I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The cobbled streets of the lower market district were usually loud with the haggling of fishmongers and the clatter of wooden carts, but today the noise carried a sharp, nervous edge.

Dust kicked up in clouds as squad after squad of Auzelian Imperial Guards marched through the thoroughfares. Their polished breastplates gleamed under the sun, their heavy iron-shod boots striking the stone in a steady, ominous rhythm that sent flocking pigeons scrambling into the sky.

For the common folk, a guard presence this heavy was never good news. Shopkeepers hastily pulled their display crates closer to their doors, mothers snagged their children by the elbows to yank them off the main street, and whispers spread like wildfire through the alleys.

Did the peace treaty fail? Is the war starting back up? Why are they tossing the shops?

"Mind the crates, watch the alley exits!" the Vice Captain of the Imperial Guard thundered down the narrow street, cutting through the low hum of panic. He stood at the intersection of two major market lanes, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword as his men fanned out, knocking on timber doors with the flats of their spears.

"We are looking for a merchant," one sergeant shouted, unrolling a crude parchment sketch in front of a frightened baker. "He was seen near the old well in the lower quarter selling small vials of medicine. Have you seen anyone like that passing through?"

"N-no, sir," the baker stammered, wiping his flour-dusted hands nervously against his apron. "I just sell bread! I don’t touch herbs, I swear it on the Light!"

"Check the storeroom as well," the Vice Captain grunted to his men.

The crowd grumbled, a collective wave of unrest ripple-effecting down the street. It was the third shop searched in the last hour. The palace was keeping the poisoning of Princess Iryna strictly under wraps from the public to avoid widespread panic, but the guards had been given a clear order, find where the dead maid Wina bought her poison, and identify the dangerous individual who sold it to her.

"This is ridiculous," a young guard muttered under his breath, adjusting his heavy helmet as they stepped back into the street. "How are we supposed to find one specific merchant in a city this packed? The maid barely described him! He could be anyone walking these streets right now."

"Keep your mouth shut and keep looking," another guard snapped.

They pushed deeper into the apothecary district, a cramped, shaded lane lined with hanging dried plants, pungent jars of pickled roots, and the sour smell of crushed beetle shells. Here, the shopkeepers were even more tight-lipped.

An old woman sitting outside a shop dried with hanging lavender shook her head vigorously before a guard could even open his mouth.

"Don’t ask me about no poison," she huffed, her wrinkled hands continuing to bundle herbal sticks. "I sell fever-tea and ointment for cow rashes. Anyone selling poison in this quarter would end up at the bottom of the river by nightfall. The Guild doesn’t tolerate that filth."

"We’re asking about unlabelled vials, Madam," the guard pressed, leaning down slightly. "Someone who deals in imported herbs from the border."

"Try the river docks then," she muttered, shooing him away with a flap of her apron. "Plenty of shady bastards selling toad-sweat down there. Leave my shop alone!"

Further down the lane, the tension reached a boiling point. The constant banging on doors and harsh interrogation had put everyone on edge. People were crowding at the corners, whispering angrily about royal overreach and ruined business.

Suddenly, a sharp crash echoed from a small, dimly lit shop near the end of the alley. A wooden shelf loaded with earthenware pots had been knocked over, shattering against the floor in a cloud of dried clay and crushed petals.

"Hey! Stop right there!" a guard barked.

A thin man wearing a patched traveler’s cloak bolted out the side door of the shop. He had a heavy leather satchel slung tightly across his chest, holding it close to his ribs as he sprinted toward the narrow back alleys like a hunted rabbit.

"There! Don’t let him get away!"

"Block the alley! Secure the perimeter!"

The quiet street instantly erupted into chaotic movement. Guards gave chase, their heavy armor clanking loudly as they shoved past startled onlookers. The fleeing man ducked under a hanging laundry line, knocked over a stack of empty wooden baskets to block the path behind him, and took a hard right toward the old stone bridge.

"Corner him!" the Vice Captain’s voice echoed over the rooftops.

Two guards rounded the opposite end of the alley, blocking the bridge. Realizing he was trapped, the man skidded on the wet cobblestones, his boots slipping as he hit the stone wall. He scrambled backward, his eyes wide with utter terror as half a dozen drawn swords pointed straight at his throat.

"Don’t move!" the sergeant yelled, stepping forward with his hand tight on his hilt. "Drop the bag! Drop it slowly!"

The man practically threw himself onto his knees, his hands flying up into the air as he trembled violently.

"Please! Please don’t hurt me!" he wailed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. "I swear I didn’t mean any harm!"

A guard frowned, cautiously stepping forward and using the tip of his scabbard to flip open the flap of the dropped leather bag. Inside were dozens of small glass jars wrapped in burlap, filled with yellow pastes and fragrant blue powders.

The Vice Captain pushed through the crowd of guards, his sharp eyes narrowing as he looked down at the cowering man. He reached down, pulled out one of the glass jars, uncorked it with his thumb, and sniffed it.

He pinched his nose instantly, wincing at the sweet, heavy scent.

"It’s ointment," the Vice Captain said, his voice flat with immense disappointment. "Dandelion root and crushed honey-leaf."

The other guard blinked. "Not poison?"

"No," the Vice Captain grunted, turning his cold glare back to the man on the ground. "Why the hell did you run if you’re just carrying skin salve?"

"I don’t have a permit yet, I know, I know! I was going to take care of it this afternoon!" the man sobbed, clutching his knees. "Please, don’t put me in jail! My wife just had twins!"

A heavy, collective sigh went through the squad of guards. Several of them sheathed their swords with annoyed grunts, shaking their heads in frustration.

"Get up," the Vice Captain muttered, rubbing his temples as a headache began to form right behind his eyes. "Confiscate his unregistered stock and fine him."

"Yes, Sir," the sergeant grumbled, dragging the weeping vendor up by his collar.

The Vice Captain walked away from the commotion and stepped onto the stone bridge, looking out over the sprawling lower city.

The Vice Captain straightened his belt, turning back toward his tired squad. "Spread out to the docks. We can’t go back to the palace empty-handed, or we’ll be spending the rest of the month answering to His Highness."

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