Villain Transmigration: Author Transformation

Athan perched atop of Nero, not the comfortable seat of hard edges that bumped his backside, a lot worse when his wings beat with a sonic boom. Strong winds of the night almost tore his face.

Not that it was his first time getting blown away, rough and hard at that.

He couldn't help but groan at him, smacking against the craggy torso. "Slow down a little!"

"You said make haste; here we are, yet you're damn complaining. Cut me off some slack—" Nero peered a tad bit behind him, only to find Athan's face rather amusing.

His deep laugh echoed amidst the darkness, of which no one knew where the sinister voice echoed.

"What?!"

Not because of unbridled hair in the air, the corner of the eyes dried from the fierce gale. Through clenched teeth, his gums dried from his lips flapping so much.

"Don't make fun of me. I'm warning you!" he threatened.

"Check yourself."

Athan groaned and covered himself with a dark scarf along with the leather hood he donned, not wanting to spoil his fun for so long as he kept it moving. Meanwhile, his hand clung to his leather pouch to stop from dangling.

With a grip, he shut his eyes as he remembered the deal he had with his legitimate father, the Emperor, earlier.

***

The Emperor, Lawrence Kendrich Vladimir, while sitting in boredom on his imperial throne, took a glance at Athan. His eyes drooped halfway for the whole time he was there.

But Athan begged to differ as his mere presence was enough to choke the life out of him.

Instead of the silence that reigned over the spacious hall, the slow taps on the armrest would make his heart skip a beat.

He was that intimidating.

'Damn, this isn't the first time I've requested an audience, but this is no joke every-fucking- time.'

But he had no choice to do so; as powerless as he was at the moment, he needed resources and influences that would rise him.

Even if it means thickening his face.

He would make every effort for the Empire; time and time, he had proved to Lawrence, and the latter granted him special compensations and privileges.

"My son…"

There was a slight effort to lighten up the mood, but his tone and demeanor made it worse.

Athan knew it was just his thing.

Nothing he could do about it.

He mustered every strength he could and took his chances, now that Mystique was out of the way towards his goals.

Only through his bold request could he solidify his position as a candidate as the heir apparent to the throne.

"Father—"

"Be at ease. What is it that you want to say? Now that it's just the two of us in this throne room don't hesitate."

Athan gritted his teeth, bracing himself whatever reaction he would receive from him.

"I know a way that can bring the 'Frost Wyrm' in the Northbound Taiga to our side."

The man at the throne was about to close his eyes when he heard his bold claims. Even he had stopped tapping.

After all, taming the unbothered frost wyrm was no joke.

The wyrm nestled in the northern region of the Dysnomia Empire. Wanted neither affiliation nor connection to the outside world for all the mighty creatures cared. Not to hold it against anyone, even for Lawrence, for as long as his territory remained untouchable.

"I shall let you get off the hook. Do you intend to surprise me once more with your prophetic powers?"

"I dare not take such claims."

"So far, every request you asked of me turned out rather beneficial, and even your step-brothers could never make half of your contributions. If this is another divine providence, then we shall hear it out."

Athan bowed, smiling inwardly, as he thought how his father claimed it as a miracle, yet all they knew was precognition. Like he was blessed with such power, and he had developed and honed such mastery for a long time.

Unbeknownst to them, he was given another chance to live on.

"However, now isn't the right time; I need to fulfill the conditions."

"Suppose that's within my power; it shall be done," Lawrence avowed. He then let out a smirk when Athan had his eyes widened, glistening with hope when he arched his neck.

With his crimson eyes shone, the prince knew that he managed to garner his attention—a positive note at that.

"The person needs to develop the skill naturally. But we must make some arrangements to deliver a clear victory."

As a newly promoted Commander of 'The Nightfall Regiment, Athan asked him for a portion of the battalion to march towards the northernmost boundary of the Empire.

Lawrence's eyebrows twitched, then almost brought to a furrow from such claims.

'Just within my expectations.' He thinned out his lips from the probability.

It was understandable as the prized asset of the Empire, the imperial army, The Nightfall Regiment, deemed the greatest, strongest men brood and belonged in this group. The Emperor raised and molded them like it was his flesh and blood.

To throw them in the mouth of the mighty dragon was simply unwarranted and uncalled for, definitely not a good choice to make.

But with the prince's prompt and determination, Lawrence had to pause for a while for an ample evaluation.

Lawrence hummed for a while before propping his knuckle on his cheek, and his gaze continued to scrutinize him.

At this point, there was no backing down.

"I shall think about it. Tell me the rest of the condition first."

"Not a problem at all, Your Majesty—"

"Father… Call me that when we're alone, must we remind ourselves to drop formalities even in privacy?"

It made Athan smile, a tad subtle.

'Perhaps, he has grown fond of me. This is good! I'm getting more of his favors.'

"Father, you must stop the Grand Duke of Blackwell at all cost."

This snapped Lawrence's eyes, sitting upright, from another news that dropped right in front of his face, yet again.

The bored and complacent Emperor began to be possessed with vigilance and confusion from his son that was all about his loyal little brother.

Athan, as much as he wanted to deny, had to do it for the sake of their lineage.

"What do you mean?"

"...He will bring an end to the empire."