{A/N: May I request for some comments, My kind sirs?}
After the MC's birth, a huge feast was organized by his father in their clan, during which his name was also decided. At first, both his mother and father seemed to be fighting over who would name the MC.
In the end, both of them gave up after the MC's grandfather showed up, beat them with a stick for acting so immature, and named the MC himself.
His name is "Vaitas Van Rem."
His name is actually quite similar to names from Rome rather than those in Scandinavia because his clan came from Rome. That's why they are not really liked by the Vikings here.
But who cares?
By the age of 1
By one year old, I had learned one universal truth about adults: they're suckers for a crying baby. All it took was a little whimper, and boom, they were running around trying to please me.
I'd cry when I didn't need to, just to get what I wanted. They thought I was just a helpless little thing, but I was running this show.
Like today, when I saw one of the maids slacking off instead of bringing me my favorite blanket.
I let out a sharp, piercing wail, the kind that makes people drop everything in panic. She rushed over immediately, nearly tripping over herself.
I kept crying until she handed me that blanket, and then—silence. She sighed with relief, thinking the crisis was over. But I was already planning the next move.
"Lady Emira, the baby is so sensitive," she whispered to my mother later, eyes wide with fake concern. "He needs more attention."
Perfect. Now, I'd have every adult in this place doting on me like their lives depended on it. Manipulation at its finest, and I didn't even have to say a word.
By the time I was one, I had already started working on my mother. Every time the maids were sent in to breastfeed me, I cried my lungs out like my life depended on it.
Screaming, wailing, you name it—I made sure they couldn't calm me down no matter what they tried. I only stopped when my mother came in to feed me herself.
The trick was to make her think I needed her, that I was completely dependent on her. Over time, I kept up the act, pretending to be attached to her in every way. She'd hold me, and I'd snuggle closer, making it seem like she was my whole world.
But, of course, it was all part of the plan. I needed her to believe I couldn't survive without her, that I was her little, helpless boy. In the future, I'd be able to use that attachment to twist her emotions, play with her feelings, and bend her to my will.
I am not letting go of free tools
By the age of 2
By two, I figured out that playing people against each other was an art. One day, I watched two of the older servants bickering. It didn't take much to see that one of them had a bit of an ego, always acting like he was in charge, while the other one was more timid.
I decided to push things along. I waddled over, looking innocent as ever, and started pointing to the bossy servant, babbling in my baby voice.
"Bad!" I said, shaking my head with the most serious expression I could muster.
The timid one raised an eyebrow, then glanced at his coworker. "What? Bad? Is he bothering you?"
I nodded, pointing again. "Bad man!"
Now, the timid guy was really starting to believe it. He gave the bossy one a side-eye and walked off, clearly irritated. Over the next few days, I kept pointing and saying, "Bad!" whenever the bossy guy was around. Slowly but surely, their relationship soured.
By the end of the week, they could hardly stand to work together. All because a two-year-old decided to stir the pot for a little entertainment. Who knew manipulation could be this fun?
By the age of 3
At three, I had perfected the art of looking completely innocent, even when I was at fault. One day, I "accidentally" knocked over a vase while I was being carried around by a servant. It shattered into a million pieces, and everyone in the room went silent, waiting for the punishment to come down.
The servant holding me looked pale, already fearing for his job. But I wasn't about to let that happen. I scrunched up my face, let my lip quiver, and put on the biggest, saddest puppy-dog eyes I could manage.
"Mama," I whimpered, reaching out for my mother, who had just walked in.
My mother rushed over, scooping me up, glaring at the broken vase. "What happened?"
The servant looked like he was about to confess, but I acted faster. I pointed to the vase and sniffled. "Boom. Scary."
My mother softened instantly. "Oh, my poor baby! Did that mean old vase scare you?"
I buried my face in her shoulder, pretending to be terrified. The servant stared, his mouth open in shock as my mother consoled me, completely ignoring the fact that I had caused the mess.
"You're lucky it wasn't your fault," she told the servant later, waving him off dismissively.
And just like that, I got away with it, while the servant walked away shaken. Innocence is such a powerful weapon, especially when no one suspects you know how to use it.
By the age of 4
At four, I realized that people would spill all kinds of secrets if they thought I was too young to understand. I used that to my advantage every chance I got.
One evening, while sitting quietly in the corner of the room during a clan meeting, I pretended to be engrossed in a wooden toy while my father and his advisors talked. They didn't even notice me, thinking I was just a clueless kid.
But I was paying attention. They were discussing politics, rival clans, and something about a deal gone wrong. I kept playing with the toy, occasionally making noises like I wasn't listening, but my brain was absorbing every word.
Later that night, I used the information I overheard to ask a seemingly innocent question at the dinner table.
"Papa, why do the other clans want to fight us?"
My father nearly choked on his food, his eyes widening. "Where did you hear that?"
I blinked up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. "I heard you talking earlier. Why are they mad?"
He sighed, clearly flustered, and began explaining the situation to me in simpler terms, thinking I was just curious.
But the more he talked, the more information he gave me—stuff he wouldn't normally tell a child. I played dumb, nodding along, but in my mind, I was already filing it away.
These adults really had no idea how dangerous an inquisitive mind could be.
By the age of 5
By five, I had a firm grasp on how to manipulate the dynamics of the people around me.
One day, I overheard my mother talking about a distant cousin, someone who was apparently vying for a higher position in the clan. I knew this was an opportunity, and I wasn't about to let it slip.
I found one of my father's trusted advisors, a man who was already suspicious of the cousin. I waddled up to him, pulling at his sleeve.
