Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 69: Smoke Before the Storm

Smoke Before the Storm

As one of the eight war generals of the Obsidian Wing, Bear had enjoyed quite a bit of attention in the original storyline.

To sit among the eight meant one thing—strength. Ruthless, undeniable strength.

But raw power alone didn’t make him memorable. The author had carved something grotesque into his character to make sure no one forgot him.

After killing someone, Bear always took something.

If it was a man, he would slice off a pinky.

If it was a woman, he would snip a lock of her hair.

A token.

A trophy.

A reminder.

And worse—far worse—he was just as depraved as his master. He violated the women he killed before ending their lives.

The difference?

Evan, as the so-called Obsidian King and "protagonist," had standards. He only pursued women of exceptional beauty.

Bear didn’t care.

If it looked remotely female, that was enough.

He once laughed and said,

"Doesn’t matter if she’s pretty or ugly. Once she’s in my grasp, she’s just my pleasure toy."

When that line surfaced in Julian D’Aurelius’ memory, his jaw tightened.

"It must be him."

His voice was low, but the temperature around him seemed to drop.

The air in the lobby of Lunar Citadel felt heavy—polished marble floors gleaming beneath the chandelier light, but the atmosphere thick as approaching thunder.

Last time, Evan had been humiliated publicly.

Revenge? Expected.

But framing him for murder?

That crossed into madness.

Julian exhaled slowly, golden eyes dimming.

The master is troublesome... but a mad dog? That’s easier.

He needed an opportunity.

And he would bury Bear properly.

At that moment, two figures caught his attention near the edge of the hotel’s cordoned perimeter.

Two middle-aged men walked side by side, smoking casually as if nothing unusual had happened. One was missing an ear. The other had one milky, lifeless eye.

Hard to ignore.

Julian recognized them instantly.

They were part of Valemont’s underground circles.

Cousins.

Nicknamed One Way Deaf and One Way Blind.

Together, they controlled a sizeable chunk of the underworld’s gray dealings.

In the original plot, these two arrogant scoundrels were eventually stomped into the ground by the Obsidian King himself.

Julian watched them carefully, fingers tapping once against his thigh.

"Young Master Julian," Amika asked quietly at his side, following his gaze. "Do you suspect them?"

Amika’s expression was tense. The wind at the entrance kept lifting strands of her hair as reporters circled at a distance.

Julian shook his head.

A faint smile curved his lips.

"It’s not them. I know who it is."

He turned toward her fully now, calm, composed.

"Just comfort the victim’s family. I’ll handle the culprit."

Amika swallowed and nodded. She had seen enough of Julian to understand—when he spoke like that, he already had a plan.

—

Fog hung low when the gates of Lunar Citadel refused to open. A cold stillness settled where footsteps should have been. Morning light found only silence at the threshold. Something unseen held the way shut.

A crowd filled the broad stairs, dozens pressing close under the open sky. Some were older folks using canes, slow and steady, while others held tight to neighbors like balance could vanish any second. Banners dangled from fingers, white fabric shaking in fists raised high. Voices roared at the tall glass entrance, loud enough to rattle the surface.

"Give us justice!"

"A life for a life!"

"How can a five-star hotel hide the truth?"

Out of nowhere, sounds crashed like wind against glass, bouncing off the sleek walls. Each scream carried pain, edged too deep to ignore. Voices cracked from yelling, worn down by minutes that felt endless. Quiet sobs took over where words failed, bodies trembling while arms kept them steady.

A figure in a dark coat held the space between them all, older but not old. Hair tangled, cheeks damp and puffed from weeping. Blinking hard every so often - yet more tears came anyway. The gesture of wiping repeated itself, quiet and restless.

"My daughter is gone!" she shouted hoarsely. "And no one here will tell us what happened!"

A younger man stood next to her, maybe her son. He pulled harder on the edge of a banner. His fingers curled tighter around the fabric.

"We’re not leaving," he said firmly. "Not until someone answers us."

From down the empty road came the sound of their words bouncing off the houses. Quiet lay heavy between each syllable they let loose into the air.

Inside the hotel, the atmosphere felt completely different.

Now quiet, the lobby missed its usual hum of chatter, rolling bags, clinking ice. Voices hushed as people clustered by check-in, leaning close. Outside, hands pressed against glass, some recorded the crowd beyond the street. Stillness settled where energy used to bounce.

Luggage in tow, a young pair moved quickly to reach the elevators.

"Maybe we should check out early," the woman muttered nervously.

Now she looked up when the noise came through the doorway. The sound of yelling crept into the room just then.

"Yeah... I don’t want to get dragged into whatever this is."

