I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

The heavy door of the carriage creaked open as Zarius stepped down, his boots crunching against the fine gravel. The air here was thick, clinging to his skin with a humid heat that felt vastly different from the sharp, biting frost of his home. He paused for a moment, his hand resting instinctively on the hilt of his sword, his senses reaching out into the dense treeline that flanked the highway.

His first thought was of a monster, some high-level beast that had strayed too far from the dark forests. The sudden, violent stop of the horses and the primal fear radiating from the animals usually signaled a predator of immense power.

Yet, as he closed his eyes and let his aura expand, his gut feeling told him otherwise. There was no scent of sulfur, no erratic mana of a crazed beast, instead, the wind carried the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood and the rhythmic, coordinated clatter of steel hitting steel. This was a human slaughter.

”My Lord!” Elios came galloping back toward the main party, his face etched with a grim urgency that confirmed Zarius’s suspicions. He reported that a convoy just a few miles ahead had been intercepted by bandits and that the situation was rapidly turning into a bloodbath.

Zarius moved forward to survey the scene himself, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the attackers. They were a sea of black-clad figures, their faces obscured by dark cloth, moving with a lethal coordination that suggested they were far more than simple highwaymen.

”Clear them out,” Zarius ordered. ”We cannot have the road to the Capital choked with such filth.”

Marielle, who had been restless for a true challenge since the subjugation, didn’t wait for a second invitation. With a grin, she spurred her horse forward, joining Elios and a handful of Northern knights as they charged into the fray.

While the clash of blades and the roar of battle erupted ahead, Zarius remained vigilant. He glanced back at the carriage, noting that Ezek and Reiner had already taken up their posts at the carriage door, their hands on their weapons as they guarded the man inside.

He caught a glimpse of Cherion’s silhouette through the small window, the boy looked anxious, but there was a focus in his eyes.

Zarius turned his attention back to the treeline. His combat instincts, honed by years of surviving the Northern wastes, flared when he caught a flicker of movement deep in the foliage, away from the main skirmish.

A small group of the black-clad attackers was breaking away from the slaughter, dragging a struggling figure between them. As the lead bandit hoisted what appeared to be a woman over his shoulder like a sack of grains, Zarius’s patience evaporated. How he loathed the scent of a coward’s hunt.

Barking orders for a few knights to follow, Zarius plunged into the woods. He moved with a terrifying, silent speed, cutting through the dense brush until he cornered the group in a small, shadowed clearing. He drew his sword, the blade catching the dappled sunlight in a way that seemed to promise only death.

”Let her go,” Zarius demanded.

The bandits didn’t flee. Instead, the one holding the woman tightened his grip, shifting his weight as he prepared to defend his prize.

”You’re a long way from home, traveler,” the bandit countered, his voice muffled by his mask. ”Move out of the way and we won’t hurt you. This doesn’t have to be your grave.”

”You truly believe you’re in a position to offer me mercy?” Zarius asked.

”We have the numbers and the lady,” the bandit snapped. ”Final warning. Step aside.”

Zarius let out a short, weary sigh, a sound of genuine disappointment for the lives about to be wasted.

”Why do they always choose the hard way?”

The skirmish was brief but surprisingly intense. These men were not the common thugs they pretended to be, even burdened by the woman, the lead bandit managed to parry Zarius’s initial strikes with a practiced, military precision. However, they were facing the Monster Duke of the North. Zarius moved like a mountain in motion, his strength overwhelming and his technique flawless. With a singular, decisive arc of his blade, he slashed through the lead bandit’s guard, wounding him enough to force him to stagger back.

The man groaned, losing his hold as the woman dropped to the forest floor beside him. Zarius didn’t deliver the killing blow, he stood over her, his sword held in a low guard, his eyes fixed on the remaining masked men who now hesitated, realizing the monster they had provoked was far more dangerous than anything they had been hired to face.

Zarius took a moment to look around, his gaze sweeping the clearing with clinical precision. He watched as the small group of knights he had barked orders to follow him into the woods finished their work. One knight had an attacker pinned against a mossy trunk, while two others stood over the remaining bandits who had been foolish enough to raise a blade against the North.

Satisfied that his immediate men had the situation fully under control, Zarius didn’t lower his guard, but his focus shifted. He looked back toward the path they had carved through the brush, listening to the distant, fading sounds of the main skirmish where Elios and Marielle were likely finishing off the rest of the unit. The clearing was now silent, save for the heavy breathing of the defeated and the rustle of the humid wind through the leaves.

Zarius stepped toward the woman lying in the dirt. He knelt beside her, keeping one hand on his sword hilt while the other reached out to press two fingers against the side of her neck. He felt the steady, if frantic, thrum of a pulse beneath his touch. Her breathing was shallow but consistent, confirming she was merely unconscious or in shock.

But a sudden, violent rustle in the nearby thicket caught his attention. He reacted on instinct, spinning around with his sword already raised, fully expected another attack. But when the figures finally broke through the brush, his stance faltered slightly.

Elios and Marielle burst into the clearing, their blades stained red, followed by a bedraggled group of strangers, the remnants of the convoy’s guard who had survived the initial ambush. Among them, a man pushed through the crowd, his face a mask of frantic desperation. He spotted the woman on the ground and collapsed to his knees beside her, his breath hitching in a sob of pure relief.

Zarius raised a brow, his gaze sharpening as he observed the man.

”Iryna!” he choked out, checking her frantically for injuries.

The clearing went unnervingly still as the Northern knights and the rescued party stood in the silence of the aftermath. Marielle wiped her blade on a patch of moss, her eyes darting between the strangers, her combat high still lingering.

Zarius stood amidst the carnage, his silhouette tall and imposing against the filtered forest light. As the man’s frantic checking of the woman’s pulse finally slowed, his breathing hitched. He seemed to feel the weight of a gaze that was far heavier than the humid Southern air.

Slowly, almost as if he were being pulled by an invisible force, the man began to raise his head.

”Zarius... Zarius Valtrane?”