When I Finished Playing the Terminally-Ill Villainous Omega C20

Chapter 20

The old man rose, brushing off his apron with a displeased flick.

“I can’t let that accusation pass. I’ve worked here over twenty years and have never sold a weapon unworthy of its price.”

“You claimed this sword would never break. I even paid extra for the craftsmanship. And yet…”

The man lifted the sword he’d brought—its tip, the very one pointed earlier at the apprentice’s throat, was snapped clean off.

The old smith stepped closer to inspect it. But the foul-tempered noble suddenly flung the sword—not toward the smith, but toward the chair beside his anvil.

“Well, I’ll be…,” the old man muttered.

He spared a glance at his apprentice, who had scurried to a corner and was gasping in terror, then calmly walked to retrieve the sword. He examined it closely. The deep folds around his eyes grew even more pronounced.

“This is…!”

Even when his only apprentice’s neck had been threatened, the smith hadn’t batted an eye. But now, his gaze trembled violently.

In disbelief, he looked up at the noble.

“Good heavens—what in the world did you cut with this?”

❖ ❖ ❖

Everything had begun with one careless remark from Aiden.

The sun was strong that day, so Cassian and Aiden had set up a canopy on the terrace of the annex near the main manor and were enjoying tea. They had been chatting idly about monsters—where new ones had appeared, where rare ones had been hunted—when Aiden abruptly set down his teacup.

“Cedric looks like he’ll awaken soon.”

Cassian, who had been admiring the scenery said to be the most beautiful in the Hestian territory, froze. Killing intent flashed in his eyes.

“What?”

“You didn’t know? Guess Cedric hasn’t told you yet.”

Cassian’s fingers trembled around his teacup, rippling the surface of the tea.

“He even survived that hellish heir training. What now? Looks like your baby brother’s about to snatch everything from you. I heard the nobles’ betting pool had huge money on you becoming the next family head. I didn’t bet—gambling bores me.”

Indeed, not long ago, a secret nobles-only gambling ring had opened bets on who would become the next head of House Hestian. The result was practically predetermined—everyone already expected Cassian to win. Cassian himself had bet anonymously under the name Tukan.

His younger sister planned to leave home to become an archaeologist. His youngest brother was supposedly terminally ill. So of course he would be the successor. Confident, he had wagered everything he had.

So what was this sudden nonsense?

Most of all—he could not believe Cedric of all people was becoming a trait-bearer when he himself had failed to awaken.

“You’re mistaken. There’s no way he is awakening.”

“No mistake. And there’s something else—there’s another trait-bearer in the manor.”

“Who?”

Cassian’s voice was icy, no longer hiding his rage.

“No idea. But Cedric has two pheromone scents on him.”

Aiden explained that when he walked with Cedric in the garden, he’d caught a whiff of grapes and roses from him. At first he brushed it off—the garden was full of roses—but every time he saw Cedric afterward, the scent grew stronger. So strong it made him nauseous.

Only then did he realize: Cedric had come into repeated contact with an Alpha’s pheromones… and was in the middle of manifesting as an Omega.

“I’m telling you so you can pull out your bets while you still can. Tukan—that’s you, isn’t it?”

“You’re certain? There’s an Alpha in the manor. And that bastard’s been giving Cedric pheromone showers?”

“I swear on my armory.”

Noble children had long been drilled on such things. Repeated exposure to pheromone showers increased the chance of awakening—everyone knew that.

Cassian ground his teeth. If Aiden was right, the foundation he had so painstakingly built for years was about to collapse. He wouldn’t even have the chance to compete. Everything would simply fall into Cedric’s lap—unless Cedric himself chose to step down.

He recalled his brother’s attitude recently—brazen, defiant. There must have been a reason. Cedric was no longer the weakling he could bully at will.

Then who was the Alpha inside the manor?

The only one who hovers near Cedric and could possibly awaken… is that brat.

Locke’s face flashed immediately into Cassian’s mind.

Fortunately, the situation wasn’t yet irreversible. Aiden had said Cedric’s scent was faint—almost impossible to perceive. If so, all he had to do was cut off the Alpha’s pheromone exposure before Cedric fully manifested.

And if Cedric died in the meantime—

Then Cassian would inherit as planned.

“Well, what can I do? The state determines that trait-bearers get priority. Can’t oppose the law. As long as the house runs well, whoever becomes head doesn’t matter.”

