Alexander stared into his own reflection in the mirror.

It had been a while since he took a good look at himself. By a while, it was more like several months. Before he took over, the prison definitely didn't offer him anything as luxurious as mirrors. Either way, as Alexander looked into the mirror in the bathroom, he found a pair of cold, foreign eyes staring back at him.

They were the eyes of a torturer and a killer. The eyes of a man who forced thousands of people, many of them innocent, into a lifetime of slavery. The eyes of a man who snapped the limbs of countless men and women in cold blood and was nourished by their screams.

And this man, the man staring back at him from the mirror, wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. Soon, he would leave this island, and he would bring pain and death on his enemies regardless of how many innocent people would get hurt in the process.

In two weeks, he would smuggle himself off this island with the help of Warden Locke. He would go back to Valoria, where he would either see Count Lamb fall beneath his blade or die trying. And then...and then what? If he survived the assassination of Lamb, he could go after Countess Valentine next. See that vicious woman die in agony. And if he somehow survived that, maybe he could hunt down Duke Wells? Assuming the old man was still alive by then, that was.

But...all of this, to what end? Alexander knew he could massacre all the traitors that turned against his family, but that wouldn’t undo the atrocities that were committed to his parents and Amelia. It wouldn’t change the fact that his parents were executed in their own household. That his own sister was brutalized, and as his brother, Alexander couldn’t do a thing to protect her. Countless loyal Wolf Guards, along with millions of loyal soldiers and citizens, were executed in the name of treason, and no matter how many traitors Alexander killed, it wouldn’t change that.

At the end of the day, he was still alone. Everyone he cared about or cared about him died horribly. He survived, only to become a monster that he himself didn't recognize. A life like that was a life filled with grief and guilt and suffering. Was that a life he really wanted to live?

Suddenly, Alexander raised his right fist and slammed it into the glass mirror. The explosive strength of his muscles allowed his fist to punch right through the layer of glass, reducing it to a dozen different pieces of shards. Blood dripped down his fist, followed by the pain of tiny glass shards being engraved into his flesh. Without another word, Alexander snapped up the largest piece of the shards and pressed it next to his throat.

Just end it now. Slit your own throat. End your suffering! Put an end to this mess and get all this over with! Maybe this will also free the poor souls under your command!

If he proceeded with his plan of vengeance, then a lot of people would get hurt. For one thing, whether he succeeded or not, his identity would likely be exposed. At that point, questions would be asked, and chances were everyone at Darkbane Prison would be interrogated and purged. People like Warden Locke and Vice-Warden Stone would be burned alive, along with their families and friends and all those close to them. Thousands would die for a choice they never made. An oath they had no say in.

And the thousands in Darkbane Prison were just the first step. If Alexander wanted to have any chance of victory, he needed to convert a lot more people to his cause by force. In other words, he had to condemn a lot more to a fate he would only wish onto his worst enemy.

It was at this moment that the young man hoped he was a psychopath like most of the Imperial Nobles and military commanders in the Holy Phoenix Empire. If he was a heartless bastard who only cared about achieving his goal, then he would be perfectly fine with having thousands, if not millions, die just to get what he wanted. After all, victory was justice. This was the principle of the Holy Phoenix Empire and the belief of most of its ruling class. As long as you won, no one would question how many died in the process.

To grieve for the death of civilians or common troopers was a sign of weakness. To drink as a million souls burned, on the other hand, was a demonstration of strength.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Alexander felt his hand shaking. His reflection in the shattered mirror looked a lot more disoriented now. As Alexander saw his own reflection, he couldn’t help but ask himself one question.

What would his family say about this? What would his father say if he saw what length his son was going through to avenge him? If he knew that his own son sold his soul to a malicious god, pledging to spread endless pain and suffering just to avenge him? That he was doing the same thing to countless more, forcing them to pledge their allegiance to him under the threat of immense torture?

The answer was simple. The Lord of Obsidian would be disgusted. Gerard Wolf had always been a noble person. He started off as a civilian, and he never forgot that. He believed everyone should have basic human rights and freedom, which was a belief that landed him countless accusations of being a sympathizer of the Republic of Dorn or the UWK.

Still, the honorable Count stayed true to his purpose, regardless how much trouble that brought him.

Alexander had always known the price of vengeance, but as the prospects of what would happen became more and more clear, he started to question himself more and more. Ultimately, he was just a 15-year-old...well, 16-year-old. As the anger faded, the doubts took hold. Did he really have what it took to take out a Count? A man who had spent half his life at war and had one of the mightiest Imperial Battlefleets under his command? And if he failed, then everyone who swore him their allegiance would pay the price. Could he really live with that?

The young man could feel the cold edge of the shard pressed against his neck. He had learned enough to know there was a main blood vessel there, and if he cut that open, he would bleed out very soon. Of course, it would be an ugly way to go, but Alexander didn't care. What he was feeling inside was worse than any physical pain he could endure.

Breathing heavily, Alexander closed his eyes. One slice, and everything would be over. No more pain. No more guilt. No more listening to the screaming of your sister as she was tortured. No more nightmares of your parents as they laid dead before you. Everything would just be...over. It would be the best escape he could get. Perhaps in death he could finally be reunited with his family?

The glass shard pressed deeper and deeper into his skin. Just as it was about to draw blood, Alexander’s mind suddenly jumped from his dead family to a few other figures. He remembered the cold gaze from Countess Valentine as she pulled the trigger. The condescending tone from Count Lamb as he calmly explained to a furious Alexander why he betrayed his Lord. He even remembered the sight of Duke Wells and how he greeted Lord Wolf, hiding his fear and anger under a mask of respect.

At that moment, grief was replaced by anger,

Alexander could die. He could kill himself anytime he wanted and end his miserable, hopeless existence. But that would mean the traitors would be free to enjoy the rewards of their betrayals. Count Lamb could finally settle with Battlefleet Obsidian, the battlefleet that Gerard Wolf spent ten years building, as his private army. He could do whatever he wanted to his subjects. If he wanted, he could burn an entire planet just for the kicks of it and no one would dare to rise up against him. With any luck, he might even use it to climb up the ranks and be a Duke!

The same went with Countess Valentine. If Alexander didn't do anything, she would remain as the undisputed ruler of an entire solar system. As an Imperial Countess, she would be able to enjoy the best life possible. Wealth. Power. Fame. Glory. Health. She would have it all.

As for Duke Wells...he would be allowed to grow old in peace. He would get a happy ending, and that alone was the greatest insult to the late Lord Wolf.

Killing them wouldn’t bring his family back, but it would certainly avenge them. It couldn’t change the pain and horror suffered by his sister, but it could do her justice by returning the same pain and horror on all those responsible.

A lot of people would die in the process, friend and foe. Even more would suffer. Yet ultimately, as much as it pained him, it was something Alexander had to learn to accept. This was a cruel world, where the noble died and the wicked and the heartless prospered. If he wanted to claim his vengeance, then he needed to be willing to do what his father despised. To lie. To cheat. To betray. To do whatever it took and sacrifice everything and everyone necessary to achieve victory.

He needed to learn to be a monster.

There was a knock on the door, and Alexander sensed the familiar presence of Cara Cull outside of the room. Slowly, he lowered the glass shard before crushing it in his hand. The pain refreshed him.

By the time Alexander Wolf opened his eyes again, his face was blank and his eyes were cold. The weakness and doubt in him were gone, replaced by steel resolve.

He or Count Lamb...one of them would die soon, and in order to make sure it was going to be the Count, Alexander had a lot of preparations to make.