Blessed to be the Villain

Ethan's blade pierced clean through the Shadwalker's skull.

The beast gave a final, guttural hiss before collapsing in a heap of shadow and broken flesh. Ethan froze, his chest heaving as he stared at the corpse. For a moment, his grip tightened on the hilt as if afraid to let go, as if the monster might rise again at any second.

Arthur stepped forward, silent as ever. He watched Ethan without judgment, then gave a single, small nod.

The first kill was always the hardest.

Arthur had seen it many times before—the way a person's eyes changed after crossing that threshold. It was a line no one could retreat from once crossed, a moment that divided the inexperienced from those who had stepped into the world of blood and steel. For a warrior, hesitation could mean death. And hesitation always struck deepest at the first kill.

"This was only a beast," Arthur thought, watching the younger boy. "But even a beast is a step forward."

It wasn't just about surviving the fight. It was about hardening one's heart, gaining the confidence to strike again without faltering. For Ethan, who lacked both certainty and experience, this moment was crucial.

Arthur almost allowed himself a small smile. Almost.

Then his expression shifted.

All trace of warmth drained from his features. His face became a lifeless mask, eyes empty, cold, and unreadable.

The world changed.

It was as though reality itself peeled back. Everything—trees, grass, birds in the distance, even the worms burrowing beneath the soil—lost its solidity. They became the painted surface of a vast ocean, a rippling canvas of fragile colors.

Each thing gave off waves.

Tiny ripples from the ants beneath their feet. Greater tremors from the trees rooted in the earth. Even Arthur himself radiated waves—his own presence twisting and bending the ripples of others, forcing them into subtle patterns.

But Arthur wasn't watching any of them.

His gaze was fixed on where Ethan should have been.

And Ethan… was gone.

In his place stood a figure of shadow. A tall, humanoid silhouette dripping with unnatural stillness. Its form quivered like smoke yet held an unbearable weight, as though reality itself strained to contain it. It gave off ripples, yes, but they were wrong. They clashed with this painted world, an intrusion from somewhere far beyond—a place it did not belong.

From the shadow's body, tentacles began to unfurl. Slick, writhing limbs glistened with inky slime. They slithered forward, coiling around the corpse of the Shadwalker. With a sickening wrench, they dragged something out of the body—something faint, translucent, yet unmistakably shaped like the beast.

Its soul.

The illusory creature thrashed violently, but the tentacles tightened, binding it in an unbreakable grip. Inch by inch, it was pulled into the shadow's body, swallowed whole.

The moment it vanished—everything stopped.

The ripples froze in place. Even time itself seemed to halt, as though the world had been trapped in amber.

Arthur's dead eyes widened slightly.

A cold, familiar memory stirred within him, one that clawed at the edges of his mind. His body tensed with murderous instinct, his gaze sharpening as though ready to strike the abomination.

But then…

The water where the shadow stood began to rise.

First a ripple. Then a surge. Higher. Higher. Until it became a vast wall, a towering tsunami that blotted out the painted horizon. Its weight pressed down, threatening to obliterate everything—trees, earth, sky, even thought itself.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat.

And then—

It stopped.

The crushing wave hung frozen, suspended above all creation. Arthur felt something deeper than fear—an unfathomable pull, a weight that drew his head upward, past the clouds, past the heavens, past the sky itself… to infinity.

There, unseen yet undeniable, colossal doors began to open.

They were the gates of a castle.

Beyond them stretched a great hall, silent and endless. At its center stood a vast round table ringed with high-backed chairs, each one carved with symbols he could not comprehend. And on the largest chair, at the head, sat a hooded figure.

Its hood was a void, concealing its face in perfect blackness. Yet Arthur knew with certainty—it was looking here. No… not at him.

At the shadow.

And then a name pressed into Arthur's mind, unbidden and absolute:

The Observer.

The hooded figure raised its head. No face. No features. Nothing but darkness within the hood.

And yet—Arthur felt it blink.

The tsunami vanished.

The shadow melted away.

And standing there once more was Ethan—pale, trembling, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

Arthur's vision snapped back to the ordinary forest. His cold mask softened, glassy and unfocused, like a man waking from a dream he could neither remember nor forget.

Before he could process what had just happened, Ethan collapsed.

Arthur lunged instinctively, catching him before he hit the ground. He stared at the boy's pale face, confused, as if something vital had slipped from his memory. What… had just happened? Why did he feel as though he was forgetting something important?

Ethan's skin was cold, his expression ashen, his body trembling even in unconsciousness.

"Like he's seen a ghost," Arthur muttered.

---

Time passed.

