Chapter 045:

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Throughout his travels in his previous life, Alexander often caught wind of a nasty, wholly false, but oddly persistent rumor.

That being that the hero, the ‘Global Alliance’s Greatest Spear’ was nothing but a muscleheaded oaf with as much grace as decorum. In the same vein, he also came across whispers claiming he was illiterate and uncultured.

This, of course, was a load of horse shit. Granted, he wasn’t as cunning as Lex nor as book-smart as Earnest and he sure as hell wasn’t as culturally inclined as Nammu.

But he did read the books she often gave him, filled with fanciful sentences composed of flowery words that tried so hard to ink the complexity of human emotion and usually failed to do so. Sometimes they came close enough to be considered tragic but mostly they were just pretentious dribble he read solely for pleasing Nammu whom he had undoubtedly wronged in some fashion that day.

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Yes, he was as aware of the purity perceived in pining love as he was of the sheer thirst present in women’s smut.

He was also aware of hate. He had read of hate.

He had known hate intimately.

Love and Hate.

Frequently depicted as both sides of the same coin so contradicting in nature yet similar in origin, being, and depth. How quickly one can become the other is a wonder really. For the life of him, Alexander never understood how his heart, a muscle for pumping blood could feel such immense infatuation and also stoop to such guttural, primal, hate.

Some hate cannot be written about, not for the taboo of it but for the fact that there exists no language, no sentence, no word strong enough to describe an infinitesimal fraction of the strength it can have and of the hold it can have on you.

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‘Timothy…I thought you were dead~’ Alexander thought to himself, fighting back the intense waves of all-encompassing hate that was overcoming him. ‘I gotta say, this is quite the entrance,’

His breathing grew unsteady and rapid; his pulse shot so high up, his heart practically stilled.

The anger overtaking him, though not his own but also not unfamiliar to him, made him lightheaded and woozy. Though he hated to admit it, he was now facing the very real possibility of passing out from rage.

Still, in a way it was comforting. He had always wondered if the hate he had harbored was unique. He wondered if anyone could hate anything as much as he had so many things.

‘Timothy…’ He thought, struggling to keep his consciousness afloat.

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‘You Bitch,’ was the last thought he could muster before passing out.

………………………………………………..

Normally, if a hero were to regain consciousness, they would say something along the lines of: ‘That ceiling is unfamiliar,’ and that thought would bring with it tentative excitement; unfortunately, in this case, Alexander was deeply familiar with the ceiling he woke to as it belonged to his room in Baek manor.

He heaved an exasperated sigh before turning to adjust his sleeping posture. Since he was on a bed, he might as well catch up on sleep.

But as always, rarely did things go Alexander’s way; just as he was about to drift off into sleep, he suddenly sat up despite himself.

It was an odd sensation, having your body move despite your input, disquieting even.

After a few moments of stillness, Timothy rubbed his eyes and scooted to the side of the bed in order to jump off.

‘Ah, I see, off for a nightly wee are we?’ Alexander mocked, slightly dizzy from the odd sensation of moving without deciding to move.

Briefly, he wondered if Timothy had been feeling this way all this time, and then he shut those thoughts down, deciding that the Baek Brat was unworthy of such consideration.

As such musings crossed his mind, Timothy yawned before coming to a stand. Briefly, he considered calling a maid to light him a candle but then decided that it wasn’t worth the hassle.

‘You spoiled brat, the bathroom is right there!’ Alexander admonished, and he was about to continue but he was stunned silly after seeing Timothy scratch his ass, ‘Oi, bro stop! That’s filthy! Ok, enough, give me my body back!’

Uncaring of his co-inhabitant’s pleas, Timothy continued his way to the bathroom, stopping halfway to admire himself before the mirror and tucking in a loose strand of hair.

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‘That’s the same hand you scratched your ass with!’ Alexander screamed, fire spewing from his eyes.

Regardless, Timothy had finally reached his destination and was about to open the bathroom door when a sudden sense of impending doom came over him.

‘Ignore it,’ Alexander advised yet despite his wishes, Timothy had immediately rushed out of his room and pelted his way toward his mother’s sleeping chamber.

Disgusted by the boy’s ungainly sprint and movement, Alexander was about to spit venom but he shut up after recognizing the gravity of what was about to happen.

‘Alright, kid. Show me,’

By the time Timothy reached his mother’s room, his heart was already about to burst from its spot and plop onto the ground, or at least he felt as if that was the case.

Standing before the closed door, memories of the day his father died flooded his mind despite him trying his best to keep them at bay. Searing hot tears welled up in his eyes as he recalled standing before this very door, silently listening to his mother wail.

It was quiet now.

And that was somehow worse.