A quiet desk job kept her busy even as guests slipped out before noon. Her grin stayed fixed though no one was looking.

"Of course, sir. We understand," she said gently.

Families in sorrow lingered near the door while guards stayed outside - no move was made to send them off.

Now and then, the hotel workers stayed back. A worker set down a little table close to where people stood shouting, leaving bottles of water behind.

"Please... if anyone needs water," he said softly.

Some folks paused a moment before grabbing hold.

A shadow moved toward her, slow at first. One of the workers came near, feet dragging just slightly. The air between them felt heavy. Each step seemed to weigh more than the last. Grief hung close, thick enough to touch.

Amika.

A step back, then she dipped her head just a bit, words even though everything around felt tight and strained.

"We understand your pain," she said softly. "The police investigation is ongoing. We will cooperate fully. We promise transparency."

A pause came over the woman, like she could break into shouts or sink to the floor.

Her calm broke apart suddenly.

"My daughter wasn’t suicidal!" she cried, her voice breaking. "She would never - never do this!"

Fingers shaking hard, she aimed her hand at the tall hotel rising above them.

"She had plans! She called me the night before! She said everything was fine!"

A murmur spread through the crowd.

"That’s right!" someone shouted.

"You think we’re fools?" another man barked. "A healthy young woman suddenly jumps from a hotel window?"

The younger man beside the mother stepped forward.

"Someone here knows what happened," he said sharply. "And someone’s hiding it."

Amika held her ground.

"I promise you," she said quietly, "we are not hiding anything. The authorities are handling the investigation, and we are cooperating with them completely."

Her words were calm, but the anger in the crowd didn’t fade.

If anything, it deepened.

Behind the massive glass wall of the lobby, Julian stood silently, watching everything unfold.

His hands rested loosely in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

He studied the protest carefully—the timing, the voices, the way certain people in the crowd seemed to push the chants louder at the right moments.

The anger outside didn’t feel chaotic.

It felt... guided.

Like someone was steering it.

Behind him, one of the hotel managers spoke nervously.

"Mr. Julian... if this continues, we may have to request police assistance."

Julian didn’t take his eyes off the scene outside.

"No," he said calmly.

"But sir—"

"No force," Julian repeated quietly. "And no escalation."

The manager hesitated before nodding.

"Yes... understood."

Julian continued watching the grieving mother as she clutched the banner with shaking hands.

Something about the entire situation felt wrong.

Not the grief.

That part was real.

But the way the protest appeared overnight. The sudden presence of media rumors spreading online. The carefully timed outrage.

It was too... convenient.

Days passed.

The protest didn’t fade. It grew louder.

More banners appeared.

More voices joined the shouting.

Every morning, the same chants echoed through the street.

"Justice for her!"

"Tell us the truth!"

Media vans began parking across the street.

Reporters stood behind cameras, speaking dramatically into microphones while the protest unfolded behind them.

"Public outrage continues to grow outside Lunar Citadel Hotel," one reporter said into the camera. "The family of the deceased claims the official explanation doesn’t add up..."

Inside the hotel, the damage was becoming obvious.

Reservations were quietly canceled.

Guests whispered in hallways.

Some employees avoided eye contact, worried about what might happen next.

At the front desk, a receptionist sighed after ending another phone call.

"That’s the fourth cancellation today," she murmured.

Across the lobby, two guests discussed the situation while waiting for their ride.

"People are saying the hotel’s covering something up," one man said.

His friend shrugged uneasily.

"Who knows? But scandals like this ruin reputations fast."

Bookings dropped.

Whispers spread.

And through it all, Julian watched quietly from the shadows, piecing together the pattern forming beneath the noise.

Three days later, Bear decided it was time.

—

The afternoon sun burned white against the glass exterior of Lunar Citadel.

Bear walked alone through the entrance.

No disguise.

No hurry.

Black hair cropped short. Black eyes calm. A casual jacket thrown over his shoulders like he had nothing to fear.

The protestors parted instinctively, sensing something predatory in his stride.

Inside, Amika stiffened.

Julian stood near the reception desk, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

Bear’s gaze locked onto him instantly.

For half a second—

Killing intent flashed.

Cold. Sharp. Undeniable.

He sneered.

"Well, if it isn’t Young Master Julian?" His voice carried a lazy mockery. "Haven’t seen you in a few days, and your hotel’s business is in the dumps?"

The lobby fell quiet.

Even the distant shouting outside seemed muted.

Julian met his eyes without blinking.

His expression didn’t change.

But inside, his thoughts were razor sharp.

There you are.

The mad dog had come to show his teeth.

Good.

Now he could start breaking them.