I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

Chapter 337: A Heart Still at War

The fire in Yerel’s private study had nearly gone out. Only a few glowing embers remained.

Karson stood straight. As Yerel’s direct aide, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the morning bells to deliver a report.

"Wina Orisson was an orphan. Nineteen years old, originally from the west valley. Her family history is brief, mostly because there isn’t much left of it. Her father and elder brother were both deployed to the war against Solaric. Neither came back."

Yerel sat back in his chair, his fingers tracing the rim of a porcelain cup. "Go on."

"After lost everything, she moved to the Capital," Karson continued, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. "She worked as a laundry maid here before being assigned to serve Lord Philia. By all accounts from the other staff, her relationship with the maids and the kitchen workers was perfectly normal. No erratic behavior, no sudden outbursts. The only note the head housekeeper made was that the girl was exceptionally sensitive whenever anyone brought up topic about wars or the casualties. She would simply shut down and leave the room."

Yerel tapped his finger against the desk, a faint, dry smile touching his lips. "It’s almost impressive how neatly the world aligns itself sometimes. So much of what you just said matches the entries in this diary."

Karson looked down at the book. "The diary from her quarters? I haven’t had the chance to read through it yet."

Yerel slid the little book across the wood, the worn leather scraping softly against the surface. "Take a look. Read it for yourself. It fills in the blanks rather nicely."

Karson stepped forward, picked up the diary, and flipped open the first few pages. The handwriting was rough, the ink uneven, clearly written by someone who had only received a basic education from a village priest. He skimmed past the pages detailing her work until he reached an entry from the previous month.

I really haven’t felt like working these past few days. No matter where I go, someone always asks if it’s true that my father and brother died in the war against Solaric. I know they don’t mean any harm. Most of them are only curious, and a few are genuinely trying to be kind.

But I’m so tired of answering.

Every time someone says the name Solaric, I see my father’s boots by the door. They call it peace, but all I can think is that everyone has simply agreed to leave the dead behind.

Karson paused, flipping the page. The next entry was shorter, the letters written with a heavier hand that had torn the cheap parchment in the corner.

A peace treaty? Now? Isn’t it a bit late for that? A few signatures on a paper won’t bring my father and brother back to me. It feels like a joke. A horrible, cruel joke.

"She wasn’t hiding her resentment," Karson murmured, looking up at Yerel. "Though she kept it strictly to these pages."

"Keep reading," Yerel said, leaning his chin on his hand. "It gets more specific."

Karson turned the page, his thumb brushing against a faint smear of grease near the edge.

I brought fresh linens to Lord Philia’s chambers today. I hadn’t meant to say anything, but the moment he asked if I was all right, everything I’d been trying so hard to keep inside spilled out.

I told him how heavy my heart has felt these past few weeks. How every mention of the treaty twists something inside me. I cried in front of him, and I was so embarrassed afterward, but he never once told me to pull myself together or lower my voice. He simply listened. Sometimes I think being heard is a kindness people forget to give.

He asked me to pray for those who were lost and to believe that the treaty would spare other families from the same grief. He said there would be fewer sisters waiting for brothers who would never return, fewer daughters standing by the door hoping to hear their father’s footsteps again.

I know he meant every word. He is a gentle man, and I truly believe he wants this kingdom to heal.

But I don’t know how.

The anger inside me is still there. It sits in my chest every morning when I wake and follows me until I fall asleep. No matter how many times I tell myself to let it go, it refuses to leave. It feels like there’s a fire lodged somewhere inside my throat, and no amount of tears can put it out.

Karson frowned as the pieces slowly began to fall into place. His gaze remained on the page as he thought it over. "She really despised the treaty... and everything to do with Solaric."

Yerel folded his hands on the desk and sat quietly for a while. The fire had burned low, but he seemed more interested in his own thoughts than the flames.

"War doesn’t end when the fighting stops. It leaves behind empty chairs at supper. Mothers who wait for letters that will never come. Children who grow up remembering a face more clearly than a voice."

He paused, choosing his next words with care.

"Some people learn to live with that loss. The pain never disappears, but with enough years, it becomes something they can carry without breaking beneath its weight."

He fell silent for a heartbeat.

"Others remain where the war left them."

Karson stared at the open diary for a long moment before turning the page, his eyes scanning down to a passage written in a frantic, hurried script.

I accompanied the Prince and Princess, along with the other attendants, to the town today. Lord Philia couldn’t come because he was feeling unwell and remained in his quarters. They eventually asked the rest of us to return to the palace ahead of them.

On the walk back, I wanted to buy some medicine for Lord Philia. But then I met a strange man near the old well. A traveling merchant selling small vials of medicine. He told me what he sold wasn’t dangerous, just a medicine to pull some jokes. He said it could make someone throw up nonstop, or get terribly itchy, or suffer through a day of misery just to make them look foolish. I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know what possessed me. But I bought it.

Karson stared at the page for a long moment, saying nothing. His eyes lingered on the final line as though trying to make sense of it before he slowly lifted his head. His brow was drawn tight in thought when he looked toward the Prince. After a brief hesitation, he took a quiet breath and continued reading.

Karson turned to the final page of the diary. It was almost completely blank. Only a single line sat at the very bottom of the page. The ink had long since dried, dark and rough against the paper, pressed so deeply into the parchment that it almost looked carved rather than written.

I did it.