I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 173: A Feast of Bitter Vines

The chandeliers creaked a little as a draft slipped through the dining hall, making the candlelight flickerin a way that felt less like ambiance and more like a warning. Cherion sat there, back as straight as a poker, feeling the prickle of sweat at his hairline. Wow, he thought, his gaze darting across the heavy linen cloth. The four of them. Together. It was like some twisted cosmic joke.

If this were a scene in the original web novel, the air would be thick with the "shimmering nobility" of Yerel and Philia, the heroic duo destined to save the world from the "vile" Duke Zarius and the "rotting" shadow, Cherion. But as Cherion looked at the scene before him, he realized the "OG" readers would probably cough up blood if they caught a glimpse of this reality. The so-called heroes were acting like spoiled rich brats, while the supposed villains were just... trying to get through dinner without getting metaphorically stabbed.

Well. That was it. Full-on role reversal.

Cherion had seriously considered skipping this, not because he was scared, just... deeply uncomfortable. He could’ve faked a migraine, hidden in the library, or had Reiner bring dinner up to his room. But Zarius had that look in his eye, and Cherion knew that if he didn’t show up, it would look like they were cowering. And let’s not forget, Yerel still outranked them. It wouldn’t exactly look great for the host to ditch a royal guest.

Zarius broke the silence first. He picked up his fork. "Eat, Your Highness," hesaid. "I can assure you the North wouldn’t dare put anything on your plate that you haven’t... earned."

Yerel’s lips curled into a dry smile. He didn’t look offended, but amused, like a cat watching a mouse try to growl. He started eating, all smooth and elegant in a way that was honestly a bit annoying. Beside him, Philia looked remarkably vibrant.

It didn’t take long for the conversation to turn into a minefield.

"So," Yerel began, swirling his wine. "How is life here, Cherion? I truly hope the cold hasn’t... dampened your spirit. I’d hate to think you weren’t being well-cared for."

Cherion took a slow bite of venison, chewing like he needed the extra time to not say something unwise. "My life is wonderful here, Your Highness. It’s been exceptionally peaceful," he paused, his eyes sliding toward Philia with a sharp little smile, "at least, until very recently."

Philia’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. Zarius, however, didn’t let the silence linger.

"Why would you assume he isn’t being cared for, Your Highness?" Zarius asked casually. "Did you think I would treat him with the same... disregard... that you did?"

Yerel let out a short chuckle. Philia, ever the "peacemaker," leaned forward with a soft sigh. "Please, Your Grace, His Highness was just asking a simple question. There’s no need to drag up the past when we’re all trying to move forward."

"It’s a bit hard not to drag up the past," Cherion said sweetly, "when the past is actively following us around."

Yerel’s eyes flashed, a quick, sharp irritation. "Speaking of following," he said, leaning back as a servant poured more wine, "I heard some rather interesting news. Philia mentioned that you followed the Duke into the beast subjugation. Very loyal of you. Like a little shadow."

Cherion tilted his head toward Philia. "Oh, wow. Lord Philia. You must be dying to fill His Highness in on every little detail."

"I was simply giving His Highness an update," Philia answered. "It’s not as if it’s a secret. Unless you were ashamed of being there?"

Yerel didn’t wait for an answer. He let out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. "I just found it curious. Did you actually contribute, or did you just go there to make a mess? Or perhaps play soldier while the real men were bleeding in the snow? It sounds like a rather desperate bid for attention, if you ask me."

The room instantly felt colder. Zarius didn’t raise his voice.

"He didn’t go to play," Zarius said, his voice cutting through Yerel’s smugness like a blade. "Cherion was the reason the morale of my men held. Without him at my side, the victory wouldn’t have been so swift. He provided support that I personally think not every ’noble’ would have the stomach for." He kept his gaze locked on Philia for a beat too long.

Yerel’s smile didn’t falter, though it grew tighter. "Ah, I see. A ’helper’ then? It’s charming how you’ve found a way to make him useful, Zarius."

"Call it whatever you like," Cherion shrugged, his calm actually starting to annoy Yerel. "Helper, assistant... I don’t really care for the titles. I was where I needed to be."

"Don’t be so offensive, Lord Cherion," Philia chided softly. "His Highness is only stating the obvious. There’s no need to get defensive just because he’s right."

Cherion laughed. "Careful, Lord Philia. Don’t stress yourself out over me. You might fall ill again, and we wouldn’t want that fragile health acting up."

Yerel tapped a finger against his wine glass. "It really is a pattern, isn’t it? First the Duke, then Philia... the North is truly something. It seems to make people quite sick." He turned his gaze to Zarius. "It’s actually amazing to me that you went to the front lines at all, Zarius. Given your... declining health... wouldn’t it have been better to just stay home and rest? It feels almost irresponsible to lead men when you’re one foot in the grave."

Cherion leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Sure. Because you’re clearly the pillar of health and vitality."

Yerel didn’t snap. He just smiled at Zarius, all fake sympathy. "The North needs a stable hand, Zarius. Not someone on the verge of collapse. If you’re struggling to keep your head above water, perhaps the Crown needs to reconsider who holds the keys to these mountains."

The implication was loud and clear: You’re weak, and I’m here to see if I can take what’s yours.

Philia nodded in agreement. "It’s about the safety of the people, Your Grace. They need to know their Duke isn’t... fading."

Zarius’s jaw tightened. He looked like he was about to say something that would end the dinner in an arrest or a duel. The tension in the room felt physical now like a wire pulled too tight. Under the table, Cherion gripped his chair so hard his knuckles went white.

"The only thing fading in this room," Zarius began, his voice dangerously low, "is my patience for..."

He didn’t finish the sentence.

A sudden, sharp cough erupted from his chest. It started as a small, muffled sound, but within seconds it turned into a violent, hacking fit that shook his entire frame. Zarius doubled over slightly, his hand flying to his mouth.

"Your Grace?" Cherion’s voice was a frantic whisper.

The coughing didn’t stop. It was a wet, rattling sound, the kind of sound that haunts your nightmares. The room went deathly silent, save for the Duke’s struggling lungs. Yerel and Philia sat back, their faces a mix of concern and something that looked like curiousity.

Zarius pulled out a white handkerchief, pressing it to his mouth as his shoulders shook. When it finally slowed, he lowered it slowly.

Cherion felt the world tilt.

The black cloth was soaked through, the fabric darkened further by something thick, wet, and red? Red?! Is that blood?!

"Oh... oh my god," Philia gasped, though he didn’t move to help.

Zarius stared at the cloth, then looked up at Cherion, his eyes suddenly going a little blank.

Cherion’s hand flew to his mouth to stifle a cry. The air in his lungs vanished. It felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him, leaving him falling into a dark, cold void. No, he thought, his pulse thundering in his ears like a drum.

He reached out, his fingers trembling as they hovered over Zarius’s arm, but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He just stared at the red on the black silk, feeling his own heart skip a beat, then two, until it felt like it had stopped beating entirely.