Never Die Villain

"...Does Father know?"

"He does."

"What did he say?"

"He’s already sent people to investigate."

Ilya looked down. "...Will they find them?"

"I don’t know."

Diane’s answer was gentle, but it only made his hands tighten around her dress.

He was six. That fact had never frustrated him more than it did then. Whatever memories he had from his previous life and however much more mature he might have been compared to other children, he still had the body, authority, and freedom of a six-year-old boy.

He couldn’t ride out and search for the attackers, couldn’t order knights around, and couldn’t even leave the estate without an adult accompanying him.

All he could do was stand there and look at his injured mother.

"...I hate this."

Diane looked down at him. "Hm?"

Ilya pressed his forehead against her side.

"I hate being small."

At times like these, Ilya truly wished he had been given some sort of golden finger when he was reincarnated.

Where was the system he had spent the first few years of this life secretly hoping would appear?

Six years had passed already, yet there was still no mysterious voice in his head, much less some convenient power that would let him solve every problem simply by getting stronger.

"But you’re so cute when you’re small."

"...Mother."

Diane smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair, apparently finding his frustration more endearing than concerning. The fact that she had returned home injured seemed to bother Ilya considerably more than it bothered her.

"If you grow up too quickly, what am I supposed to do?" she asked. "One day you’ll be taller than me, you’ll stop letting me hug you whenever I want, and then some pretty girl will come along and steal you away."

"...Mother, you were attacked." Ilya looked up at her with a frown. "You can’t be joking around at a time like this."

"Hehe. But my son is standing here telling me he wants to become a hairy old man as quickly as possible. How am I supposed to take that seriously?"

"I said I wanted to be bigger, not old..."

"That’s how it starts." Diane nodded solemnly as though imparting some profound wisdom. "First you want to be taller, then you want a beard, and before I know it, you’ll be complaining about your back and calling me an embarrassing old woman."

"...I don’t want a beard either."

"Good."

Diane pinched his cheek.

"Then stay like this."

"I don’t think that’s something I can decide."

"Then I’ll enjoy it while I can." Her teasing smile softened as she looked down at him. "You don’t need to hurry so much, Ilya. There will be plenty of time for you to worry about protecting people when you’re older."

Ilya lowered his eyes.

That was easy for her to say.

She was the one who had returned home covered in bruises, while he couldn’t do anything except worry.

Perhaps six years old was exactly how old he was supposed to be, but knowing that did very little to make him feel better about it.

* * *

And then, tragedy struck.

Two years later, word reached the North that Ilya and Diane had been caught in the very first recorded Black-Labeled Distortion, an incident that had consumed a large portion of Rabelle before anyone even understood what was happening.

Diane never returned from Rabelle, and when Ilya finally came home alone, there was so little left of the boy Anastasiya remembered that she hardly knew how to approach him.

"Ilya..."

Anastasiya watched him from afar with growing worry, waiting for the little brother who used to reassure her whenever she cried to finally say something, yet Ilya barely spoke at all.

He ate when food was placed before him, slept when exhaustion finally overcame him, and answered questions with little more than a few words before disappearing into his room again.

Meanwhile, the rumors had already begun.

Diane had been mistreated by House Belozersky for years. Everyone knew it, even if few were willing to admit it openly, and with Diane suddenly traveling with her son when the disaster occurred, people quickly came to their own conclusions. She had finally reached her limit and had attempted to flee the North with Ilya before tragedy caught up with them in Rabelle.

By the time Ilya was brought before Valentin, those whispers had already reached his father.

Smack——!

Ilya’s head jerked to the side as Valentin struck his face.

"I thought you were smarter than this, boy."

"...Father."

Smack——!

The second slap struck harder than the first.

"I counted on you." Valentin’s voice shook as he stared down at his son. "Perhaps that was my mistake. Perhaps I expected too much from a child just because you spoke like an adult and carried a sword better than boys twice your age..."

Ilya slowly turned his face back toward him, saying nothing.

"Even when your talent began declining, I refused to give up on you." Valentin’s breathing grew heavier with every word. "I told myself you had simply reached a wall. I convinced myself that you would eventually overcome it, because you were Ilya, and whenever you told me you could do something, some foolish part of me actually believed you."

"...Father."

"But this?"

Valentin grabbed him by the shoulders.

"You indulged your mother’s plan to run away? You knew what she intended to do, and you went with her anyway?" His fingers tightened around Ilya’s clothes. "Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to me?!"

Ilya stared at him.

There were so many things he could have said.

Yet the memory of Rabelle was still too fresh, and every time he tried to reach for the words, all he could remember was Diane.

"Why, Ilya?!" Valentin shook him. "Goddamnit, answer me, boy!"

"...I’m sorry."

That was all Ilya managed.

Valentin’s grip slowly loosened, though his hands remained on his son’s shoulders.

"Sorry?"

Ilya lowered his eyes. "I couldn’t save her."

"...Don’t."

"I tried."

"I said don’t."

"I really tried, Father."

"Enough!"

Valentin shoved him away and turned his back.

His shoulders rose and fell as he struggled to breathe normally, one hand covering his face while the other remained clenched tightly enough for his nails to dig into his palm.

The Grand Duke, who had spent the past several days demanding answers from everyone around him, suddenly looked considerably older.

"Why did she leave?"

Ilya didn’t answer.

"Was it really that unbearable for her here?"

"...."

"Did she hate this family that much?"

Still, Ilya couldn’t answer.

Valentin laughed once, though there was nothing amused about it.

"Of course she did."

His hand fell from his face.

"I knew what they said about her. I knew how they looked at her, and every time she told me she was fine, I allowed myself to believe her because believing her was easier than admitting I couldn’t protect her."

His voice began to crack.

"And then she finally decided she’d rather take you and disappear than spend another day here."

"Father, that’s not—"

"Then why didn’t she tell me?!"

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