Young Master's PoV: Woke Up As A Villain In A Game One Day-Chapter 172: Circumstances And Choices

Rexerd's severed head hit the floor and rolled twice before coming to a stop.

His eyes were still wide — frozen in disbelief.

His face was locked in a twisted blend of rage and despair, as if he couldn't decide whether to hate me or cry over the sudden end of his life.

For a moment, everything went still.

It wasn't peace. It wasn't relief.

It was just stillness.

The kind of stillness that lingers after something loud quiets too quickly, leaving silence behind to fill the space.

I stared down at the twitching corpse at my feet, blood leaking from what remained of his neck in rhythmic spurts.

The crimson puddle beneath him spread quickly, pooling around his limp arms.

I gripped my sword tightly and didn't speak at first.

Then, almost under my breath, I muttered, "Waste of potential."

Not that I meant it as a eulogy. It was just… a fact.

I wasn't mourning him. That kind of reaction was too expensive for someone like Rexerd.

But I also wasn't lying when I told him he could have been useful to me. Not good. Not righteous.

But useful.

He was the kind of monster I could have pointed in the right direction — until he outlived his purpose, of course.

But no. He got greedy.

I could have ignored all his crimes. I wouldn't have cared.

If anything, I found his research interesting. If I hadn't had to execute him, I might have even helped him in that area.

But in the end, he sided with the Syndicate. He betrayed humanity.

And as I had said before, there's nothing more deplorable than a creature who betrays its own species.

That is the highest form of treason — a sin that couldn't go unpunished.

And so, he had to die.

Shaking my head, I let out what felt like the fourth or fifth sigh of the day and turned to look at the only other person present here with me.

The only one who had witnessed me commit my second murder — at least directly, with my own two hands. Not counting half the city I'd indirectly damned.

Juliana looked a bit shaken. On her face were smudges of blood, most of it came from the man I killed just now. And her white hair was also stained red in places.

Her azure eyes shook slightly as she looked at Rexerd's dead body, and then her gaze lifted up to meet mine.

New novel 𝓬hapters are published on freёwebnoѵel.com.

Immediately, her left arm tried to grab her wakizashi which had fallen a few steps away, but it was far too out of reach.

And her right hand was broken, with a bone splintering out of her flesh, so she couldn't move it.

I half-lidded my eyes and spoke dispassionately. "I won't hurt you, Juli. Just stop it."

She didn't listen.

Of course she didn't.

She pushed herself up to her knees and painfully dragged her abused body toward the blade anyway, teeth clenched, face pale, breathing weak and shallow from blood loss.

Every inch she moved left a shaky red trail behind her.

Stubborn.

Stupidly, frustratingly stubborn.

I sighed again — for the sixth time now? Maybe seventh — and walked over slowly.

My boots stepped through Rexerd's blood, leaving behind wet footprints.

Juliana flinched as I approached. Her shoulders tensed, like she was bracing for another strike.

She didn't look scared.

Just… resigned.

Like she'd already decided how this scene ends.

"You're not going to die here," I said, crouching in front of her.

She didn't answer. Just glared at me like a cornered animal. Wild. Angry. Proud.

Her breathing hitched.

"I said stop it," I repeated, softer this time. "It's over, Juli. The battle's over. All I want to do now is talk."

Still no response. Still defiant.

I reached out toward her and she immediately jerked back, stumbling and falling onto her side with a muffled gasp.

Gods. Always so dramatic.

I grabbed her by the neck and pulled her upright again. She winced but didn't cry out.

Didn't beg.

Didn't plead.

"Just stop making this difficult and listen to me," I said, rolling my eyes. My jaw still hurt to move.

Finally, she spoke through bloodied lips, her usual sultry voice rasping like broken glass, "Oh, I know how this will go. You killed him, I saw you do it, so now you'll kill me too!"

I stared her down for a second, then let out a dry laugh. "Juli, if I wanted to kill you, I would've done it when we were trading blows. You think you survived because you were lucky? No, I went easy on you."

She scoffed, though it came out more like a choked breath. "Yeah? So what? Do I need to thank you, Young Master?"

She put extra weight on those last two words, spitting them out like venom.

I didn't respond.

Her face twisted into a scowl. "What do you want from me?"

Again, I said nothing.

I just kept staring at her — unfeeling, unimpressed.

A short silence stretched between us, taut and brittle.

It was only when she opened her mouth to speak again — her patience finally beginning to fray — that I cut in:

"You can't feel anything besides hate, can you? Not anymore. Not really."

Juliana's expression suddenly faltered for the briefest moment — so fast it could've been a trick of the flickering motes of light around us.

But I saw it.

The confusion she tried to mask with anger.

"What the hell are you—?" she hissed, her voice low and hoarse.

I didn't let her finish. "You want to know what it's like to feel something. Anything. That's why you manipulate people through their feelings — love, hate, friendship. But you yourself… you're emotionally color-blind. You use the right words, mimic the right behavior, you know the dictionary definitions of emotions and you've mastered them — but the feelings themselves never come. The only time you feel something is when you have complete control over someone's life. That power gives you a rush. But that's not real. That's not an emotion. That's just… a thrill."

