The Tyrant Is A Little Bit Kind-Chapter 49: The Eastern Empire 5

(Third Person POV)

"...I suggest we form a temporary alliance... to catch the White One."

"Agreed."

The response came swiftly, sharp and without hesitation, from Zilfan, who sat across from Orlax.

"Hmm, good. I didn’t want to waste time in negotiations."

Orlax crossed one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist as he watched the man sitting before him with cold, precise eyes—measuring every word and movement.

"I want to catch that bastard at any cost... because he made me bury my own son with my own hands."

Zilfan spoke the words with a voice laced in rage, and an oppressive pressure emanated from his body, nearly suffocating the room. A heavy aura of authority filled the space, making the very walls seem to shrink under the weight of his imperial presence.

’An emperor’s presence...? So he has that skill too... Interesting.’

"Very well. You know what you must do."

"Yes. I will seal all borders to prevent that bastard from escaping by any means, and I’ll issue orders to monitor anyone who resembles him or is even remotely suspicious throughout the empire."

"That’s good... I’ll rest a little before I leave. Also, my partner will be arriving soon—inform the guards not to stop her and let her enter this room directly."

After finalizing the details, Zilfan stood and left the room with firm steps, while Orlax remained lying on the leather couch, desperately trying to find a moment of peace.

’I’m starting to lose my mind again... I need to finish this quickly.’

Hours of silence passed, broken only by the sound of the door opening as two figures entered, immediately drawing Orlax’s attention.

A woman stepped into the room, accompanied by a young man with a worried expression. She was the sorceress he had heard so much about.

"Your Majesty."

"Welcome. Please, sit."

The witch.quietly took a seat on the couch opposite him, her eyes scanning the room with cautious contemplation, as if trying to decode it through sheer observation.

"Is this your first time in a room like this?"

Orlax broke the silence in a calm tone, but he noticed how hesitant she looked, still on edge.

"Ah, yes... I can sense the seasons a little."

She said this as she sat upright, attempting to conceal her tension behind a mask of outward calm. Then she raised her eyes with steady resolve toward the man sitting before her.

"I have a question for you... and if you don’t wish to answer, you have every right not to."

The witch lowered her head slightly, listening to his words in complete silence, as if she were rearranging old memories. After a long, heavy pause, she finally lifted her head and looked at him with sharp eyes.

"You want to know why I hate the White One, don’t you?"

"Yes."

The witch took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment, as though replaying a memory carved deep into her heart.

"Well... it all goes back seven years."

Seven Years Ago – Tirshtain Empire – South

Back then, Elena didn’t bear the name that everyone feared today. She was just an unknown little girl, blazing with brilliance and hiding massive ambition behind shining eyes. Everything she touched, she mastered. Every art she studied, she surpassed in days.

But her talent was both a gift and a curse. She was born with terrifying traits in the eyes of others: black hair like shadows, and red eyes like burning embers, making her resemble a demonic being from old legends.

Worse still, she was considered ugly—features called malformed, a rough, hoarse voice far from pleasant. Even in her innocent childhood, she was a target of fear and disdain.

And yet... there was one light in her dark world: her brother.

A young man in his twenties, with golden hair that shimmered under the sun and eyes the color of the clear sky. Everything about her was the opposite of him, yet he never showed scorn. He loved her as she was, even more—she was the center of his life, and he devoted himself fully to caring for her.

He was not talented like her—completely average in every way—but he was a brother, a friend, an inspiration.

Together, they lived as if the world didn’t matter, united against a cruel society.

Then came that day... the day everything changed.

The organization hadn’t formed yet. The White One was still just a mercenary assassin, leading a small group that carried out missions for money.

When he noticed Elena’s exceptional talent, he approached her and offered to take her in as his apprentice. She was wary at first, but her desire to ease her brother’s burdens pushed her to accept.

And that... was the beginning of her fall.

Her talent once again shone—she mastered the arts of killing, stealth, magic, and daggers within a few short years. By age ten, she was more machine than child—a seasoned killer.

Then came her first mission... and the target: a man who worked at a pharmaceutical factory.

She didn’t think much of it at first. Killing for money was their job.

But she froze when the target appeared before her—it was her brother.

She looked at the White One in shock and screamed, "What is this?! Are you saying my brother is the target?!"

"Yes... We were paid for this job."

