Never Die Villain

The realization spread quickly, and several members of the family reacted at once.

Valentin immediately turned toward the palace, the senior knights began exchanging orders, and those who remembered Anastasiya leaving the banquet hall first suddenly understood exactly where she had gone.

Ilya, meanwhile, remained strangely still.

For the briefest moment, an unpleasant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The thought of Anastasiya dying...

His smile grew wider. If Aleksei killed her here, then the woman who had spent years treating him like filth, cursing his existence, and reminding him at every opportunity that he was nothing but an embarrassment to the family would finally be gone.

Better yet, Ilya wouldn’t even have to do anything.

Aleksei would kill her, the family would deal with Aleksei, and Ilya could stand somewhere far away from the entire mess with perfectly clean hands—

"My brother... will come back, right?"

A small hand suddenly tugged at his clothes.

"Huh?"

Ilya looked down, his thoughts immediately interrupted by the little boy standing beside him. He couldn’t have been older than twelve, and although the boy was trying his hardest to remain composed among the adults, the way his fingers clutched Ilya’s coat told him just how frightened the boy actually was.

Ilya recognized him. Yarik, Aleksei’s younger brother.

"Everyone keeps saying Brother became something." Yarik glanced toward the palace before looking back up at Ilya. "But he’ll turn back afterward, won’t he? Once the knights help him, he’ll be Brother Aleksei again."

"...."

Ilya didn’t know how to answer that.

He had encountered Distortions four times now, which arguably gave him more experience with them than nearly anyone else standing in the courtyard, but that experience had taught him very little about whether a human who Distorted could actually return to normal.

Helene had retained enough of herself to recognize him, but what had happened to her could hardly be called returning to the person she once was.

Yarik tightened his grip.

"Brother promised me."

Ilya’s eyes lowered toward him.

"He said he’d always come back."

Something about those words made Ilya remember Aleksei’s expression before the transformation. More than that, however, he remembered the way Aleksei had spoken as though everything he had endured had somehow been necessary.

Then he looked at Elder Karskin.

The man was still staring toward the palace.

Ilya’s ominous smile disappeared.

"Cousin Yarik."

The boy looked up.

"Stay with the others and don’t go anywhere near the estate."

"But Brother—"

"I’ll worry about your brother."

Ilya wasn’t sure why he had said it.

Perhaps it was because the boy’s frightened expression had extinguished whatever ugly satisfaction he’d briefly felt at the thought of Anastasiya being in danger, or perhaps Aleksei’s rambling confession was beginning to make considerably more sense now that Ilya had met the younger brother he had apparently been so desperate to protect.

Either way, Ilya pushed himself fully upright.

Pain immediately tore through his battered body.

"Ghh..."

"Cousin Ilya?"

"I’m fine."

He very clearly wasn’t, but Ilya straightened regardless and turned toward the palace.

Anastasiya might have been an insufferable bitch who had nearly killed him.

Aleksei might currently be a Red-Labeled Distortion who had spent the last several minutes trying to do the same.

Unfortunately, they were both still family.

"...What a pain in the ass—"

"Where do you think you’re going, boy?"

Before Ilya could take another step, Valentin placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and stopped him in place.

Ilya glanced back at his father, already prepared to argue, only to find Valentin staring toward the palace with an expression far more severe than before.

"Go get treated," Valentin said. "This is a matter beyond your control, and you’ve already done more than enough. Leave the rest to the knights and me."

"Since when did you—"

Ilya stopped.

Something felt strange.

The hand on his shoulder was trembling.

"...."

Ilya slowly looked toward his father again.

"...."

...Valentin Petrovich Belozersky was afraid.

It was such an unfamiliar sight that Ilya almost couldn’t comprehend it. Growing up, Valentin had always seemed like an insurmountable mountain.

Yet Ilya knew exactly why that hand was trembling.

Diane.

When Diane died, Valentin had suffered just as much as anyone else, perhaps more than Ilya had ever allowed himself to acknowledge.

He had shut himself away for years afterward, refusing to show his face unless his position as Grand Duke absolutely demanded it, and even when he eventually returned, the man who emerged from those rooms had never truly been the same.

He had become hollow.

Even now, years later, that hollowness remained.

His father only continued moving because the North required it of him, and perhaps because stopping would force him to confront everything he had spent years trying not to remember.

And now there was a Distortion inside his own home.

The same kind of creature that had taken Diane from him.

Ilya’s gaze returned to the trembling hand on his shoulder.

For perhaps the first time in his life, the man who had always seemed larger than anything Ilya could ever become suddenly looked painfully human.

"Father..."

"You heard him, Ilya."

Before Ilya could say anything more, an arm wrapped around him from the side and gently pulled him away from Valentin.

He turned and found Mariya standing beside him, supporting some of his weight as her eyes fell to the blood seeping through his bandages.

"Let’s go, okay?" Mariya said softly. "You can barely stand as it is, and running back inside like this will only give your father one more person to worry about. You’ve done enough, Ilya, so leave this to them."

Ilya swallowed.

"...Okay."

Mariya carefully guided him away, keeping one arm around him whenever his steps became unsteady. Ilya followed without another word, but after several paces, he glanced back over his shoulder.

Valentin was still standing in the same place.

His hand had already fallen back to his side, and from behind, there was no trace of the trembling Ilya had noticed moments earlier.

His shoulders were straight, his posture imposing, and as the senior knights gathered around him, awaiting their orders, he once again looked every bit like the Grand Duke Ilya had known his entire life.

Yet now Ilya knew.

His father was terrified.

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