I Was the Hero, But She Turned Me Into the Villain-Chapter 12 - 11 : Convergence – Part 5

My arms were burning, the pressure exerted by the guards left me helpless. I could feel their fingers digging into my skin, immobilising me with a force that reminded me how powerless I had been at the end of my life.

The woman did not say another word. She simply stroked Frederick’s hair with such delicate care that it seemed almost ridiculous given the bloody mess that was his face. Frederick sobbed like a wounded animal, clinging to his mother with trembling hands.

Finally, she stood, releasing a cold sigh that seemed to leave frost hanging in the air.

—Take him away.

Her voice came out soft, never rising above a whisper, yet the guards stiffened at once.

—W-Where to, my lady? —one asked, a faint tremor in his voice.

She didn’t look at him. Her eyes stayed locked on me, piercing straight through. I could see it—her pupils gleamed with murderous intent.

—Lock him in the dungeons. —She spoke through clenched rage.

—B-But my lady, the marquis might—

—Will you make me repeat myself? —she said, with an indifferent glance that cut sharper than a blade.

The guard swallowed hard and nodded. Before I could protest, rough hands lifted me. A whip of pain lashed across my shoulders as they forced me to stand.

They shoved me out of the room without care. Each step was torture: the floor seemed to tilt, the walls closed in. I could hear my ragged breathing mix with a heavy, uneven heartbeat.

As we crossed the threshold, I caught sight of Alice standing there, pale as a ghost. Her eyes met mine for just a moment—wide, clouded with something I couldn’t quite name. Fear? Guilt? Pity?

She quickly lowered her head, as if meeting my gaze was a sin.

And so, dragged like a dog, they paraded me through the mansion. I could feel the servants’ stares drilling into my back, hear their whispers rising the moment I was a few steps away.

『Did you see his hand? It was covered in blood...』

『They say he nearly killed young Frederick...』

『Tch, I always knew there was something wrong with him.』

They were so irritating I stopped paying them any mind, and eventually, their voices faded into the fog of my fatigue.

***

At last, we reached a more distant, damp part of the estate. The walls were streaked with green patches, and the air stank of rot—a rancid blend of mold, stale sweat, and something sour that clung to the throat. There, they shoved me roughly.

I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. The cell was a narrow cubicle, lit only by a weak ray of sun filtering through high, rusted bars. Dust rose at my arrival, cloaking me in grime. A wooden plank jutted out from one wall, hanging by rusted chains: my "bed."

Using what little strength I had left, I let myself fall onto it. It was so hard and cold my back protested instantly, yet I didn’t care—I was so exhausted I surrendered immediately.

"Grrrr..."

My stomach growled violently, a grotesque sound that shattered the dungeon’s silence.

—Tch... —I clicked my tongue in bitterness.

What else could I expect? This damned day had been nothing but trouble: first those memories crushed me mercilessly, so vivid and jumbled I no longer knew who I truly was... and now here I was, lying in a filthy, freezing cell, paying the price for smashing that pig’s face in.

At the thought, I felt the rage drain away, leaving only an empty hollow in my chest.

—Ha... —I let out a weary sigh.

I closed my eyes, trying to meditate. Maybe then I could sort through the chaos in my mind.

***

A metallic sound ripped me from the haze.

—Clink, clink.

Something slid slowly through the bars. I clumsily rose from the hard plank and peered down. It was a chunk of bread, hard and grayish, as if it had been forgotten for days in some cupboard. I grabbed it without thinking. The first bite scraped my palate, leaving a bitter taste of mold, but I kept chewing. At least it eased the emptiness in my stomach.

When I finished, I slumped back down, closing my eyes. I forced my breathing into a slower rhythm, trying again to meditate. I needed it—to process these scattered memories still colliding inside my head.

Images kept flashing through my mind: the betrayed hero, Daven, who ended up dying alone in the middle of a war... but also the lonely young son of the marquis, Daven, who grew up surrounded by sidelong glances and poisonous whispers.

In the end, they were just different reflections of the same person.

«I could no longer keep them apart, because both were me: a pathetic hero and a despised bastard.»