I CHOSE to be a VILLAIN, not a THIRD-RATE EXTRA!!

Ashok's slight nod was deliberate, a movement that conveyed a quiet authority. His eyes gleamed with a cold, almost imperceptible satisfaction, the corners of his lips twitching in a fleeting expression of victory.

"At least with time, you've grown wiser than those two," he said, his tone laced with subtle disdain. His gaze flicked toward the Head Butler and Cassius, who stood off to the side, their discomfort palpable.

"I will begin the cure. Give me the Mind Recovery potion."

The Duke nodded without hesitation, he had already given his words, he had full trust in Ashok. He released Ashok's wrists, his hands steady, and stepped back. With a swift motion, he used one of his rings to access his personal treasury.

Cassius and the Head Butler exchanged uneasy glances, their faces sour with the realization that they were now spectators in a game they had no control over. The Duke, his face taut with resolve, brought forth the highest-quality Mind Recovery potion from his collection.

Both of them returned to the girl's side, and Ashok said "I need blood."

"Whose Blood?" asked the Duke.

Ashok's eyes flickered toward him, then to the Head Butler and Cassius, before answering with a detached air. "There are three of you. Anybody can give blood."

The Duke was ready to take a dagger out of the storage ring and prepared to slice open his palm, but Cassius stepped forward and stopped him.

Normally, Cassius and the Head Butler would have questioned Ashok's methods, the necessity of the Mind Recovery Potion, and the role blood would play in the ritual. But to ask those questions now would be to insult the Duke, to challenge his authority, and both men understood the weight of such an action.

Instead, Cassius made his decision. With a fluid, almost effortless movement, he unsheathed his sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light like a flash of lightning.

The sword moved with terrifying precision and speed, slicing through one of the empty wooden flasks on the table in half. Without a word, Cassius held his hand above the base of the now-separated flask.

Cassius, his expression grim and resolute, unsheathed his blade with a practiced motion. Without hesitation, he made a precise slice across his palm, the sharp edge of the sword biting into his flesh.

Crimson blood began to flow freely, dripping steadily into the flask. The faint sound of blood dropping echoed softly in the tense silence of the room.

Once the flask had filled to the very brim with Cassius's red, dripping blood, he concentrated for a moment, his Aura flowing through his hand with small lighting sparks sealing the wound.

Cassius picked up the flask, he handed it over to Ashok.

Ashok's accepted the flask and with his right hand, he dipped the tips of his index and middle fingers into the blood. The liquid was thick and rich, and the flask was filled to the very top, so much so that it began to spill over the sides, droplets falling like small, crimson pearls onto Ashok's hand.

His left hand, now stained with the excess blood, held the flask steady, but he showed no sign of disgust or hesitation.

After a moment, Ashok withdrew his fingers from the flask. He turned toward the Duke's daughter, lying motionless before him. Ashok moved his fingers tracing the air as he gently placed them above the existing mark on her back.

His movements were slow but exact, the symbol forming piece by piece, each stroke measured and deliberate. He was acutely aware of the delicate nature of the task, knowing that even a single stray drop could alter the meaning of the symbol.

Unlike before, when Ashok had muttered incantations under his breath, this time he remained silent, his face impassive as he drew a single, large symbol that completely enveloped the mark on the Duke's daughter's back.

While Ashok worked, The Duke's heart pounded loudly in his chest, the rapid beats filling his ears. It was a sound of unease, of fear. Cassius, standing rigid at the periphery, didn't take his eyes off Ashok's every move. The Head Butler was also sacred because of the experience they faced.

The last time Ashok had drawn symbols like these, the world had shifted. The ritual had been a sacrifice, done with few words but immense consequence. A god had intervened in the mortal realm, claiming the witch.

Ancient Languages, long forgotten by most, were shrouded in mystery. Though fragments of their records still existed, they were avoided by all but the most dedicated Mages and Scholars.

The sheer complexity of deciphering each word, each stroke, made their study a daunting task. Their practicality had diminished over time, overshadowed by the more accessible and efficient Magic Circles.