Sometime later, Ethan's eyelids fluttered open. His blurred vision cleared to the sight of a familiar tree overhead, its branches shielding him with dappled shade.

"You're awake?!"

He turned his head sluggishly at the voice. Arthur sat nearby, leaning against the same tree, his crimson eyes fixed on him with an unreadable expression.

Ethan struggled to sit up, his limbs heavy as lead. "W… what happened?"

"That's what I'd like to know too." Arthur's gaze sharpened. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Ethan squinted, trying to recall. His memories felt fractured, slipping through his fingers like water.

"I… I killed the Shadwalker," he murmured slowly". The system… it gave me some prompts. I was about to level up. He thought, "And then…

His voice faltered. A shiver ran through his body.

"And then I felt it. A pressure… heavier than anything I've ever felt. Like when I first faced the Shadwalker, but worse. A hundred times worse. It felt like… like death itself staring at me."

His eyes darkened. "After that… nothing. Just darkness."

Arthur listened silently, his face betraying nothing. When Ethan finished, Arthur lowered his gaze in thought. His expression tightened as though weighing something carefully, then finally he nodded, as if reaching a conclusion.

"I can't say for sure," he said at last. "But I have a guess."

Ethan waited, still pale, his chest tight with unease.

"At first," Arthur continued, "I thought you simply fainted from exhaustion. It happens after a true life-and-death struggle. Your body gives in once the adrenaline fades. But…" His eyes narrowed. "You didn't look exhausted. You looked… terrified. Far too terrified for it to be that simple."

He leaned forward. "And after hearing your account, I'm certain. Something else happened."

Ethan swallowed. "So what was it?"

Arthur's gaze lingered on him before he spoke. "The Shadwalker, as a last act before death, must have concentrated all its killing intent on you. It's rare, but not unheard of. Usually, only Ascended Beasts can control their killing intent so precisely. But this one was intelligent, and with death moments away, it may have released everything at once—a final strike, not of flesh, but of will."

Ethan furrowed his brows. The words were heavy, but parts of them made no sense.

"What's an Ascended Beast?" he asked softly.

Arthur didn't answer immediately. His tone carried the weight of certainty, but Ethan noticed something odd. The way he spoke—hesitant, careful—felt less like knowledge and more like speculation.

Arthur was guessing.

And that… didn't fit.

Ethan had known Arthur long enough to understand that the man was sharp, capable, and immensely knowledgeable. If anyone should have understood what just happened, it should have been him. And yet, here he was, pretending certainty while hiding his uncertainty.

That… was strange.

But Ethan didn't press. He was too drained, too shaken.

He only nodded, choosing to accept the explanation for now.

Yet his own doubts lingered.

Because deep down, Ethan had already tried calling out to the system in his mind. Again and again. But it was silent.

Dead silent.

Normally, the system was loud, a constant chatterbox in his thoughts. But now? Nothing. Not even a flicker.

He clenched his fists. "Is it because of the first kill? Or… something else?"

The sudden absence unsettled him more than he expected. Against his better judgment, he even caught himself… missing it.

Shaking his head violently, he banished the thought.

Arthur noticed.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

Ethan forced a smile. "Well, whatever it was, it's over now. Let's just forget about it."

Arthur's eyes hardened. He shook his head firmly.

"Huh?" Ethan blinked.

"With a serious expression, Arthur said, "Thinking about your battles is never a waste. Especially when you don't understand what happened. This time… it might feel confusing. But experience only has value if you grow from it. Reflecting on your fights will make you stronger, not just in combat but in life."

Ethan blinked at him, dumbfounded. His simple comment had unlocked a floodgate.

Arthur continued, his tone steady, almost teacher-like. "Contemplating your last fight shows you how far you've progressed. It reveals what you did well, where you can improve. What weaknesses your opponent had. What strategies you can prepare for similar enemies in the future. Every detail matters."

On and on he went, reason after reason flowing with practiced rhythm.

Ethan listened at first, then slowly zoned out. The words were too many, too heavy, and Arthur's tone carried the weight of someone used to lecturing.

"…He's like a professor," Ethan thought wryly. "Back in college, my teachers droned on just like this. Wait—no, he's teaching me. He's actually teaching me. But he's so young… younger than me, maybe. How the hell is he so good at this? Almost like he's done it countless times before…"

Arthur's voice cut through his wandering thoughts.

"You're not taking this seriously."

Ethan snapped upright. "I—uh, no, I am!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes but sighed. "We'll discuss this later. You're still exhausted."

He rose to his feet, brushing dirt from his cloak. "Come on. Let's head back to the city."

Ethan exhaled in relief and nodded, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. As they began walking.