Chapter 146 - After Ritual - Part 4

The first time I killed someone… when was it? Was it when I was ten? Eleven? I don't really remember. But I do remember it being really hard.

Born as the son of the Supreme Alpha, I had to live up to everyone's expectations since the moment I was born. Everyone expected me to grow up to be the strongest, the smartest, and the bravest man of them all. I was never given any toys, only given books and swords. I spent every waking moment striving to be the best, to be someone worthy of everyone's expectations of me.

I woke up earlier than everyone else, worked harder than everyone else, studied harder than everyone else, but still, I fell short of their expectations. My father's expectations.

Between werewolves, strength and power were everything. To stand at the top of the pyramid, you have to be the strongest. There was even a saying between werewolves that everyone knew about—that being weak would be as good as dead. It was a saying that my father held close to his heart. 

Every month, my father would hold a sparring match between the youngsters. He said it was a way for the children—the future leaders—to learn about the ways of the world. But in truth, it was his way to look for any threat, for anyone who could stand in my way of becoming the next Supreme Alpha.

He wanted me to win every match, so he would force me to spend the majority of my time on the training ground, practicing endlessly so that I could hike to the top of the pyramid. Unfortunately, back then, I wasn't the strongest of the kids my age.

There was this boy, claiming to be the son of the second strongest Alpha in Wonsvile. One day, he came unannounced and swiftly took the victory of the sparring match, handing me my first ever defeat. It was the first time I felt defeat, but I didn't feel sad. Above all, I was terrified of what would happen next—of what my father might do.

Seeing how there was someone stronger than me, people began to wonder if I would follow in my father's footsteps. At first, my father tried to implicitly explain how I wasn't feeling my best, saying that I'd just fallen ill a few days before. But the reliability of his words came crashing down as I suffered my second, third, fourth defeat—all in a row.

Furious was an understatement for what my father felt back then. He started to lament how useless I was, cursing his misfortune at having such an incompetent son. He would never accept defeat, especially if it would affect him and his honor. He took away the hours I would normally spend resting, adding them to the time I have to spend practicing. I had to practice for more hours than the warriors whose job was to protect the people. All at the age of ten.

Yes, now I'm sure it was when I was ten.

Turns out, the boy, who goes by the name Alex, had been tagging along with his father while he was hunting for rogues. He had far more experience than I had in real fights, and that was what made him better than me.

Knowing the reason why I was lagging behind, my father took me out for the same occasion. Hunting for rogues.

At the time, rogues were starting to become a problem for us. Though they never caused major problems except for looting a few items or food, they still received a fair amount of hostility whenever they got caught—as being a rogue means that you have made a grave mistake and have shown your disloyalty to the pack you used to belong to.

For your information, werewolves placed a high value on loyalty, which was why many people disliked rogues.

Usually, the punishment for rogues who get caught stealing would be a few months to a few years of confinement in prison, but my father was different. He wanted to annihilate them—he wanted me to annihilate them.

I didn't know it back then.

I was feeling a bit nervous, a bit nauseous, but I didn't dare to let it show. I was nervous as it was my first time engaging in a real fight, but little did I know that I would not only have my first real fight, but also my first kill.

I watched my father as he dragged the rogue to his knees, beating the life out of him. It was my first time seeing so much blood come out of someone, my first time seeing someone dying right before my eyes. As if that was not enough to see, I had to end his life with my own hands. I had to kill him.

I can still recall every single detail of that day vividly in my mind. The way he crawled, the way he pulled my legs as he begged for his life, the way he trembled in fear. They were still as clear as day. Too clear. 

"F-father, I can't kill him."

That was what I said in the fear of killing the rogue, but the answer that came after was even more terrifying than the killing itself. 

"Then you're no son of mine."

…

We all knew how it ended, right?

Being only a ten-year-old, I was afraid that I would be abandoned and turned into a rogue, so I had no other choice but to comply with his order. He thought I was too weak, too soft-hearted, and he thought killing would be the best solution to solve it. He was wrong.

My fear of him was the only reason I grew stronger.

That day, I made a decision—that I would never let anyone beat me in a match. If I lose, then I'll be as good as dead. I made the decision to take every victory, no matter the cost. It was the only way for me to survive.

And so, I took the victory of the next sparring match. It wasn't entirely because I was stronger than Alex, but it was because he realized my desperation. Perhaps he knew from the way I punched him, or the way I strangled him, that I'd do anything to take the victory. Even killing.

I suffered countless sleepless nights, scared that the memory of that day would come and hunt me. More than anything, the guilt of killing someone to save my own life was what made it ten times harder. I'm sure it's the same for Violet.

"It's not your fault that things turned out this way," I said, patting her back. 

"If… if I was stronger, then—"

"There's no if, Violet," I quickly stopped her, pulling her away. I raised her chin, meeting her in the eyes. "That's just how the world is. You can never achieve anything without making any sacrifices."

Tears continued to stream down her cheeks as she glanced at the now paler-than-ever Doris, the guilt still gnawing at her.

"I know this is not the best end, but you saved more lives than you lost. We can never save these people without your help," I said, wiping away her tears. "You did well. Very."

Hearing it, her teary eyes looked up at me, questioning the truth in my words. "Did I, really?" She asked, her voice trembling. 

"Yes, you did," I smiled, then softly pinched her cheeks, trying to turn those lips upward. "So stop crying. You're breaking my heart."

She wiped her tears, forcing herself to smile with her trembling lips. I laughed at her attempt, seeing how her lips were smiling but her brows were still drawn into a frown. I ran my thumb across her brows, easing the line between them. 

I then stood up, helping her up along the way as I held her by her shoulders. I then examined her body top to bottom, searching for any wounds.

"Can you walk?" I asked, she nodded. "Good. We still have a few things to do before we can finally call it a day."

I took her hand in mine, leading her back towards where the villagers were when she stopped me, asking, "What about Doris?"

As if to answer her question, Andrew and Jack came out from the shadow, dressed in the same attire as what I was wearing. Stolen pants.

"Jack will take a good care of her," I said, causing Jack to look around in confusion until he found Doris lying on the ground. He didn't even look surprised. Andrew, on the other hand, was relieved that he wouldn't need to come into contact with any more blood.

Assured that Doris wouldn't be left alone in the cold, Violet finally agreed to leave—but not before giving the young girl one last look. I could still see the sadness in her eyes, the reluctance to leave her behind.

Despite her unwillingness, the night was yet to be over. Life may be lost, but time didn't stop ticking—and it never will. No matter what happened, life goes on.. So we, too, can never stop running.