I Became the Villain Alpha's Omega (BL)-Chapter 73: A Head Full of Stars

"Beautiful fall, My Lord! Truly, the way you used your face to break the ground’s momentum, simply inspired!"

Reiner’s voice, bright and uncomfortably cheerful, sliced through the frigid morning air like a blunt hacksaw. Cherion didn’t move. He remained exactly where he was, face-down in the slush of the Valtrane training grounds, tasting iron and wet dirt.

He’d been at this for two hours? Three hours? Forever? Time didn’t even feel real anymore. And if he had the lung capacity left to manage it, he would have crawled across the yard just to bite Reiner’s ankle.

He groaned, the sound muffled by the earth, and tried to push himself up. "Again, My Lord," a voice said. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t mean. That was the problem.

Elios stood over him, looking disgustingly, offensively pristine. Not a single lock of his hair was out of place. His own armor fit like a second skin, silent and supple, while Cherion’s felt like it was made of hardened cardboard. Elios offered a hand, his face a masterpiece of soul-crushing patience.

"Try not to close your eyes when you swing this time," Elios suggested gently. "It’s a bold strategy, but generally, the sword works better if you can see the target."

Cherion smiled and reached his hand, nearly tipping over as the wooden practice sword, which surely weighed as much as a small, particularly dense horse, pulled his center of gravity into the abyss. "I wasn’t closing my eyes," Cherion lied, panting. "I was... visualizing the strike. Internally."

He smacked his training outfit for luck, wobbled into position, and swung again. He put everything he had into it, all his frustration, all his soreness, and a healthy dose of "why-is-my-life-like-this." The wooden blade whistled through the air, hitting the practice dummy with a satisfying thwack. Unfortunately, the dummy was one of those spring-loaded Northern monstrosities designed to simulate a counter-attack. The wooden arm swung back with the speed of a viper, thwacking Cherion right in the center of his forehead.

Clonk.

He went down again. Stars danced in his vision.

"Marvelous," Reiner whispered. "The ground missed you, clearly."

As the world stopped spinning, Cherion’s mind drifted, mostly because it was less painful than focusing on his bruised skull. This whole "training mandate" was Zarius’s latest brilliant idea, a decree handed down through Flio like a divine commandment. It was supposed to make him a "survivor." In reality, it felt like a masterclass in being ghosted by a Duke.

Cherion just had to march into the Duke’s study after Flio spilled the news yesterday, ready to discuss it further... whether the Duke liked it or not

He’d found Elios guarding the door. Not just hanging around, but planted there like a ’Do Not Disturb’ sign on him."

"His Grace is deep in his works," Elios had said, his face as blank as a fresh sheet of parchment.

Cherion had tried again at night. He’d reached the Duke’s bedroom and whispered Zarius’s name. For a moment, he’d seen a sliver of light as the door cracked open.

"Hello, Your Grace. It’s time to..."

"Go back to sleep, Cherion." The voice had sounded like a block of ice being crushed. "I am occupied. Do not come again."

The door had slammed. Rejection, again.

Cherion hauled himself up, his grip tightening on the practice sword. The memory of that "ice-block" voice hit him like a jolt. He lunged at the dummy again, swinging with extra ’spice’ and emotional baggage in every punch.

Thwack. Clang. Creak.

"Enough," Elios called out, stepping in to catch the dummy’s arm before arm before it could try round two of ’brain surgery’ on Cherion. He smiled at Cherion, and for a fleeting second, the guard’s mask slipped, revealing a look of genuine, profound pity. "You’ve done enough for today. Go rest. Your form is... improving. In its own way."

Cherion didn’t argue. He couldn’t. He just leaned over his knees, his breath hitching in his chest, trying to convince his lungs that they weren’t actually on fire. He’d learned the basic, like the stances, the moves... and apparently that was all his poor body and fried brain could handle.

Then, he felt it.

It wasn’t a sound. It was a prickle on the back of his neck, a sudden shift in the pressure of the air. It was the feeling of being hunted, or perhaps, being watched.

He slowly straightened his aching back and looked up.

High above the courtyard, in one of the windows, a silhouette was framed against the glass. It was unmistakable. The broad shoulders, the stillness. Zarius. He was standing there like a dark, brooding gargoyle, his gaze fixed downward.

For a heartbeat, their gazes locked, or at least Cherion felt like they did.

He couldn’t see the details, but the sheer intensity made Cherion’s heart perform a frantic, clumsy skip that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

He straightened as best he could, then, he raised his hand. Just a small wave at first. Okay, maybe a medium wave. No, a big, dramatic, "please notice me" wave. One that involved jumping a little because apparently his brain thought the visual impact needed to be maximized.

Zarius didn’t wave back. He didn’t acknowledge the contact at all because with a sudden, violent movement, he grabbed the heavy velvet curtains and pulled them shut.

"Oh, you did not just do that," Cherion hissed through grit teeth.

Behind him, a heavy silence had fallen. Cherion turned around slowly, red-faced and exhausted, only to find Reiner had stopped peeling his orange. He looked from Cherion, to the empty, curtained window, and then back to Cherion’s mud-streaked face.

"My Lord," Elios said, his voice dropping into that tone people use when they’re trying to coax a confused cat off a ledge. "What.. are you doing?"

Reiner’s eyes went wider, his face turning a shade of pale that rivaled the snow. "Oh no," he whispered, dropping his orange. "It happened. I knew it! That hit was brutal!"

"Reiner?" Cherion blinked, confused.

"My Lord, please, stay still!" Reiner scrambled forward, his hands fluttering around Cherion’s head as if he were trying to catch an escaping bird to leave the training ground.

Cherion continued to protest, his explanations about "Zarius’s silhouettes" and "curtain-snapping" getting lost in Reiner’s frantic reassurances. As the pair disappeared inside, Elios let out a long, heavy sigh.

This winter promised to be long, loud, and absolutely exhausting