I am Chosen Villain

The night held its breath.

Xu Qingyang stood beneath the plum blossom tree, his wooden sword trembling slightly in his grasp. His brows furrowed, his eyes scanning the rooftops and the moonlit courtyard with unease. He had felt something, an unnatural ripple in the air—a fleeting brush with death itself.

But there was nothing. No sound, no presence, no killer lurking in the shadows.

Only silence.

Yet Gu Tianxian watched.

Hidden within the darkness, his crimson eyes gleamed like smoldering embers. He observed the protagonist's every movement, every flicker of doubt in his gaze.

The Soul Piercing Needle had failed—not because of miscalculation, not because of skill, but because of fate itself.

"Ah… how intriguing."

Fate had subtly shifted its hand to protect its chosen one, ensuring that even a mere wooden sword could alter destiny.

How laughable.

"Even gods fear an early death for their puppets."

Gu Tianxian pressed a finger against the rooftop tile. His spiritual energy pulsed, sending out a ripple so faint it could only be perceived by one attuned to danger.

Xu Qingyang stiffened.

Then—he moved.

A step back, his wooden sword raised, his breathing steadying. His instincts whispered danger, but there was no enemy in sight. No assassin.

Only the night, heavy and watchful.

"Clever," Gu Tianxian mused.

Xu Qingyang wasn't blindly courageous—he was cautious, sensing the unspoken laws of survival. He wasn't just some arrogant chosen one walking the golden path without fear.

But caution would not save him.

Gu Tianxian slowly rose from his crouch, his fingers weaving through the air. The system had gifted him another tool—Silent Phantom Step, a movement technique that allowed him to drift through shadows like mist.

He descended.

His black robes rippled like a midnight tide as he landed behind Xu Qingyang, a mere breath away.

Xu Qingyang's spine stiffened.

A whisper of a voice slid into his ear—cold, mocking, and laced with amusement.

"You're quite perceptive, aren't you?"

Xu Qingyang spun, his wooden sword slicing through the air, but it met nothing—only shadows.

Gu Tianxian was already behind him again, his presence dissolving and reforming like smoke.

Xu Qingyang's heart pounded. He had trained relentlessly in the Heavenly Sword Sect, honing his skills to face beasts, warriors, and even cultivators.

But this?

This was something beyond his understanding.

"Who are you?" Xu Qingyang demanded, gripping his sword tighter.

Gu Tianxian chuckled.

"Who am I? You could call me the hand of fate."

A flicker of hesitation crossed Xu Qingyang's gaze. But beneath it—determination.

He wasn't afraid.

Fate had blessed him. He was destined for greatness.

And Gu Tianxian found it so very amusing.

"Let's test that fate of yours, shall we?"

With a flick of his wrist, Gu Tianxian conjured a dagger forged from shadow, its edge glinting with malice.

Xu Qingyang exhaled, steadying himself. His wooden sword, a mere training weapon, felt insignificant in his hands.

But he did not yield.

The moon hung high, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

And then—

they moved.

A clash of fate and defiance, a battle written in the ink of destiny.

One destined to rise.

One destined to end it all.

The dance of fate had begun.