The Villain Alpha's Cursed Mate-Chapter 201: Five Days

Irwin’s gaze lingered on the talon-like nails drumming an unhurried rhythm against the polished wood of his table.

The deliberate taps filled the silence like a slow countdown, and each one was a clear reminder of the presence before him.

At last, his weary eyes lifted, tracing the length of the intruder’s pale hands, up to a face that was eerily familiar— identical even, to Zephyr’s. The same striking eyes, the same chiseled features. And yet, while the true Zephyr showed a bit of aging, this version remained untouched by time, preserved in an unaging, immortal form, with not a single mark on him. He looked human, but that was enough to tell the amount of power he had to gain in order to retain his human form. His aura, on the other hand, was far more menacing.

"You look awful," the true bearer remarked, his void devoid of sympathy. If anything, there was a cruel delight in the way his lips curled, exposing the gleam of sharpened fangs. His dark, violet gaze roamed over Irwin with quiet amusement, savoring the sight of his suffering.

"The last time I was here, I made you an offer. You were much healthier back then," he continued, his tone laced with mockery. "Had you accepted, you wouldn’t be here, enduring the agony of the bloodline’s curse. And alas, you are– still stubborn, still clinging to your defiance, even with death already at your doorstep."

He tilted his head slightly, studying Irwin as if he were some tragic, dying thing. "Tell me, was it worth it?"

A faint smile ghosted across Irwin’s lips, weak yet unfazed. "It’s been a long time," he murmured softly, and despite the threat looming over him, despite the cold amusement in the other’s stare, he calmly reached for the teapot and poured two cups. The porcelain clinked gently as he slid one across the table.

"You’ve been angry all your life," Irwin observed, his tone almost wistful. He lifted his own cup, the steam curling into the air between them. "Drink. It won’t bring you peace– assuming you even have a soul– but it might just be your last."

The true bearer’s gaze sharpened as he watched Irwin sip his tea with infuriating composure, utterly unbothered by the threat his presence carried. There was something about Irwin that always left him feeling unsettled, though he could never quite place what it was. Perhaps it was the simple fact that, despite wiping out countless Morgrim’s from the land he was about to own, Irwin was the only one he had allowed to live this long— though not by choice.

"Pathetic," the true bearer muttered, rising to his feet, whilst his expression was immediately carved with contempt. His piercing eyes bore down on Irwin. "Look at you. Is there even a shred of Morgrim left in you? Do you think I have no idea the reason you chose to cater for my dead brother’s children?"

Irwin exhaled softly, setting his teacup down with deliberate grace. "Think what you want. But tell me, you’re not here to kill me, are you?"

He nudged the untouched cup of tea he had served the true bearer closer to the table’s edge. "If you were, you would have done so the moment you sat down. Or the moment I offered you tea." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk. "Do you still hate the taste of ginger?"

The true bearer’s teeth clenched, irritation flickering in his eyes. Irwin’s voice was maddeningly even, unfazed, to the point it angered the true bearer more than he assumed it would.

The morning sky above them darkened without warning, the sudden shift so stark it turned daylight into the edge of night. Townspeople looked up in confusion as they were already prepared for the day, and in the palace garden, Emily, who was busy reclining among the blooms, took note of the sudden gloom.

But before the darkness could fully take hold, the true bearer curled his fingers into a fist, inhaling sharply. With sheer restraint, he forced the storm he had created to retreat, clearing the sky as if it never darkened at all.

When it seemed like the storm had calmed, the true bearer suddenly thrust his palm forward, and Irwin’s body seized violently. A silent, invisible force gripped him, forcing him to relieve the agony of something he was never given.

It felt like a phantom blade had sliced through his neck, while an unforeseen force crushed his bones, breaking and twisting them in a torment beyond mortal comprehension. Yet, there was no wound. No blood was spilled, at least, not from the flesh.

Irwin convulsed, his body betraying him under the weight of the unbearable pain. His vision blurred as blood welled in his mouth, thick and metallic, spilling from his lips and dripping down onto the table in slow, crimson rivulet.

The true bearer merely stood there, watching as Irwin writhed, his silent agony playing like a scene from a well-rehearsed tragedy. He had no intention of ending him, because there were still depths of torment to explore.

"I wonder..." the true bearer finally murmured, lowering his hand and freeing Irwin from the unforeseen grip of torment. "Do you ever think about the ones I didn’t spare?"

A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, his voice a quiet blade of its own as he met Irwin’s bloodshot gaze.

"You don’t need to pretend," he murmured. "The hatred you bury beneath your calm word is as transparent as glass." He took a measured step forward, his presence oppressive and suffocating at the same time. "For centuries, I have hunted down every Morgrim, getting rid of them in hopes that I can end the one who began the bloodline curse. We have been driven to the brink, and I realized that we were simply cursed by those who saw themselves as superior."

He clicked his tongue. "The moon goddess really despised us, and that’s because she had the power to do as she pleases, but not anymore. I have become the undefeated, Irwin. Every pack in this kingdom once reveled in their false dominance, but one by one, they crumble like flies. Do you truly believe it is me who keeps this kingdom in turmoil? Think again."

Irwin, who had yet to recover, could understand the veiled accusation, and it was a bitter truth the true bearer sought to plant in his mind. Still, it did nothing to justify the atrocities he had committed, nor the ones he would commit in the future. He knew that this man— no, this monster, had to be stopped before he turned the whole of Illyria against each other.

Yet, Irwin knew he could do nothing. There was little he could do, and the true bearer had sealed his lips in regards to mentioning his name. His only hope was for his children now.

"Five days."

The true bearer turned away, his form dissolving into the air like mist retreating before dawn.

"I will return in five days," his voice echoed. "And when I do, Irwin, I will come knocking."

And with that, he was gone.

Within moments of the conversation’s end, Irwin spotted his wife approaching from a distance, her arms weighed down by bags filled with goods from the market.

She had stepped out mere minutes before the true bearer’s arrival, and for that, Irwin was profoundly relieved. The last thing he wanted was for his wife to fall victim to the true bearer’s powers, or having her witness what had transpired.

But the moment her gaze fell upon him– his disheveled state, and the blood staining his clothes and the table, her grip failed. The items she had bought tumbled to the ground, and she rushed to Irwin, her goods momentarily forgotten.

"Irwin... what— what happened to you?" Her voice trembled as she reached out to him. "There’s blood. How did you get hurt?"

His wife, Clandestine, had actually returned earlier than planned to tell him about the unsettling darkness that nearly encompassed Illyria. But after finding her husband in such a shakened state, that no longer mattered as well, as she was lost to the weight of her fears.

Irwin exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"For once, my dear, I feel as if true disaster is upon us. I pray the goddess watches over our children."