For the first time in years, I saw Juliana at a loss for words. No glare, no quip.

She just blinked, uncertain how to react.

Finally, she managed, "W-What does that—"

But I interrupted again. "Hate and anger are all you have left. That's why you keep provoking me. So I lash out on you, and you can use that to stoke your hatred. Because deep down, you're terrified that if you stop feeling even that… you'll be empty. A shell. You don't even feel longing, or joy, or sorrow for your family anymore. Just hate — for mine."

Juliana's throat bobbed as she swallowed, trying to shake her head. But my grip on her neck kept her steady.

I went on without a care. "And that's one more reason you want to kill my father. Because you think if you do it — if you avenge your fallen family — you'll finally be able to feel something again. You'll regain your empathy. You'll be human… again."

Her lips quivered.

The blood on her face had begun to dry, flaking in patches along her chin. But her eyes — those sharp, ocean-blue eyes — shimmered now.

She wasn't crying.

She'd forgotten how to do that years ago.

It was just that the storm inside her was starting to break.

Then, in the next breath, her gaze hardened again.

When she spoke, each word was strained, held together by sheer effort not to shake. "What do you want from me?"

I released her neck, letting her slump slightly.

"The same thing you want," I answered. "I want my father dead. Actually — not just him. I want to dethrone the Western Monarch. Then the Northern. Then the Eastern. But all that doesn't concern you. What I want from you is your help to kill the Golden Duke."

Juliana's expression was caught somewhere between a frown of disbelief and the quiet horror of realizing I might actually be serious.

"What?" she muttered, incredulous.

I smiled. "You heard me."

Her eyes searched mine, as if trying to gauge the depth of the madness I'd just confessed to.

But there was nothing unhinged in my expression.

If anything, I was too calm.

The kind of calm that only comes from having already decided.

Already chosen the path.

Already accepted the cost.

"You're serious," she whispered.

I shrugged. "Dead serious."

She paused. "And you want me to help you? After everything?"

"No," I said flatly. "I want you to choose to help me. There's a difference."

Her scowl returned.

So I began explaining. "You want my family dead. I don't fucking care. Kill every last Theosbane — innocent or guilty in the massacre of your clan, your choice — and I'll help you do it. I'll even pave the road for you. Just leave me out of it."

I let those words settle before continuing, "As for your freedom, I'll give you that, too. It'll take time to find a safe method to remove the BloodWorm, because using blood poison is too risky. You'll seriously hurt yourself. Did I ever tell you how stupid you were for even thinking about using it? But yeah. I've got something else in mind. Rest assured, in time, you'll be free."

Her broken hand twitched. Not from pain — though that was part of it — but from conflict.

My smile turned somber. "This is my offer, Juliana. I'm giving you a deal. Take me off your target list and fight with me, not against me. In return, I'll set you free and help you kill the Theosbanes."

Silence returned once more as I stopped speaking.

This one was not taut and brittle like before.

This one was heavier. Denser.

Because that was the nature of my offer.

When I awakened my past life's memories, I asked myself — how do you manipulate a manipulator?

But that was the wrong question.

The actual question should've been — how do you give a manipulator no reason to manipulate you at all?

And the answer was actually very simple.

You take everything they want… and you hand it to them on a silver platter.

No leverage. No lies. No hooks buried under honeyed words.

Just the truth. Brutal, raw, unvarnished.

And for someone like Juliana, that truth would be the most disarming thing in the world.

Because people like her weren't used to being offered anything without a catch.

Every kindness she'd known had a knife tucked behind it. Every deal was a trap in disguise. Every smile was a sneer waiting to bloom.

So I gave her none of that.

Just the facts.

Just a deal.

I could see the war behind her eyes. Loyalty to the dead, hatred for the living, distrust, pride, fear… and something else.

Something unreadable.

After what felt like a full minute, she spoke without looking at me. "And what if I don't accept this deal of yours?"

My smile widened just a little. "Remember a few days ago, you told me you think people are bound by their circumstances, not their choices. And only a few ever break free."

I leaned closer. "Well, I'll give you that chance. If you don't accept — if you refuse to side with me — you'll be my enemy. But I won't kill you. I'll help you escape the Academy instead. You can run away, grow stronger, and try to come at my family later when you've become powerful. But remember this, you'll be on a run for a long time. And you'll have to fight every single day for your freedom."

Juliana went still for a moment, then exhaled sharply and lowered her head until her chin rested against her collarbone.

I couldn't tell if she was trembling from pain… or thought.

Because of course she remembered that conversation.

Back then, by the end of it, I'd asked her what came after someone achieves true freedom.

After someone breaks the shackles.

And she'd said — That depends. On what they're willing to do to make sure they never get chained again.

Those words must've tasted bitter now.

Because I'd turned them against her.

Her entire life, she had believed freedom meant breaking free, carving her own path, refusing to be owned by anyone.

But now, I was forcing her to see the truth she had refused to acknowledge in that debate.

Freedom isn't just about escaping the chains.

It's about what comes after.

Because if you have to always be on the run…

Because if you have to keep fighting, keep paying the price to stay free… then are you really free?