stared back, waiting.

Vyan's arms remained awkwardly by his side for a second longer before he finally gave in, lifting the boy gently into his arms. He wasn't sure if he was doing it right. The boy didn't complain; rather, he nestled comfortably, resting a hand on Vyan's shoulder like he belonged there.

Is it normal for a child to be so dangerously adorable? Vyan thought as he held Elian so cautiously like a live grenade. I just couldn't say no.

He carried Elian into the kitchen, where Emma was casually stirring something on the stove. She was dressed in a loose top and denim shorts, hair tied up, and an apron hanging from her waist. He couldn't help but think how Iyana would've loved clothes like this. She'd surely find them very comfortable and convenient.

Speaking of which, he missed her. So much.

"Uh…." What was the name she had said before he had fainted? "Miss, why did you bring me here to your home?" Vyan asked.

"You fainted. What else was I supposed to do?" Emma shrugged. "I was going to take you to a hospital, but you didn't have any phone or ID on you. I didn't know if you were undocumented. It could've gotten messy if you were. So I called my brother's wife. She's a doctor, and she said you'd be fine with some rest and food. So… here you are."

Vyan frowned. "And you were sure that was… safe? What if I were dangerous?"

Emma let out an amused chuckle.

With a smirk, she reached into the drawer beside her, pulled out a matte-black handgun, and set it on the counter with a soft clink.

She turned around to face him, her smile was sweet. "Not more dangerous than me."

Vyan stared at the weapon. Then at her. Then back at the weapon.

So… basically, women who look like Iyana are dangerous in every world?