His words were cold, void of emotion.

She begged him through tears to cancel the mission, pleading with all her young heart.

The White One sighed indifferently and said, "I knew you wouldn’t do it, so..."

In an instant, his dagger flew—straight into her brother’s back.

"Nooooooo!"

Elena screamed with all the despair in her soul, running to him as blood poured like a river of shattered dreams.

"Brother... no, please, don’t die...!"

She knelt beside him, clutching his hands, holding him in a pool of blood, tears falling in grief.

He spoke with a fading voice:

"Elena... don’t cry... tears don’t suit you..."

Those were his last words.

The White One laughed as he looked at her and said with sick delight:

"Hahaha... Now you’ll be perfect. No ties. No emotions. The ideal killing machine."

But... he had no idea what he’d unleashed.

The shadows began to swirl—rising from her body like thick smoke, enveloping everything in dark mist.

[Shadow Realm]

That was the first time Elena activated her unique skill, unconsciously—driven by sorrow, rage, and despair.

She advanced toward him with a merciless face. A dagger in her right hand, her eye consumed by shadows.

And the battle began.

She didn’t have enough power then... but he knew this child would one day become a threat he couldn’t ignore.

She fled, carrying her brother’s corpse, and buried him on a hill overlooking the city. She spent an entire day at his grave—crying, not eating, not speaking.

From that moment... her long journey of vengeance began.

She donned a white mask to hide her face and avoided being seen. Each year, her strength and notoriety grew—until she became the woman known to all today: The Ugly witch.

Back to the Present

Orlax and "Elena" sat in heavy silence after she finished her story.

The room was thick with memories and a suffocating stillness. No one spoke, while Orlax continued watching the woman seated across from him with sharp eyes, as if trying to read the remnants of pain hidden behind the mask.

"This story was never mentioned in the game... I had no idea."

The thought hit him like a slap.

"Wait... ever since I arrived in this world, events have taken a completely different turn from what happened in the game... This isn’t a virtual world anymore... It’s real. Real in every painful, complex detail. Anything can happen here."

Memories from his early days here surged like a flood.

From the moment he arrived, everything changed.

First, the sudden monster wave that struck the Allen Barony—an event that never existed in the original game. It led to the death of Baron Allen, who was supposed to live for many more years as a key character.

Then, the appearance of this mysterious organization—one that wasn’t mentioned in any game Chapter, secret note, or hidden file.

These weren’t minor differences... they were signs. Proof that this world was diverging drastically from the narrative he knew.

"This is far more complicated than I thought..."

Orlax sighed deeply, trying to relax into the plush couch beneath him, but it brought little comfort to his troubled thoughts.

He looked at Elena, who now seemed calmer, though traces of caution still lingered on her masked face.

"So... your real name is Elena, huh."

Though he already knew her name, he chose not to reveal that—he didn’t want to raise suspicion by asking, "How did you know?"

"Yes."

"Can you take off your mask for a moment?"

Orlax leaned slightly forward, his tone calm—less a request, more a confident suggestion.

"This..."

The witch hesitated, her body slightly tense, as though her mind was recalling all the reasons she ever wore that mask.

A flicker of worry crossed her. Was he ready to see what lay beneath?

But Orlax, with his steady gaze, dispelled her doubts:

"Are you afraid I’ll be upset by your face? Come now... I was judged for my own physical traits since I was a child. I’d never do that to someone else. I know exactly how that feels."

His words weren’t empty sympathy—they carried the weight of bitter, personal experience. Enough to give his voice an unmistakable truth.

Elena’s breathing eased. Her tension softened. She began to feel that perhaps this man wasn’t like the others who mocked or rejected her.

She took a deep breath, and with a trembling yet determined hand, slowly removed the white mask from her face.

When the mask finally dropped, and her features were revealed, her gaze met Orlax’s.

He said nothing at first, eyes calmly scanning her face—not out of pity, but quiet astonishment.

"You really are... incredibly ugly."

He finally said, with a tone that carried no malice—just unfiltered honesty.

Elena froze, silent.

But before sorrow could seep into her heart, Orlax continued, eyes closed for a moment as he leaned back on the couch:

"But... you’re the strongest person I’ve met so far."

He looked at her again, and smiled gently—no mockery, only respect.

"Strength doesn’t need beauty... it needs someone with a heart that can survive hell."

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