Transmigrated as the Villain Between the Heroine and the Villainess

The old woman's words hung in the cold evening air, a strange and unsettling statement. Azrael and Elvara looked at her, then at each other.

"The ghost that they say is spreading havoc," the old woman repeated, her voice a dry whisper, "is someone I know. Or maybe, someone I knew."

Her eyes, cloudy with age and memory, looked up at the darkening sky.

Elvara's attention was fully captured. "You know him? What do you mean?" she asked, her voice soft.

"I don't know if it's true or not," the old woman said, her gaze distant. "But from the rumors, from the story... I know it would be him."

"Go on, bluff more," Azrael said, his voice laced with skepticism.

The old woman's head snapped towards him, a surprising fire in her ancient eyes. "No one believes me!" she said, her voice rising in a reedy pitch before she broke into a series of deep, rattling coughs.

When the fit passed, she leaned heavily on her staff, her breath shallow. "The ghost... or Eric... he was a boy whose life was a living hell."

His name was Eric. His only parent was his father, a drunkard who cared for nothing but his next mug of beer.

A time came when the man forced his son to work, to do anything to get him his drink. He did nothing himself, while Eric did whatever he could, scraping together enough coin for the beer and a little bit of food to survive.

Every day was hell for him. He took any job the villagers offered, no matter how disgusting. He cleaned the sewers, his small body wading through filth.

He did the laundry for the whole village, his hands raw and red from the harsh soap. He shoveled manure, loaded heavy carts, and mended broken fences.

But one day, he was loading a cart with goods when he saw a girl being dragged into an alley by a creepy-looking man. He didn't think.

He rushed toward them and bit the man's leg with all his might. The man screamed in pain and let the girl go. She ran.

Then, the man beat him.

Sometime later, a few guards came down the street with the same girl.

They found the boy alone, his body a swollen, bleeding mess, crying quietly in the dirt. On the girl's order, they took him with them. He was treated in a noble palace.

The old woman lifted a trembling, wrinkled finger and pointed towards the horizon.

In the distance, against the blue sky, they could see the dark, jagged silhouette of a sprawling building.

"That palace," she said.

She started her story again.

After hearing the boy's story, the noble girl, Lady Mariam, told her parents about his bravery and asked to keep him as a servant.

Time passed. The bond between them became strong. They were not just master and servant anymore.

They played together, explored the palace gardens, and shared secrets under the stars. They were like bonded souls.

"I still remember," the old woman said, her voice dropping. "I was nineteen then."

There was a scene in the palace, right on Lady Mariam's birthday.

In front of all her noble friends, she insulted him. She ordered the guards to beat him.

He couldn't understand what was going on. He looked at her, his face full of a broken, pleading confusion. 'Was everything we did fake?' he had asked. 'Was that love… was it fake all this time?'

She had just laughed. "Love? I could never love a commoner like you. You were merely a toy for my amusement, and now, I am bored with you. I am discarding you."

After that, no one knew what happened to him. He was gone. Vanished.

Five years passed. In a royal party, the birthday of Lady Mariam's daughter was held. As was the ritual, the entire palace was celebrating, filled with decorations and music. And then, he came.

"Eric," the old woman whispered. "I was there too, serving as a maid. I recognized him in an instant. The same eyes, the same hair, the same face. But something was off. His aura, his scent, his expression... it was like nothing I had ever seen."

The whole room in the palace was made a graveyard. His one punch broke every bone of the person he hit.

In his rage, he killed many innocent people—men, women, and children. He didn't think twice. No one was spared. He didn't let anyone escape.

He spotted Mariam's father and, with an inhuman strength, punched his head clean off his shoulders.

Then he saw two figures standing together.

A small child, clinging to her father's leg. He knew she was the one whose party it was, from the clothes, the small crown. He smiled, then looked at the person beside her. 'So he is the one who married her.'

The next moment, with an inhuman speed, he grabbed the man by the neck. The man's face went pale, saliva spitting from his lips as he choked.

Then, a figure appeared, falling to her knees, sobbing. "Stop this, Eric! Please, stop it!" It was Mariam.

He looked at her and smiled, but didn't say a word.

Crunch.

He crushed her husband's neck. Gone.

He then grabbed the small child by her stomach, lifting her into the air. Mariam threw herself at his feet, her face pressed against his boots, begging. "Please, leave her! I will do anything you want, please!"

He let the child go. She ran, screaming. He then grabbed Mariam by the neck, lifting her up.

"It's too late for that," he said, his voice a foreign, demonic sound. "Five years ago, I was right here, just like you are now. Begging. But what did you do?"

'You told me I was a toy,' his voice had echoed, cold and dead. 'You told me my feelings were an amusement. You threw me away like trash after I had given you my entire world. Did you think there would be no consequences?'

After his speech, he let go of her neck. Then he punched her in the stomach. His hand went straight through her, tearing everything apart.

She said, in her final moments, a sad smile on her bloody lips, "I never wanted you to become like this... I..." Her hand reached up and touched his cheek, then fell away as she died.

His anger was not satisfied. His rage took every life in that palace.

"I survived," the old woman whispered. "I was the lone one."

"From that day, the palace was cursed. No one went there. It was rumored that he is still there."

"Time passed, and a few years ago, the story of a ghost hunting people spread. The same eyes, the same hair, and the same tearing of the stomach. It isn't a coincidence."

They both heard the story. They didn't know how to react, what to believe. Just then, another woman came down the path. She was in her twenties, with a kind, worried face.

"Mother, why are you out here?" she said, rushing to the old woman's side. "It's getting dark. Come inside."

She then turned to Azrael and Elvara. "You two can come as well. It's too dangerous at night. I know you are here to help, but you are still just kids. Please, get inside the house."

"It's fine," Azrael said, standing up. "We can handle the problem ourselves. We-"

"You need to come inside to solve this case," the old woman interrupted, her voice firm. "I assure you, it will be useful for you."