A New Life As A Extra Villain [BL]

Chapter 1: The Downfall of Edward of Romanov

The day was cloaked in a heavy stillness, the kind that seemed to stretch beyond the gray clouds covering the sky. The sunlight was trapped somewhere above, leaving the world below muted and lifeless. A cold wind whispered through the streets, its icy fingers tugging at the flags hanging limply from the castle's towers.

The grand square, usually alive with bustling merchants, playful children, and cheerful music, was eerily silent. The market stalls were gone, and the vibrant colors of the city had faded, replaced by the somber tones of people gathered in grim anticipation.

At the heart of the square, a wooden platform loomed over the crowd. Roughly built but towering, it commanded the attention of every onlooker. At its center stood the guillotine, its blade gleaming faintly in the dull light. Each gust of wind made the metal glint ominously, a chilling reminder of the day’s purpose.

The crowd was a sea of faces—commoners with weathered hands, nobles wrapped in finery, and children clutching their mothers’ skirts. They huddled close, whispering in hushed tones, their voices too soft to carry over the oppressive silence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as if unwilling to disturb the gravity of the moment.

Today, Edward of Romanov, the black sheep of one of the kingdom’s most noble families, would meet his fate.

The story had spread like wildfire: Edward, accused of poisoning his adoptive sister, Lady Helen of Romanov. The crime was treachery of the highest order, a betrayal that tarnished his family’s name and enraged the people. Justice, the crowd believed, would be served today.

At the base of the platform stood Edward. His shoulders slumped under the weight of his chains, his dark hair falling haphazardly over his face, hiding his eyes. He moved awkwardly, his steps uneven as the soldiers flanking him dragged him forward. Their hands gripped his arms with a firmness that left no room for resistance, their expressions concealed beneath their helmets. Edward barely noticed; his mind was elsewhere.

The creaking of the wooden stairs beneath his feet felt deafening in the stillness. Each step brought him closer to the blade, closer to the end. The whispers of the crowd blurred into a low hum, distant and meaningless. All that remained was the dull ache in his chest and the cold, unrelenting pull of gravity as he climbed.

When he reached the top, his gaze finally lifted. He looked out over the crowd, his eyes searching. Somewhere in the sea of faces, he found a familiar one.

His older brother, Lawrence, stood near the front, his posture as rigid as a statue. The resemblance between them was unmistakabl, the same dark hair, the same sharp feature, but where Edward’s face was pale and tired, Lawrence’s was a mask of unyielding judgment. His cold, dark eyes rested on Edward without a trace of warmth. In them, there was no forgiveness, only condemnation.

Beside Lawrence stood Helen, her strawberry-blonde hair catching what little light pierced the clouds. Her lilac eyes were lowered, her lips moving silently in prayer. She looked fragile, almost ethereal, her hands gripping the folds of her dress tightly enough to make her knuckles white. Even without meeting her gaze, Edward could feel her presence like a weight pressing against his chest.

From a high balcony on the castle’s facade, two figures watched. The Crown Prince stood with arms folded, his ash-blonde hair catching in the breeze. His piercing gray eyes observed the scene below with a calm detachment. To him, this was not personal; it was a matter of duty, a step toward preserving order in the kingdom. His expression was unreadable, his judgment final.

Not far from him stood the second prince. Though his resemblance to his elder brother was striking, his demeanor was far less composed. His amber eyes flickered between Edward and the platform, his hands gripping the railing tightly. For a fleeting moment, something like pity crossed his face, but it vanished just as quickly. Bound by his position and responsibilities, he said nothing.

Edward let his gaze fall again, his stomach twisting as the weight of his isolation sank in. There was no one here to defend him. Not Lawrence. Not Helen. Not even the strangers in the crowd, who stared at him with a mixture of disgust and morbid curiosity.

The crowd fell silent as an official stepped forward. Dressed in a deep crimson robe, he unrolled a parchment and began to read, his voice steady and clear.

"Edward of Romanov, you stand guilty of the attempted murder of your sister, Lady Helen of Romanov. Through a cowardly act of poisoning, you endangered an innocent life and disgraced your family. For this crime, you are sentenced to death by guillotine."

The words hung heavily in the air, their finality undeniable. The murmurs ceased entirely, leaving only the faint rustle of clothing and the creak of the guillotine’s chain. The crowd watched in solemn anticipation as Edward was led to the center of the platform.

The executioner stepped forward, a towering figure dressed in dark robes. His face was obscured by a coarse black hood, revealing only his cold, impassive eyes. He moved with a slow precision, his presence commanding respect and fear alike.

He leaned down toward Edward, his voice low but carrying across the square. “Do you have any last words, Edward of Romanov?”

For a moment, Edward said nothing. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as the world around him seemed to fade into stillness. He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

When he opened them again, his gaze was steady. “I regret nothing,” he said, his voice calm and unyielding.

The executioner nodded once, pulling the lever without hesitation. The blade fell, slicing through the air with a sickening finality.

The sound of the crowd’s collective exhale was almost deafening in the silence that followed. Edward of Romanov, the black sheep of his family, was no more.

As the first raindrops began to fall, the crowd slowly dispersed. The guillotine stood alone on the platform, its blade streaked with blood, a stark reminder of the day’s grim justice.

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Thank you fro reading! Chapter 2 will be released next week.