Never Die Villain

"Where have you been?"

Two days later, Ilya finally returned to the Belozersky mansion, having assumed that his father would already have departed for the North.

The moment he stepped through the front doors, however, that expectation was immediately shattered, for the first person waiting to receive him was neither a servant nor Mariya, but Anastasiya.

"I told the maids I was staying at a friend’s place."

"Father is waiting for you," she said. "No, he’s been waiting."

"...."

A chill crawled down Ilya’s spine.

For his father to wait for someone was unusual. For him to wait specifically for Ilya was something he could barely remember ever happening, and the thought alone was enough to make him unconsciously brace for whatever was waiting beyond those doors.

"...Where’s Mother?"

"Don’t bring Mother into this," she said. "She’s at the de Montreuil estate."

"...I see."

So they had argued again.

It was a pattern Ilya had grown accustomed to over the years.

Whenever Mariya left home without prior notice, it almost always meant another argument had broken out between her and Valentin, and judging by the atmosphere throughout the mansion, this time had been no different.

"Sigh."

If he had known Valentin was still here, he would have stayed away for another day or two. It would have been far easier to let his father grow tired of waiting than to willingly choke himself.

Anastasiya let out a scoff.

"Don’t sigh, either. And don’t stand there acting as though this is some inconvenience being forced upon you. If Father is angry, it’s because of you—"

Ilya closed his eyes.

"I get it."

He gave a dismissive wave of his hand, cutting off whatever lecture Anastasiya had been about to continue, before walking past her without another word.

He had heard enough of her voice for one morning, and right now, he lacked both the energy and the patience to argue with her.

Anastasiya clicked her tongue behind him but made no attempt to stop him.

"Father’s in his study," she called after him. "Don’t keep him waiting any longer."

"Right."

Without looking back, Ilya continued down the familiar corridor. A few servants lowered their heads as he passed, stepping aside without saying a word.

A few knocks on the door followed.

"Father. It’s Ilya."

A moment of silence followed before a calm, emotionless voice answered from the other side of the door.

——Come in.

Ilya pushed the door open and stepped inside. The study was exactly as he remembered it.

Then his eyes fell upon the desk, prompting him to stop.

"...."

There, laid out in a neat row, were the cigarette packs from his room.

There was no need to ask how they had ended up there. Servants cleaned every room in the mansion, and no secret within those walls remained hidden from the Grand Duke for long.

The only question that remained was whether this meeting was about the cigarettes... or whether they merely happened to be the first item on a much longer list.

"I don’t condemn smoking," Valentin began. "A man may spend his money however he sees fit once he has earned it. But to think that the allowance I have been sending you every month has been used to finance this habit... especially by someone whose results are as pitiful as yours."

"...."

"I met with your Headmaster at the Imperial Palace," he continued. "During our conversation, he was courteous enough to personally hand me your academic report."

Only then did Valentin raise his gaze.

"I had never placed particularly high expectations on you, boy," he said. "Even so, I find myself disappointed. It is a remarkable talent to fall short of standards that were already set so low."

"...."

"I can overlook smoking. I can overlook drinking. I can even overlook the occasional indiscretion expected of a young noble. Those are privileges afforded to men who have accomplished something worthy of indulgence."

His eyes shifted toward the row of cigarette packs before returning to Ilya.

"You, however, have done nothing to earn such privileges. Your grades are mediocre, your practical evaluations are uninspiring, and your instructors describe you with words no one wishes to read. Yet despite those pitiful results, you somehow found the time to cultivate an expensive habit."

Valentin picked up the report from his desk and slowly folded it shut.

"So tell me, boy. What exactly have you been doing with the opportunities I have given you?"

"...."

"You insisted on studying in the Imperial Capital. I permitted it. A residence was prepared for you. Every expense was covered before you ever needed to ask. Tuition, living costs, equipment, servants, you have wanted for nothing."

"...."

