A New Life As A Extra Villain [BL]

Chapter 1: The Downfall of Edward of Romanov

The day was cloaked in a heavy stillness, as if the world itself held its breath. Gray clouds smothered the sky, trapping the sunlight somewhere far above. The muted hues of the city below mirrored the oppressive quiet, leaving the air heavy and cold. A biting wind snaked through the streets, tugging at the frayed edges of flags that hung limply from the castle’s towering spires.

The grand square, once vibrant with life, had transformed into a grave tableau. The market stalls were gone, the cheerful chatter of merchants replaced by an eerie silence. Where children once laughed and musicians filled the air with melody, now stood a sea of people, their faces tense with anticipation. The colors of the city had dulled, as though the very life had been drained from it.

At the center of the square loomed a wooden platform, roughly constructed but towering over the gathered crowd. At its heart stood the guillotine, its blade catching what little light broke through the clouds. Each gust of wind sent a faint glint across the steel—a chilling reminder of the grim task ahead.

The crowd was a tapestry of faces. Commoners with calloused hands clutched their cloaks against the cold. Nobles, draped in fine silks, stood stiffly, their expressions a blend of curiosity and disdain. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, wide-eyed and silent. The air buzzed with whispers, too soft to rise above the pervasive stillness. Even the wind seemed to still as all eyes fixed on the platform.

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

The story had spread like wildfire: Edward, accused of poisoning his adoptive sister, Lady Helen of Romanov. The crime was a betrayal of the highest order, a scandal that dragged the family name through the mud. Justice, the crowd believed, would be served today.

At the base of the platform, Edward stood shackled, his dark hair falling in uneven strands across his face. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his chains, his posture broken and defeated. Two soldiers flanked him, their gloved hands gripping his arms with an iron firmness that left no room for struggle. They marched him forward, each step clanging against the cobblestones like a death knell.

The wooden stairs groaned beneath his feet as he climbed, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet. Each step brought him closer to the blade, the finality of his fate pressing down on him with every creak of the boards. The crowd’s whispers blurred into a dull hum, their words meaningless. All that remained was the ache in his chest and the relentless pull of gravity as he ascended.

Reaching the platform, Edward’s gaze lifted, scanning the sea of faces before him. Somewhere in the crowd, his eyes found a familiar figure.

His older brother, Lawrence, stood at the forefront. His posture was stiff, his expression carved from stone. The resemblance between them was undeniable—the same dark hair, the same sharp features—but where Edward’s face was pale and weary, Lawrence’s was unyielding, his dark eyes cold and judgmental. There was no warmth in his gaze, only a silent condemnation.

Beside Lawrence stood Helen, her strawberry-blonde hair a rare touch of color in the dreary scene. Her lilac eyes were lowered, her lips moving silently in prayer. She looked delicate, almost ethereal, her hands clutching the folds of her dress so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Edward didn’t need her to look at him to feel the weight of her presence. It pressed against his chest, heavy and unrelenting.

From a high balcony of the castle, two more figures observed the proceedings. The Crown Prince stood with his arms crossed, his ash-blonde hair catching in the wind. His gray eyes scanned the scene with a calm detachment, his expression unreadable. To him, this wasn’t personal—it was duty. A necessary act to preserve the kingdom’s order.

Nearby stood the second prince, his resemblance to his older brother striking but his demeanor far less composed. His amber eyes darted between Edward and the guillotine, his hands gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles turned pale. For a fleeting moment, pity flickered across his face. But it was gone as quickly as it came, buried beneath the weight of his responsibilities.

Edward lowered his gaze, his stomach twisting as the reality of his isolation sank in. There was no one here to defend him. Not his brother. Not Helen. Not the strangers in the crowd who stared at him with equal parts disgust and morbid fascination. He was utterly alone.

The silence deepened as an official stepped onto the platform, his crimson robe a stark contrast to the muted tones of the square. He unrolled a parchment and began to read, his voice clear and deliberate.

"Edward of Romanov, you stand guilty of the attempted murder of your sister, Lady Helen of Romanov. Through an act of cowardice, you sought to poison her, endangering an innocent life and disgracing your family. For this crime, you are sentenced to death by guillotine."

The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on the crowd. The murmurs ceased entirely, leaving only the faint rustle of cloaks and the creak of the guillotine’s chain. All eyes followed Edward as he was led to the center of the platform.

The executioner stepped forward, a towering figure in dark robes. His face was obscured by a coarse black hood, revealing only his piercing eyes. His movements were methodical, his presence a chilling embodiment of death itself.

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

Edward hesitated, the question hanging in the stillness. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as if shedding the weight of the world in that single breath. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady.

“I regret nothing,” he said, his voice unwavering.

The executioner gave a single nod and pulled the lever. The blade fell, slicing through the air with a sickening finality.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the collective exhale of the crowd. Edward of Romanov, the disgraced son, was no more.

As the first raindrops began to fall, the square slowly emptied. The guillotine remained, its blade stained with blood—a stark reminder of justice delivered.

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