As Ashok was finally done, drawing the last stroke of the word, he muttered in Ancient Spirit Language "Separate".

To the ears of the Duke, Cassius, and the Head Butler, Ashok's muttered words in the Ancient Spirit Language were still incomprehensible.

Yet, unlike the first time when Ashok had chanted those dark and foreboding syllables, each of which had carried a sinister weight, this time was different. This chant, though still in the same cryptic language, carried an unexpected tone—one of peace, of tranquility.

As Ashok's words faded into the air, the red symbol on the Duke's daughter's back suddenly flared to life.

The blood, still fresh, glowed a fierce, bright crimson for a brief moment, casting an eerie light that filled the room with an unnatural radiance. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the shine disappeared.

Ashok turned to the Head Butler, his gaze locking onto the older man, and with a chillingly calm voice, and a smile on his face he said, "Now it's your turn, old man."

When The Head Butler saw Ashok's smile, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He felt something deep in his gut—a sense of dread that tightened his chest and made his skin crawl. That smile... it was all too familiar.

It was the same smile he had seen on Leon's face just before the Witch's demise. A smile that seemed kind, almost angelic at first glance, its surface shining with innocence and benevolence. Behind that smile had been the laugh of a devil.

"What do I have to do?" asked the Head Butler.

"Come Here, First." Said Ashok as he stood up from the bed. "Have a seat"

The Head Butler, his mind racing with the weight of the situation, couldn't suppress the uneasy feeling that gnawed at him. His instincts screamed at him to turn away, to leave the room before it was too late.

But deep down, he knew that there was no choice. The Duke's daughter's life was at stake, and the Duke had given his word. How could he refuse, knowing what the consequences could be?

"Now, you have to imbue or channel your mana into the word that I drew," Ashok said, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling confidence. Stay tuned for updates on My Virtual Library Empire

The Head Butler's hand hovered over the symbol, the weight of the responsibility pressing down on him.

"Though I must warn you," Ashok began, his voice smooth but carrying an edge, "once you start channeling your mana, there's no stopping in the middle. If you fail, there's no second chance. To put it simply, the life of the Duke's daughter is now in your hands."

The Head Butler wanted to say something but Ashok continued "I'm sure you won't fail," Ashok continued, his tone dripping with mockery.

"After all, there's no way you could fail. You have so much pride in your magic, don't you? I'm sure you uphold that pride with everything you have. Now, that very pride will decide the future of your Young Miss."

A smirk played on Ashok's lips as he spoke, and the Head Butler's blood ran cold. The realization hit him like a hammer: Ashok was enacting his revenge, using the Head Butler's own pride as the lever to force him into a corner.

The Head Butler could already feel the weight of the consequences pressing down on him. If he failed now, everything he had worked for, his bond with the Duke, would crumble in an instant.

Worse still, the life of the young miss—who was like a granddaughter to him—would be lost, and he would never forgive himself.

"Can I do that?" asked the Duke.

Ashok's eyes flicked toward the Duke with a knowing look. "You being an S Ranker have a small mana pool compared to the old man here, who is an SSS Ranker," he said, his voice dismissive.

The Duke's face darkened at the reminder of his limitations, but before he could respond, Cassius spoke up, his expression stoic. "What about me?"

"Aura is a no-go from the start," Ashok replied quickly, his tone final. "If I needed Aura, I wouldn't have called the old man."

Ashok's reasoning allowed no room for anybody's interference and the Head Butler said "It's fine, I will do it."

"You have to do it, there is no other option." Said Ashok pressuring him even further.

The Head Butler grinded his teeth in anger, but calmed down right after. 'This is not the moment to get angry, for the young miss.' Thought the Head Butler and placed his hand right above the Mark.

Meanwhile, Ashok stood close to Duke, he said "Bring out a Mana Potion"

The Duke bought out the Highest Grade Mana Potion, from his storage ring and handed it over to Ashok.

Ashok held onto the Mana Potion, a smirk on his face as he watched the Head Butler who was about the start channeling his mana. He thought 'Now you'll realize old man, what happens when you mess with me. This is where, I start to make your life a living doom.'