Having gathered what remained of his courage and will, Timothy raised his hand and reached for the doorknob before stopping halfway.

His hand, he noticed, was shaking violently. He was scared. Scared not only for his mother's well-being but also of the many sinister possibilities he may find behind the door.

‘Enough Timothy, you have to be strong!’ The young boy thought to himself, trying his best to mimic his father’s tone.

He had promised his mother that he would take his father’s place as the man of the house, so being scared now was out of the question.

Finding his resolve, Timothy twisted the knob but found that doing so required little force. In fact, it seemed like the knob had twisted itself.

It had.

The door opened and Timothy’s vision was soon obstructed by a large figure dressed in armor that gleamed sinisterly under the moonlight.

Despite only reaching the man’s abdomen in height, Timothy recognized him right away.

[Uncle Nox?] The young voice asked, its innocence fading as the words left his mouth.

There was no reply and the man coldly brushed the child aside, letting him have a full view of his mother’s room.

It was then that the young boy’s mind broke. Unable to feel the agony that had overtaken his being, the boy numbly registered the sight before him, every fact searing itself into his mind.

He noticed the window, opened to let the night’s breeze in as his mother had always preferred.

He noticed the chair which had been kicked aside with frantic force, he noticed how haphazardly the rope had been tied to the chandelier.

Dropping to his knees he was finally forced to memorize the sight of his beautiful mother, hanging in the middle of her room.

Though he had not heard it, the sound of her neck snapping suddenly rang in his ears after noticing the way her neck seemed bent.

The tears which had welled up in his eyes now flowed freely as did his bladder, immediately soiling the ground around him.

[Mmma…Mama…] The young boy covered his ears, trying to keep the sound of his mother’s snapping neck away from him.

That was how the maids found him in the morning. On his knees reeking of piss as he covered his ears and widened his bloodshot eyes, refusing to blink.

There was a lot of crying that day.

Many people came and went, each wishing him well despite recent tragedies.

Some hugged him, most patted his back.

Erica stood by him the entire time, crying non-stop.

By the end of the first day, Timothy sat numbly on his bed waiting for life to continue on.

Dimly, he noticed that he had not shed a tear that day and wondered if he would do so now before going to bed.

It was as he rested his head on his pillow that his eyes came upon the sight of a book tucked away into his bookshelf.

It was a story his mother had often read him when his father would be away from work.

He always told her that he preferred his father’s deep baritone voice over her own light-hearted one, but that was never the case. He loved her more.

Did she know that?

The tears came then and they did not stop. They never stopped.

Finally, he sat up and looked toward the mirror standing a distance away from his bed.

Despite the distance, and even though his tears obstructed his vision, he still recognized that it was not him looking back at him in the mirror.

It was a man almost as tall as his father, he was dressed in light armor which failed to conceal his impressive frame. From whatever skin was exposed, he could see that the man was well-tanned and covered head to toe in scars, undoubtedly from the many battles he had undergone.

Most striking of all was his hair, it was as if the man had tamed fire itself and kept it atop his head as a crown of sorts.

“Timothy~” The man’s deep voice greeted gleefully as he dropped the spear. Plunging it into the ground beside him. “I must say, it is my complete and utter displeasure to officially meet you, kid,”

“...”

“Oh, come on, give me something to work with,” Alexander asked roughly as he gripped a nearby chair and pulled it closer before plopping down on it.

“..”

“Fine, I’ll start. My name’s Alexander, I am called many things but basically, I’m a hero,”

“...Are you strong?” Timothy’s shaky voice finally asked.

The sentence brought forth a round of uproarious laughter. “That’s what you’re leading with? Not ‘What the hell are you?’ or ‘Where the hell did you come from?’ or ‘How the hell did you take over my body?’ I gotta say, Timmy, you sure are pathetic,”

The man’s tirade did not result in any reaction from the boy.

Clicking his tongue in disdain, Alexander continued, “Begging the bastard who took your body to exact revenge in your stead. That’s so pathetic I would laugh if not for how depressing it was. Look at you, instead of getting up and doing everything in your power to get revenge, you are crying and pitying your shitstain of an existence,”

Alexander went on to mock the boy’s entire being from his sloppy appearance to his lack of drive.

All the while, Timothy’s tears did not stop and he did not flinch once regardless of how emphatic Alexander was in his gestures and how colorful his language.

“Fucking say something you useless piece of shit!” Alexander screamed as he stood and smashed his fist against the mirror, sending ripples all across its length.

“...”

The silence lingered between the two as man stared down child. The greatest hero of yesterday and the most pathetic shit-stain of today.

It was the hero who finally broke.

“Yes, I am fucking strong,”