A Regressed Villain: Heroines, Villainesses and Me?

"Wait, Marquess?!"

A series of astonished exclamations erupted from those gathered in the hall, quickly turning into a murmur of disbelief.

Every pair of eyes darted around, searching each other\'s faces to confirm that they had indeed heard correctly.

They were grappling with the incredible reality of being in the presence of a man whose notoriety transcended the realms of celebrity, cloaked in anonymity yet wildly recognized throughout the world.

His reputation, bolstered by grand tales of wealth and influence, cast him as a figure of fascination—one whose name echoed through business circles like a whispered legend.

Each headline in the newspapers chronicled the bold projects undertaken by the Croceaus family, detailing how each ambitious endeavor was poised for success, always completed within deadlines.

Despite being prominently featured in the news, the true mastermind behind these ventures had managed to remain hidden in the shadows.

While the public admired his sharp business acumen and astute investments, it was the mystery of his identity that fueled an insatiable curiosity among the masses.

Yet today, standing before this captivated audience, they were not merely seeing an image; they were witnessing the elusive Marquess in the flesh.

The reality of his appearance exceeded their wildest imaginings.

Rumors about him circulated widely within the Free City, each more extravagant than the last.

One persistent tale claimed his eyes were a bright, almost unnatural red, and his hair was as dark as the night sky.

They spoke of a sharp intellect that could slice through complexity and a physique that seemed sculpted by the gods themselves.

Towering above the rest, he seemed to wield power over the very tides of the global economy.

Of course, many of these rumors were steeped in exaggeration.

Yet as they stood before the man who had been so often portrayed in mythic terms, the crowd was struck by the striking reality of his presence.

For one fleeting moment, they hardly registered the chilling fact that he had just taken a life in their midst.

In that instant, a fundamental human trait revealed itself, echoing in two distinct forms: The allure of power drowns the cries of conscience, or conversely, the awe of the powerful blinds the eyes of the just.

"Welcome, Marquess!"

"Y-yes, W-welcome, Marquess!"

One after another, following the directives of the prosecutor and police officers, all the staff members and individuals present in the room began to bow at a 90-degree angle.

While this might appear exaggerated, it was a response commensurate with the influence and power wielded by a single man seated calmly at a distance, with his eyes closed, seemingly indifferent to the proceedings.

In this moment, he could be regarded as royalty, deserving of profound respect from those in attendance.

The Croceaus family had established a reputation for itself, not for venturing into new business endeavors in foreign lands despite having access to cheaper labor and resources, but for prioritizing their operations within the Free Cities and the Arinphium Empire.

This loyalty to their homeland had resulted in a level of reverence directed towards Avendial.

As a member of the noble class, he enjoyed a status that was all but guaranteed; most noblemen showed little interest in mingling with common folk.

Yet, here he was, seated among them.

\'...a human life,\' Avendial mused, his eyes still closed and hands folded, observing how these individuals were demonstrating their regard for the value of human life.

They seemed to have conveniently forgotten that he had just taken one, branding him a murderer.

Instead, they treated him as if he had descended from the heavens, a figure of noble lineage.

He was far from oblivious and inexperienced when it came to the complexities of human emotion.

He had witnessed a vast array of human expressions, from kindness to innocence, and had even encountered those who would make devils themselves feel shame.

It was clear that the reactions of these people were reflexive, akin to how subjects might bow to a queen who had committed a grave sin yet still occupied the throne.

Their deference was a product of their learned obedience to power, regardless of the circumstances that accompanied it.

"Clear away this dead body," Avendial commanded in a tone devoid of emotion, abruptly pulling them from their euphoric preoccupations.

Some of them had been contemplating the honor of being in his presence, already reaching for their phones to capture the moment.

Yet, that excitement drained away in an instant as the chilling reminder of a few moments ago echoed in their minds—the same man they were now bowing to had just taken a life.

\'!\'

"W-wait, are you saying Marquess killed someone?!" One of them gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she struggled to comprehend the absurdity of what she had just witnessed.

Why on earth would the Marquess resort to murder?

The shock hung heavy in the air, and all of them quickly settled on two possible explanations.

First, that this individual could not possibly be the true Marquess, or that the doctor had made some tragic mistake.

After all, everyone knew that Marquess Croceaus was not the type to commit such an act personally.

With his immense wealth and influence, he could easily hire someone to do his dirty work; wasn\'t that the typical behavior of powerful people?

"Um, s-sir, if you don\'t mind," one of the prosecutors stammered, lifting his briefcase with great trepidation.

He was the only one in attendance with a senior position in City A, and beads of sweat dripped from his brow, revealing the tension of the moment.

The news of this incident involving the Marquess had already reached the government and the prominent Sertsul family, triggering a flurry of urgent actions.

Once word broke that the Marquess was in the city hospital, everyone sprang into action, desperate to meet with him.

But things took a sharper turn when rumors spread about him having killed a doctor in the hospital.

Shockwaves rippled through the community as industrialists, businessmen, and government officials scrambled to capitalize on the situation, all seeking to curry favor with the Marquess.

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It seemed that no one cared about the identity of the deceased or the pursuit of justice for that individual.

Instead, they were more interested in the personal gain they could extract from this dire circumstance.

After all, this was the harsh truth of reality, far removed from the ideals discussed in social media, where conversations about justice thrived, often oblivious to the grim truths that lay beneath.

"He tried to attack me with scissors," Avendial finally spoke, his eyes snapping open with intensity as he fixated on the prosecutor, who now appeared increasingly nervous.

Despite having navigated numerous crime scenes and dealt with high-profile individuals, this marked the first time he confronted a case involving someone of the Marquess\'s stature.

In the free city, anyone who achieved significant success—whether by becoming a master political strategist, a skilled prosecutor, a brilliant military tactician, or excelling in any field deemed worthy—was rewarded with a promotion into the royal kingdom, the Kingdom of Thaloris.

It was reminiscent of those fantasy tales in which a cultivator ascends to the immortal realm upon attaining greatness.

"Th-that\'s..." One of the detectives, positioned behind the police officers, caught sight of Marquess and the lifeless body.

His gaze shifted to the gruesome scene before him, where the body lay surrounded by a pool of blood that was already beginning to dry near the temple.

The injuries indicated a swift demise, and the sparse signs of a struggle, or rather the complete absence of one, suggested that the Marquess was not telling the truth.

However, a lingering question hung in the air: who would have the courage to expose the reality?