“You think I don’t know what you’re really thinking?”

“Enough talk. Drink your tea.”

Cassian raised his cup, pretending calm, but his lips were stiff.

But the very next day, he summoned all the servants. One by one, he fixed them with a cold stare. The servants—already terrified of him—shook uncontrollably without knowing why.

“Anyone who knows what’s happening in this house had better spit it out. Anyone who stays silent has no place under my roof.”

To Cassian, there was only one reason a newly awakened servant would cling to dying Cedric: they hoped to rise in status by impregnating a noble.

Letting Cedric become head was irritating, yes—but tolerable. After all, the brat would die soon anyway. He could sit in the grand chair just once for the sake of appearance. The gambling loss hurt, but money could be won back.

But marriage? Children?

Childbirth changed everything. If Cedric had a child, succession would no longer go to Cassian—it would go to the child.

Terrified by his threats, the servants began to confess everything. That night, one mentioned the roses—someone had been bringing fresh roses to Cedric regularly… and they never wilted.

That dawn, Cassian spotted a hooded figure lurking near the rose garden. He couldn’t see the face, but he could guess the identity from the silhouette.

“There’s never just one bastard to deal with.”

Cassian retrieved a cherished sword from a glass case. The Twinblade—one edge embedded with magic stone for monsters, one adorned with jewels for humans.

“Largo.”

From beneath the sofa, a crouched beast raised its head. Its eyes—usually brown—glistened like pale glass.

Cassian felt it was a sign. Even the heavens wanted him to become family head.

Rain washed away all evidence better than anything else.

“I’ll be head of this house, little brother.”

Swoooosh—

Everything proceeded as Cassian planned.

Neither Aiden nor Locke knew the secret of the Twinblade—why two blades existed at all. The jewel blade looked exactly like the magic-stone blade. Anyone with magic could tell the difference by touch—but a mere servant would never have possessed magic. If he had, he wouldn’t have remained in that hellish mansion this long.

The rain poured at the perfect time.

Cassian ordered a promotion-hungry knight—one who’d driven Aiden home—to check Locke’s corpse and finish the job if necessary. The man was ambitious but not bright, precisely why Cassian chose him: easy to manipulate.

Cassian was cruel. He had planned to kill the ambitious knight as well—staging it as an accident during hunting, claiming the knight had died after grief-driven recklessness following Locke’s death. Loose ends had to be cut.

Soon, the knight returned.

“As ordered, I have disposed of Locke.”

Cassian frowned. The knight had appeared from a direction that led only to cliffs and ravines—nowhere one could reasonably walk from.

It was indeed Lowell Jackson, his knight, yet something about him felt wrong.

The eyes?

The stride?

Something… off.

Whatever the reason, he couldn’t risk letting someone who knew the truth live. Without hesitation, Cassian plunged the Twinblade into the knight’s side—

And suddenly, dark smoke erupted from the knight’s body, spilling from eyes, ears, nostrils, and mouth.

“What the hell—?!”

Cassian yanked out his blade and swung at the smoke.

But when the magic weapon failed to affect it, he realized he was in danger.

He sprinted back toward the mansion, only to discover upon arrival that the blade’s tip had broken.

He returned to find the fragment—but the rain had washed everything away.

If that runaway brat searching for his servant happened to find the body first…

“Tch. Complication.”

Cassian dragged a hand through his hair. His blue eyes churned with murderous intent as he looked back toward the mansion.

❖ ❖ ❖

After parting with Cedric, Locke was returned to the underground cell. He stepped inside, intending to sit, but paused. He glanced once at the door, then returned to lock it firmly.

He looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling and let out a dry laugh.

“What on earth is he trying to do?”

A shadow rippled behind him.

Something slithered closely along Locke’s back—but when he spun around, his hand caught it. Or rather, his shadow caught it midair.

The creature’s silhouette—projected by the torchlight—fluttered like wings.

Locke softened his glare and released it.

“Erebos. I told you not to reveal yourself without an order.”

The winged serpent-like shadow drooped its wings. Locke lifted his right hand—still faintly smeared with Cedric’s blood.

“Does this scent remind you of him?”

The shadow shook its head.

“So it really was coincidence.”

A faint disappointment flickered in Locke’s eyes. He sat on the bed and thought for a long moment, then murmured to himself:

“Find the owner of this blood. Go watch him.”