A Background Character's Path to Power-Chapter 80: All Who Love You And You Love Will Die

"It was raining that day..."

Aeron’s voice was hollow. Distant. Like he wasn’t even here anymore—just a ghost retracing footsteps through a memory he wished he could forget.

I squinted at him, something sharp twisting in my chest.

Damn.

The young man in front of me—bruised, hardened, all jagged edges and quiet fury—suddenly looked so small. Like the boy he’d just been describing was still trapped inside him, screaming.

Aeron continued, his fingers twitching as if grasping for something that wasn’t there.

"I was coming back from the city."

A flicker of warmth. Just for a second.

"I’d bought her favorite desserts. A souvenir too—some stupid hairpin with little flowers on it." His thumb rubbed his palm absently. "She always liked those useless pretty things."

Then—

Silence.

A wrong kind of silence.

The air around us thickened. Grew heavy. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as something cold and razor-edged seeped into the space between us—

Killing intent.

Faint and fragmented. But there.

Aeron’s next words came out shredded.

"...I came late."

"..."

"Too late."

His knuckles cracked as his hands fisted.

"Those bastards were—" A sharp, aborted noise. "—kicking her. Beating her. While laughing—"

His voice broke.

"I... I was frozen."

The admission was raw. Ugly. The kind of truth that claws its way out of a person’s throat.

"I didn’t—I couldn’t move—"

Then, like a dam bursting—

"Then the rage hit. Like a wildfire. My body moved on its own, my protective instincts and emotions taking me over."

His pupils dilated, black swallowing gold.

"I dropped everything—the desserts, the gift—and ran. Tried to fight them off with everything I had." A hollow laugh. "But then I realized - I had no sword. While they were above in both age and numbers."

"...I was just a stupid kid swinging my small fists at grown men."

His fingers pressed against a phantom bruise on his ribs.

"Obviously, they put me down quick. They made me watch as they—as she—"

A pause.

The unspoken they made me watch hung between us, thick with unspeakable horror.

"...She kept calling for me. Even then. Even through the pain."

The rain in his memory seemed to fall around us now, cold and relentless.

"When everything was fading... I heard her."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

’Use me.’

"I knew that voice. How could I not?"

His lips twisted into something between a smile and a snarl.

"This time too... she reached for me. Just like the first time."

A beat.

"...And I took it."

His hands lifted, shaping the memory—the weight, the shift, the change.

"She became a sword in my arms. Beautiful. Black as midnight."

My breath caught.

What?

But before I could process it—

"Next thing I knew... I was standing over one of them."

Aeron’s voice went eerily calm.

"The rain was still falling. But the ground wasn’t just mud anymore."

His empty stare focused on his palms.

"My hands were red. My sword was painted with red."

The words landed like a guillotine.

"My mind went blank for a moment."

His fingers flexed, staring at his palms as if they were still stained.

"Then I heard another voice. My mother’s."

A flinch.

"When I looked at her..."

His breath hitched.

"...She was staring at me. Like I was a monster."

The words hung in the air, sharp as shattered glass.

"Then... I collapsed."

"..."

I opened my mouth and then closed it.

What the hell am I supposed to say?

"They deserved it"? Maybe. But would that help?

"Your mother didn’t mean it"?

No, it won’t probably work either... Because, she had looked at him like that. That kind of wound won’t heal with empty words.

Before I could fumble for something—anything—Aeron continued, his voice scraping like gravel.

"When I woke up... I was lying on a luxurious bed."

His fingers dug into the fabric of his trousers.

"And she was lying beside me."

A pause.

"Then the adults came. My father—" A bitter laugh. "—for the first time in years, he actually looked at me. And said..."

His imitation of the man’s voice was cold, dripping with false warmth.

’My son.’

A sneer.

"Not ’mistake.’ Not ’stain.’" His fingers twitched. "My kid self thought—maybe, just maybe—"

A sharp exhale.

"But now? I know better."

"He only saw me as a weapon worth sharpening."

The words hung between us, heavy with years of betrayal.

Aeron shrugged, too casual.

"Anyway. Somehow, things... smoothed over."

A humorless smirk.

"Even though everyone knew what happened—what I’d done—no one said a damn thing." His nails bit into his palms. "In fact, those hypocrites praised me. Called me ’strong.’ ’A true Dunsmere.’"

A scoff.

"And my mother..."

His voice cracked.

"...She was recognized as a concubine. Given proper rooms. Respect and recognition..."

A beat.

"But."

His fingers curled into fists.

"Her smile..."

"...Disappeared."

The admission was quiet. Devastating.

"..."

"She was the one who told me to throw the sword - throw her away. That I—that I shouldn’t—"

A shuddering breath.

"...I didn’t listen."

His hand lifted, hovering over empty air—as if gripping an invisible hilt.

"Because she was already a part of me. Others couldn’t see her... but I could."

A flicker of something like devotion.

"She was the one who helped me. Made me stronger. We were... together. Always."

His voice hardened.

"So I refused."

A long silence.

Then—

"But then... another incident happened."

His fingers tightened.

"And that time..."

"...I agreed."

A beat.

Then—

"I snapped the sword in half without hesitation."

"Like she was nothing. Like she hadn’t been the only one who ever..."

"But I was firm... Because I had realized her true nature..."

A hollow laugh.

"So, I ’killed’ her. Threw the pieces back into the lake where we first met."

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"But as she shattered... she cursed me."

A chill ran down my spine.

’You will never belong to anyone but me.’

Aeron’s imitation of her voice was haunting—soft, wounded, venomous.

’Everyone who loves you and you love will suffer.’

’...And die.’

Gulp...

"I didn’t believe her."

...

"...Until my mother died a month later."

The words landed like a death sentence.

"I... I..."

His voice splintered.

"It was all my fault."

"The curse was real."

His hands fell limp.

"M-Mother... She... She died because of me."

The confession was barely audible.

"...I lost the meaning of life."

His hands fell limp.

"I stopped training. I swore to never hold a sword again."

A bitter smile.

"And I ran away from the castle. Lived like a ghost—hunting, doing odd jobs."

His fingers twitched.

"..."

"Then... three years ago... I saved a girl from monsters."

A flicker of warmth.

...Is it Livia?

"...She insisted on repaying me."

A scoff.

"But I didn’t want another person to die because of me. So I pushed her away."

His lips quirked, just slightly.

"She kept coming back. Like a stubborn weed."

A pause.

"...Eventually, I started to recover."

His voice softened.

"We enrolled to this academy and spent two years together."

A shrug.

"Then..."

"You know the rest, I was reunited with Emilia."

"I met you."

His fingers clenched.

"For a while, I almost believed everything was going to be ok... I was starting to have hope..."

Then—

His voice turned to ice.

"Until..."

The air itself seemed to still.

"...She came back."

"..."

"...She wasn’t dead..."

"Her curse was still there..."

"I saw them dying... I..."

His head lifted slowly. When his eyes met mine, something in them had shattered.

"...I... I will kill them too..."

"I will kill Emilia... I will kill Livia..."

"And..."

!

"I will kill you..."