"There are sons of lesser houses who would gladly trade places with you, yet they achieve more despite having fewer opportunities and receiving far less than you have. They understand that privilege is an investment, not an entitlement."

"...."

"And this... is the return on mine..."

"...."

"An absolute embarrassment to your ancestors."

As Ilya stood before him, he found it strangely difficult to meet Valentin’s eyes. It did not feel as though his father was looking at him at all. Rather, it felt as though Valentin’s gaze was passing right through him.

Valentin leaned back in his chair.

"So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Father..."

Ilya found himself hesitating. Whatever explanation he had been about to give never left his lips, and after a moment, he chose a different question instead.

"Could you... look at me?"

"I am looking—"

"Look at me as your son... and not as the boy who killed your mistress..."

"...."

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of Ilya’s lips before disappearing just as quickly.

"...Never mind," he said, lowering his gaze. "Forgive me for asking something so absurd. I should have known better."

"You insolent—"

"I have no talent for the sword," Ilya cut in before Valentin could finish. "For sixteen years, I have trained from dawn until night. I bled, I sweated, and I endured every hardship, yet these hands..."

He slowly raised his hand, the rough calluses lining his palms plainly visible.

"...These hands are all I have to show for it."

His fingers slowly curled into fists.

"The skin has split more times than I can remember. Every callous was earned through years of swinging a blade that never truly suited me, yet the results have remained the same. Mediocre. I know better than anyone the shame my existence has brought upon House Belozersky."

Ilya swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

"Believe me, Father, no one is more aware of my inadequacy than I am. Every report, every evaluation, every disappointed gaze... I have lived with them long before you ever read that report..."

He drew a slow breath before finally speaking the words he had resolved to say.

"That is why I have decided to walk a different path. Magic. For the past several weeks, I’ve been learning magic, and I intend to transfer to the Magic Department next semester—"

"You’ve lost your goddamn mind, boy." Valentin finally raised his voice. "Which bastard filled your head with such delusions? Give me a name, and I’ll have the fool dragged before the family council before the week is over—"

"My mother, Diane, was a wizard."

The room fell silent.

"She was condemned by this family not only because she was your mistress, but because she practiced the very discipline our ancestors despised. To them, she was a stain upon the Belozersky name long before she ever gave birth to me."

"...."

"Yet despite that, she endured. She never abandoned it, even knowing how this family regarded people like her, and in the end... she died protecting me."

Ilya slowly lowered his hands.

"I know what this family thinks of wizards. I know better than anyone that the very word is enough to invite contempt within these walls. That is why I never intended to speak of this until I had something to show for it."

House Belozersky had produced nothing but knights for generations, and there was a reason for that.

Long ago, before the family had risen to become the shield of the North, a single wizard had nearly driven the Belozersky bloodline to extinction, leaving behind a scar that generations of descendants refused to forget.

Although the family had ultimately been spared, that act of mercy had done little to erase the humiliation of that day.

That disgrace became a lesson every descendant was taught from childhood.

Within House Belozersky, a wizard was never merely a practitioner of magic. They were a reminder of the family’s greatest humiliation, a symbol of the one enemy that had brought the North to its knees, and a stain the family had sworn would never again take root under its banner.

Few outside the household knew the true reason behind that hatred, and fewer still dared to ask.

"I am prepared to be disowned if you deem it necessary," Ilya continued. "But, Father, I ask one final favor of you. As your son, as your bastard... and as Diane’s son... allow me to walk the path of a wizard..."

That was the final card Ilya had kept hidden from the beginning.

He had never intended to bring Diane into this conversation. Even now, he could not be certain whether speaking her name would calm Valentin or drive him into an even greater rage, but there was no one else whose memory held more weight before the man seated across from him.

After all, Diane Laurence Messerschmidt had been the woman Valentin had truly loved.

If there was anyone capable of making his father hesitate, even if only for a single moment, it would be her.