I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)

KRIEK

The door to the private study opened, and Zarius walked into the room with his usual quiet strides.

Flio, who had been buried under a mountain of active intelligence reports, financial ledgers, and half-empty tea cups since the crack of dawn, snapped his head up at the sound. When he saw the towering, perfectly composed figure of Zarius step into the room, the aide let out a long, theatrical sigh of absolute relief, slumping back against the leather cushion of his chair.

”Oh, thank God,” Flio muttered. ”I was genuinely starting to prepare myself for the possibility that you wouldn’t come out of your room at all today, Your Grace.”

Zarius didn’t even blink at the comment. He walked smoothly across the floor. He took his seat behind the desk, crossing one heavy leg over the other as he leaned back.

He remained silent for a long, heavy moment, his eyes staring fixatedly at the map of the continent pinned to the wall.

”Flio,” Zarius spoke, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that cut through the quiet room.

”Yes, Your Grace?” Flio asked, blinking, instantly straightening his posture like he prepared for an emergency update regarding their military deployment or a message from the palace.

”How long do you think the North would need if we were to break away from Auzelian completely?”

Flio froze. The fountain pen in his hand hovered dangerously over a piece of parchment, a drop of black ink pooling on the nib before splashing down onto the paper. He stared at his master, his eyes blinking rapidly in utter bewilderment. ”I... pardon me?”

”If I were to sever ties with the crown,” Zarius continued smoothly, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the morning weather, ”and declare total independence. How many months of rations do we currently have stockpiled in our primary fortresses to withstand a siege from the imperial army?”

”P-please wait a moment,” Flio stammered, throwing his hands up in a panic as he practically leaped out of his chair. ”What in the heavens are you rambling about, Your Grace?! Where is this even coming from? Did someone commit treason while I was pouring my morning tea? Did the King insult your ancestors? Why are we suddenly talking about a civil war before noon?!”

”Just wondering,” Zarius muttered coldly, his jaw tightening slightly as he shifted his gaze toward the window. ”I knew I should have done this a long time ago. But if I had declared independence back then, the King wouldn’t have betrothed Cherion to me. Ugh.”

Flio closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as a violent, throbbing headache instantly began to form behind his temples. He let out a ragged, exhausted sigh that seemed to drain the remaining years of his youth.

”Every single time,” Flio whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of dread and amusement. ”Every single time you and Lord Cherion spend even a single night alone in a locked room, you manage to walk out into the hallway and blurt out a very random, completely psychotic, yet terrifyingly bold idea that gives me a cold sweat. What did he say to you last night to make you want to overthrow the entire monarchy?”

Flio let out another weary breath, shaking his head. ”Though, I suppose if Elios were standing in this room right now, he would already be down in the courtyard sharpening his sword and cheering. He’d love nothing more than a reason to march on the Palace. But logistically speaking, Your Grace, it is a nightmare. I really do not think this is a good time for a rebellion.”

Zarius didn’t look back from the window. His gaze remained cold, fixed on the view of the Capital.

”I am not looking for a fight,” Zarius said, his voice dropping into a low, menacingly quiet register. ”But if they keep pushing me... they shouldn’t blame me for what happens next.”

Flio stared at him for a long, tense moment, practically feeling a new grey hair sprouting on his head. He held up his hands defensively. ”Please, Your Grace. Just promise me you won’t talk about this anymore today. Better yet, promise me you won’t breathe a single word of this to anyone else. My heart genuinely cannot take an accidental declaration of war over breakfast.”

Zarius completely ignored the request. He just leaned forward, propping his forearms on the edge of the desk

”Tell me about this Heinrich,” Zarius ordered.

Flio let out a massive, audible breath of relief, his shoulders visibly dropping. ”Ah. Heinrich. Thank goodness. A petty nobleman is infinitely easier to deal with than a full-scale imperial rebellion.”

Flio reached into the thick stack of documents on his desk, pulling out a freshly compiled leather folder. ”I already gathered the information you requested. I immediately sent our informants to dig into him.”

Flio opened the folder, tapping a neatly written report. ”His name is Heinrich, the second son of Viscount House Bramwell. They are entirely based here in the Capital, dealing mostly in local wine distribution and high-society real estate. They don’t owe us money, and we don’t owe them favors. They are completely outside our sphere of influence.”

Flio tapped the edge of the folder, turning the page. ”Our informants didn’t even have to dig that deep. Heinrich has a notorious reputation in the Capital’s underground gambling dens. He is heavily pampered by his mother, who constantly covers up his financial disasters. But more importantly, our informants discovered that Heinrich has been embezzling funds from his own father’s real estate firm to pay off his mounting debts to some rather dangerous loan sharks in the lower districts.”

”Embezzlement,” Zarius repeated, the word tasting like a weapon on his tongue.

”Yes. And it gets better,” Flio continued. ”To cover the missing funds in the family ledger, he’s been falsifying land deeds for properties sold to minor, unsuspecting nobles who newly arrived in the Capital. It’s a massive web of fraud. If the Imperial Ministry of Justice gets even a whiff of the documentation I’m currently holding, Viscount Bramwell will be stripped of his title, and Heinrich will be spending the rest of his miserable life cracking rocks in the southern labor mines.”

Zarius listened silently, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the mahogany desk. It was the sound of a predator cornering its prey. Heinrich had thought he was safe because he was in the Capital, operating entirely outside the jurisdiction of the Northern army. He had thought Cherion was a safe target to bully to impress his high-society friends.

He had no idea he had just handed Zarius the shovel to dig his own grave.