I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 111: A Dangerous Hypothesis

The temperature change alone was enough to make Cherion’s head spin. Or maybe that was just the leftover dizziness from being carried across camp like a sack of rice with opinions. Zarius set him down way more gently than expected, his hands lingering on Cherion’s elbows just long enough to make sure he didn’t immediately collapse like a newborn deer, before stepping back into the shadows.

Cherion immediately began fussing with his tunic, tugging at the hem and smoothing out non-existent wrinkles with a frantic, bird-like energy. His face was burning, a bright flush climbing his cheekbones that had absolutely nothing to do with the Hearth Stones and everything to do with the fact that half the Northern army had just watched their Duke carry him like that.

"You really... you have a very dramatic way of ending a conversation, you know," Cherion muttered, his voice a bit wobbly as he avoided Zarius’s gaze. He didn’t sit. He couldn’t. His mind was still vibrating with the image of those shredded crates. He paced toward the corner of the tent, where two of the newer Hearth Stones sat in their iron cradles

Zarius leaned by the tent flap, arms loosely crossed, his silhouette sharp against the lantern light, effortlessly intimidating without even trying. "I suppose there’s no way this waits until morning, then?"

It wasn’t a question. It was an observation of the inevitable.

"How can it?" Cherion spun around, gesturing wildly with one hand toward the rear of the camp. "Your Grace, those things, the Velkyn, they didn’t just stumble upon the supply line. They ignored the grain. They ignored the horses! Do you have any idea how much effort it takes for a creature like that to ignore a terrified, heart-thumping horse in favor of a wooden box? It’s unnatural. It’s... it’s wrong. It’s like they were drawn by a leash."

He stepped closer to the stones in the corner, squinting at them as if they might suddenly grow teeth. "What is so special about these? I mean, I know they keep us from turning into popsicles, but they can’t be used as snacks, right? Unless obsidian-crusted monsters have a very specific mineral deficiency I didn’t read about in the book."

Zarius watched him quietly, his face giving nothing away, but the tension in his jaw said he was paying a lot more attention than he let on. He let Cherion pace, two steps left, a sharp pivot, three steps right, letting the healer’s nervous energy fill the space.

"They are just stones, Cherion," Zarius said, his voice a low, grounding thrum. "Quartz-based, infused with low-level thermal arrays. Standard issue from the palace for the last three centuries."

"Standard issue," Cherion repeated, his voice dropping into a register of deep suspicion. He stopped pacing and looked Zarius dead in the eye. "Right. And if the standard changes? Your Grace, what if the stones were... tampered with? Before they ever reached the North?"

The air in the tent seemed to drop ten degrees. Zarius straightened, his arms dropping to his sides. The calm he projected was suddenly sharp, the kind of stillness that precedes a landslide.

"Careful, little Omega," Zarius said, his tone cutting through the quiet. "You are implying a fault from the palace. By extension... you are questioning the King’s Hand. That is a very short walk to a very long drop on a gallows." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

Cherion didn’t flinch. Perhaps he should have, but the adrenaline was doing most of the steering now. "I’m not accusing the King! I’m not saying this was ordered outright. But the palace isn’t just one man, is it? It’s a hive. It’s full of people, factions, and advisors who whisper in the dark. Someone could have interfered. Someone could have altered it with something, or used them as a medium to... to play with the North. Like a bell that only monsters can hear, maybe?"

He trailed off, his brow furrowing. This was the part where his "knowledge of the future" failed himThe original novel definitely didn’t have anything about heater stones acting as monster bait. Of course not, the real focus was Philia and Yerel aggressively falling into bed every few Chapters. Priorities, ugh. The uncertainty was a cold pit in his stomach. For the first time, he didn’t have a script to follow, he only had the raw, terrifying evidence of his own eyes.

"I don’t have an answer," Cherion admitted, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. "Only possibilities. And all of them are ugly."

The silence stretched out, heavy and suffocating. Zarius didn’t move. He looked at the Hearth Stones, then back at Cherion, his pale eyes searching the healer’s face for... something. Sanity, perhaps.

Cherion cleared his throat, the awkwardness of the silence finally catching up to him. He shifted his weight, trying to find a way to break the tension without losing the point. "Look, I’m not saying this with ill intention, really. But great men usually have many enemies. It’s practically in the job description. And since you’re also one of those... you know, great men... is it possible that your enemy did this? Just as a hypothetical."

Zarius tilted his head. "A hypothetical."

"Right. Exactly," Cherion said, nodding vigorously. "Let’s say, purely for the sake of argument, an enemy whose name starts with... oh, I don’t know... ’Y’?"

Zarius looked at him like he had suddenly started speaking in tongues. A beat of silence followed, the kind of silence that usually involves someone being hauled off to the psych ward.

"Y?" Zarius repeated, his voice flat.

"I mean... well..." Cherion scrambled, his hands fluttering in the air as he tried to look casual. "You know. Powerful people. Influential types. Don’t you have... I don’t know, a doubt? A nagging feeling about someone back in the capital who would benefit from the Duke of the North being eaten by a Velkyn raid because his camp was ringing like a dinner bell?"

Zarius let out a slow breath, something between a tired sigh and the hint of a quiet chuckle. He didn’t confirm the name, and he didn’t deny the suspicion. But the way his eyes darkened, the way his hand instinctively went to the signet ring on his finger, was a confession in itself.

"We cannot make accusations without proof, Cherion," Zarius said, his voice regaining its military iron. "To whisper of sabotage without proof is to invite a civil war we cannot afford to fight while the border is bleeding."

"Yeah, that’s right," Cherion said, finally sinking onto a stool and letting his head drop into his hands. "You’re right. Let’s put our finger down now. I mean, my finger. I’ll stop pointing." He looked up, his expression turning grim. "But we agree there’s something wrong with the stones, right? My eyes didn’t lie to me out there."

Zarius looked at the stones in the corner. He didn’t answer immediately, his mind clearly working through the tactical nightmare of what Cherion was suggesting. If the stones were the beacon, then their very source of heat was their greatest enemy.

"We cannot use these," Cherion pressed, his voice urgent. "Not until we’re sure. We should go back to the old stones. Or, I don’t know, we can scrape rocks together to make fire like the ancients did. It’ll be freezing, and the men will complain, but at least we won’t be inviting every nightmare out there."

Zarius didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He turned toward the tent flap instead, his movements heavy with the weight of a dozen decisions that all felt like losing. His hand brushed the thick canvas, pausing there for a brief moment as if the cold beyond it was already calling.

"Sleep, Cherion. That is a request I expect you to follow this time." Zarius stood, the flickering lantern light making his shadow loom large against the tent wall. "I am calling an urgent meeting at first light. We will see what the ’standard issue’ truly is once it’s properly examined."