The Huntsman Of Death:A Gamer's POV As Side Character

"What?" Ashton stumbled back, startled by the accusation. "I… I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You don’t need to make excuses." My voice was firm yet composed, my gaze steady as I stepped closer to him. "Your face betrays you, Ashton. I can see everything you’re feeling."

His eyes widened in panic. "Stop lying! You don’t know anything about me!" His voice rose, cracking under the pressure.

I didn’t flinch. I stood my ground, meeting his defiance with a cool, unyielding stare. "I know enough. I’ve seen it before. The guilt, the nightmares... they’re etched into you."

Ashton’s chest heaved as he tried to formulate a rebuttal, but the words wouldn’t come.

"The nightmares come from guilt," I continued, my voice softening just enough to feel like a balm to the wound I was prodding. "You feel it every time you close your eyes, don’t you? It clings to you, dragging you down, whispering to you in the quiet of the night. And you hate it because deep down, you think you’re the monster in the story."

He froze, his expression shifting from anger to confusion filled with pain, perhaps, or maybe a faint trace of relief.

"You think what you did wasn’t right," I pressed, my voice steady. "You believe your actions destroyed lives, and now you carry the weight of those consequences. It’s eating at you from the inside out, isn’t it?"

Ashton’s lips parted as if to deny it, but no words came. His shoulders slumped, the fight draining from his body.

"I don’t…" he started, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You don’t have to say it out loud," I said, cutting him off gently. "It’s written all over you. I’ve been there, Ashton. I know what it feels like to carry that burden."

His eyes flickered looking at me to continue.It was like fragile attempt to connect.

"You… you seem so calm about it," he muttered, almost bitterly.

I gave a faint smile. "Calm doesn’t mean unaffected. It just means I’ve learned to live with it."

Ashton looked at me, his expression clouded with emotion. For a moment, it seemed as though he wanted to ask how I managed to bear it all. But the words remained unspoken, lost in the fragile silence between us.

"Don’t let it consume you, Ashton," I said finally. "Guilt can either destroy you or shape you into something stronger. The choice is yours."

He didn’t respond, but I saw a flicker of resolve in his eyes. It was faint, like the first spark of a fire. Whether it would grow or fade into ashes, only time would tell.

Ashton’s face twisted with frustration as he finally found his voice, his words tumbling out like a dam breaking.

"You think I haven’t thought about it? About the lives of the families I hurt? The orphans left behind because of me?" he spat, his voice trembling with raw emotion.

"I’ve done everything I could to make amends. I funded their orphanage. I made sure they had enough to survive, to thrive. But that doesn’t erase what I did. I destroyed their lives. No amount of money or charity can change that!"

I stood still, letting his words settle in the space between us, my expression as calm as ever. When I finally spoke, my voice was steady but carried a sharp edge.

"Have you thought about how many lives those bandits destroyed before you stopped them?" I asked.

"How many families they ruined, how many innocent people they hurt, all so they could feed their greed? Or are you too wrapped up in your own guilt to see the bigger picture?"

Ashton’s mouth opened to protest, but I didn’t give him the chance.

"Just because someone is wronged by their past or by words doesn’t mean they have the right to take their anger out on innocent people," I continued, my tone unyielding.

"If those bandits had any courage, they would’ve sought their revenge against the ones who truly hurt them, not against people who had nothing to do with it. Do you honestly believe they were righteous, Ashton? That their crimes were somehow justified?"

Ashton blinked, caught off guard. "Huh? What do you mean by that?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

Instead of answering right away, I stepped closer, my eyes fixed on a distant point beyond him. "I lost my family when I was eight… or maybe thirteen. I can’t even remember anymore."

As I spoke, a bitter laugh escaped me, the sound cold and hollow. "Funny, isn’t it? I can’t even recall when my mother answered my questions last… or if it was even my mother at all."

I paused, my hand brushing against my temple as I shook my head slightly. The memories were a blur, fragments of pain and longing that felt more like someone else’s story than my own.

"Orphanages aren’t the noblest places people like to believe they are," I continued, my voice low but firm. "Use your resources, Ashton. Dig deeper. Then maybe you’ll see the filth hiding beneath the mask of benevolence, the things no one wants to talk about."

Ashton stared at me, his lips pressing into a thin line, but he didn’t interrupt.

"Justice isn’t black and white," I said, my gaze meeting his. "It’s a fine line between good and evil, depending entirely on perspective. Sure, both sides should be held accountable, but let me tell you this—no amount of reasoning can turn a good deed into something evil or a bad deed into something noble. It’s up to you to decide what to take away from it. And let’s be real—no one can account for everyone in the world."

I stepped past him, speaking in a soft calm voice, "So, do what you truly believe, Ashton. At the end of the day, it’s not the world you need to convince—it’s yourself. Only then will you find enough peace to sleep at night."

Ashton’s shoulders sagged as I walked by him, his expression a mix of anger, guilt, and confusion.

"But how can I convince myself when I don’t even know if I’m right?" he whispered, more to himself than to me.

I paused, not turning back, and let out a small, dry chuckle. "That’s the thing about life, Ashton. You’ll never know for sure. You just have to live with the choices you make and the person they turn you into."