"Uncle, why is Cousin always around Father?" I asked, tilting my head like a confused kid.
He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
I bit my lip, as if thinking hard. "I heard him say he wanted Father's chair. He was talking to someone about it."
The advisor stiffened. "He said that?"
I nodded, wide-eyed, as if I was just repeating what I'd heard. "Is he going to take Father's seat? I don't want that."
The seed of doubt was planted. Over the next few days, I watched as that little lie I'd fed him spread like wildfire.
The advisor became paranoid, whispering warnings to my father, who, in turn, grew suspicious of his cousin.
Soon enough, the cousin was ousted from his position, all thanks to one harmless little "question" from a five-year-old.
By the age of six, I'd already started laying the groundwork for bigger things. I made friends with both the elite class kids and the lower class ones in the clan. It wasn't just for fun, of course—there was a bigger plan behind it.
The elite class? Full of arrogant, spoiled brats who loved to push around the lower class.
And, as expected, once I got close to the lower class kids, the elite started bullying them even more. That's exactly what I wanted.
I befriended the lower class specifically to turn them into targets, letting the elites do their thing. When the bullying got worse, I stepped in—just at the right time, like a hero swooping in to save the day.
Suddenly, I was their savior, the one who protected them when they were at their lowest. They ate it up, looking up to me like I was some kind of guardian.
By the time I was seven, things got a bit more serious. I was attacked by some assassins.
But I managed to save myself, even though I did get a little hurt in the process. Not that it wasn't part of the plan. I could've easily had those assassins caught, but I let them slip away.
Why? Because I needed the tension in the clan to keep simmering, to keep everyone on edge. The last thing I wanted was peace and quiet.
My father, of course, was furious and ended up assigning me some guards. That part was in the plan, So it was manageable. A few extra bodies around me didn't change much.
By the age of 9
"Maria, give me that ring," I said, eyeing the cute blonde girl in front of me, her blue eyes glinting as she held onto a golden ring we'd found in the forest.
"No! What are you even gonna do if I don't give it to you?" Maria teased, smirking at me, her reflection rippling in the lake beside her.
Before I could respond, I punched her square in the face. She stumbled backward, straight into the lake. Too bad for her—she didn't know how to swim. I watched as she struggled, splashing and gasping for air.
"I'll just throw you in the lake and loot it off your body," I muttered before she fell in.
Feigning shock, I quickly put on my best surprised face. "Oh no... how did Maria fall in the lake?!"
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with air, and jumped in after her. Since I knew how to swim, it wasn't hard to catch up. But Maria... she was still desperately holding her breath, clutching that stupid ring like it would save her.
'Still hanging on?' I thought as I grabbed her mouth, forcing it open. The moment her air escaped, she began to drown. I pried the ring from her fingers as she sank, her body going limp.
Then, I did what any genius would do—nearly drowned myself. I flailed around just enough for a patrolling guard to notice and rescue me.
Lucky timing? Not quite. That was part of the plan too.
Later, I spun the perfect sob story. I told everyone how I'd seen Maria fall into the lake and tried to save her, but I just couldn't.
I almost drowned in the process, or so I claimed. My acting skills? Flawless. An Oscar would need me; I wouldn't need it.
I even threw in a little fake depression arc, playing the role of a grief-stricken kid mourning his "dear friend" Maria. The clan bought it, of course.
My reputation soared—people started seeing me as this kind, caring child.
By the end of that year, I had another brilliant idea: boys' night out. I arranged for these little hangouts to be held at different houses every time, giving me the perfect cover for what came next.
This went on for two years. Then, when it was time to have the boys' night at the house of one of the clan's generals, I took the opportunity to kill his son.
And you bet I faked the waterworks afterward, making sure no one suspected a thing.
The general, enraged and grief-stricken, didn't even think to suspect me. Instead, he pointed fingers at whoever he found most suspicious.
Boom—chaos. The entire clan split into factions, each side blaming the other.
Now, all I had to do was sit back and watch. It wouldn't be long before these mad dogs tore each other apart, and I'd be the one standing on top, ready to take control.
Third person Pov
Fast forward six more years, and Vaitas had transformed into some sort of psychopathic manipulator.
In those six years, he committed an astonishing number of crimes—like, way too many to count.
He plotted a genocide within the clan, orchestrated treason, and fostered discrimination based on birth.
One of his more twisted schemes involved getting a dog drunk and letting it loose to tear off the vice clan leader's dick (that old geezer who was courting death in the last chapter).
He killed a family of seven, nearly caused a famine, and then swooped in to "solve" the problem. He manipulated all the generals of the clan into becoming his slap dogs, bending them to his will.
He created two rival groups—one of elite class children and another of low-class children—fueling their animosity while ensuring neither group knew he was the mastermind behind both factions.
Honestly, I could go on, and his list of crimes wouldn't even come close to ending. If he somehow got caught with any proof—which, to be fair, doesn't even exist—he wouldn't even get a chance to explain himself. He'd be executed immediately.
.....
Vaitas, who was sleeping comfortably in his large bed, was suddenly jolted awake by a mechanical voice whispering in his ear.
{Ding! The fated villain system has awakened!}
{Issuing first mission—Huh! ERROR! THERE IS A FUCKING ERROR IN THE SYSTEM!}
{HOST IS AN ANOMALY!}
{Total number of protagonists killed so far: 5}
{Total number of heroines killed so far: 23}
{Total number of supporting characters killed so far: 106}
{Total number of side characters killed...}
{Total number of people killed so far...}