Chapter 131
Theo stood still for a moment, wondering how such simple objects could possess an almost peculiar allure, as if they had all chosen to gather around him at exactly the right time.
The light from his room lamp reflected softly on the envelopes' surfaces, creating a gentle shimmer that resembled thin morning dew resting on stone.
He held his breath for a moment, letting the silence wrap around him while he felt the weight of the letters pressed against his body—a light burden that somehow felt full of meaning, like a small ripple that refused to disappear from the surface of a still pond.
'Do they all have to be complaints like this? Not a single one with a friendly tone?
Did no one think of sending a dinner invitation at least—just a small break from all the drama they're accusing me of?
So many letters… and not one brings good news.
Amazing.'
None of the letters carried even a hint of sweetness.
All of them were born from piled-up disappointment, from hands that felt entitled to demand, scold, even threaten Theo—who in their eyes looked like a feral samurai chasing nothing but women and coins.
Each line dripped with thick displeasure, and although they were nothing but ink on paper, their weight clung to his back like a sharp shadow.
They judged Theo based on whispering rumors, stories blown by the wind, and grim imaginations that had never truly brushed against the real figure who walked quietly through the world.
In the end, the letters were not merely complaints—but manifestations of fears they refused to admit.
Theo, within the stillness carved between him and the cold night air, understood how a reputation could turn into a wild creature crawling without restraint.
He knew he never worshiped money, never viewed women as trophies to conquer, and never took pleasure in the dark persona the world tried to force upon him.
But he also knew perception could bend like an old cracked mirror—its fractures invisible yet distorting the reflection until the shadow staring back no longer resembled him.
Amid the injustice, he simply stood there, letting the stack of letters bear witness to how far reality had drifted from human prejudice.
There was an irony he could not unravel, as if the world insisted on writing him without ever reading the original script he had created.
Between the chaos tucked inside those envelopes, one truth emerged—far more bitter than the insults written on the page.
During a short break from Erietta's training session in the Realm of Gloom, the time meant to relax his body instead became a chamber where the darker side of his lineage began to whisper.
He was no admirer of depravity, but as the successor of Erusha, he carried an authority that made the world believe he reveled in acts made "legal" by his bloodline.
In that moment, the family's old reputation crawled out of history's cracks, slithering toward him as though it wished to cling to his skin, forcing him to wear colors he never chose.
While Erietta struggled to master darkness, Theo was forced to face the shadows clinging to himself.
'I hate that name. I hate every trace it left behind.
But since I'm already stuck with it, I have no choice but to maintain its wild image—no matter how filthy it is.'
Hhhh!
'If Eshura Birtash is famous as a woman-chasing, money-hungry bastard, then I must appear even wilder—at least so people here won't grow suspicious.'
With a breath that felt like carrying the weight of the world's sins, Theo Vkytor stepped across the wreckage of a reputation he had destroyed with his own hands.
Every footprint he left stained the earth with the dark ink of prejudice, a bitter sacrifice for a mask he had to wear flawlessly.
His hatred for the name Erusha Birtash seeped into his bones like poison, a cursed inheritance that forced him to act as the very monster he despised most.
Behind every brutal act he performed, hidden beneath the spectacle, lay a silent scream—a prayer choked by the obligation to sustain a legend of wickedness that was never his.
The world saw him as a heartless villain, but only the night sky knew that each action cut him as sharply as a blade, carving away at the identity he sacrificed for survival.
His most infamous cruelty was the moment he coldly crushed the shoulder of a girl who dared to protest, his gaze empty like an executioner performing routine duty.
He threw her into a damp prison cell, playing the role without a flicker of hatred, because it was all an act.
The officers—men he had bought with coins of fear and obedience—then played recordings of violence before the girl's eyes, slowly shattering her mental defenses until they crumbled.
The incident became gossip, cementing Erusha's reputation as a remorseless monster—exactly as Theo intended.
Behind the scenes, however, he ensured the girl spent only one night there before being quietly transferred to a mental hospital with the best facilities, far from the world eager to destroy her.
It was his hidden act of mercy, a silent redemption no one would ever understand.
In the dark corners of the city, in bars he owned yet never enjoyed, Theo often sat alone watching his own shadow dance on the wall—mocking the irony of his existence.
He was a guardian of fire who burned himself alive, an actor forced to play the villain in a stage play someone else wrote.
Every woman he hurt, every dignity he stepped upon, was part of the painful disguise.
He had built a prison out of his own dark reputation, and he himself was the primary inmate—cursing fate yet moving forward because in a world full of schemes, being a feared bastard was the only way to protect a truth that must never die.
'There's always a letter from someone important, but the content remains the same—prayers hoping I die in hell.
They think I care? I've read these a thousand times, yet they're still exhausting.'
Haaah!
'I should just prepare for the cold later.
Open this one first, then switch to something thicker.'
Ngiiik!
'I need to bring a mask too.
For some reason, tonight feels like it's going to be colder than usual.'
With movements as precise as a soldier readying weapons for a night battle, Theo sifted through the pile of envelopes scattered across the cold mattress.
His slender fingers instinctively set aside several envelopes of higher quality—made of thick paper, sealed with wax carrying the scent of old perfume and authority.
One of them, the most striking, bore the symbol of the Nine Dragons encircling the Nine Continents—a mark so heavy the air in his dorm room instantly felt denser and harder to breathe.
Even though his heart was numb to criticism and curses, the presence of a letter from such a powerful entity left an uncomfortable knot in his chest—a reminder of the vast network of enemies he had yet to confront.
He turned his back on the noisy stack of papers, letting the curses and threats remain buried inside their wax-sealed envelopes.
His focus shifted toward a more tangible preparation—facing an enemy far more real.
The legendary night cold.
To be continued…