THE VILLAIN'S POV

Chapter 338: Snow Lionheart (1)

Years passed, one after another, each carrying its own story.

Some of those stories would remain forever in the dark … perhaps never to be told.

For what belongs in the dark is sometimes better left there.

But occasionally, those tales surface,

shedding light on yet another struggle.

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…

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The Empire—an expansive realm that sheltered what remained of humanity when catastrophe clawed at its gates.

While legends like Abraham Starlight and Maekar Valerion carved their names into history, others lived in peace, far from the chaos.

On a stormy night, with winds howling across the land,

a man walked alone beneath a pitch-black sky lit only by intermittent flashes of lightning.

Far from cities and villages, he carried a child in his arms—his face somber, his steps heavy.

The infant’s wailing never ceased, a desperate cry harmonizing with the thunder above.

The weary man glanced down at the child with snow-white hair.

“No sleep, no rest… doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink. A cursed child, through and through.”

He walked with slow, burdened steps. There was something hopeless in his demeanor.

“Perhaps this will count as penance… for their wretched souls.”

Soon, the silhouette of a massive building came into view, rising through the mist and rain.

“Mourning the dead is pointless… but the living can still be judged.”

As he neared the towering structure—its grim façade unshaken by storm or wind—

a rusted sign above its iron gates came into view.

“Yosefka Orphanage.”

He knelt and gently placed the child before the gate, casting a final glance at him.

Then he turned away and walked back into the woods from where he had come.

With bleak eyes, he drew out a rusted dagger and gripped it with both hands.

And with a sorrowful smile, he plunged it into his throat, blood washing into the rain.

“Let this be atonement… for all my sins.”

The man died.

And the child lived … his cries the only sound left behind.

But everything that had occurred… was seen by someone.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure emerged from the shadows, cloaked in black. A round monocle framed his right eye.

Wordlessly, he picked up the child in his arms. The dead man behind him was of no concern.

Written on the baby’s blanket was only a name:

“Snow Lionheart.”

The child… an offering to the soul of Yosefka.

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…

…

Time passed. The years rolled on. And the boy grew.

Yosefka Orphanage had become home to many—a refuge for children who had lost their parents far too young.

Among them, one stood out.

A boy with white hair and golden eyes, gentle features, and a rare kind of beauty that drew the gaze of all who saw him.

Snow Lionheart.

He sat at his desk, hands folded, gazing forward alongside the other children at the woman teaching them in their modest classroom.

She taught them how to read and write.

For many of the orphans, the orphanage was their entire world—a world whose boundaries ended at the wrought-iron fence.

But they didn’t mind. They were content with what they had.

All of them adored the woman who nurtured, educated, and gave them everything they lacked in life.

The vice-director, known to all simply as… Sister Annalise.

Though she had asked them to call her “sister,” to most of the children, she was truly a mother.

Especially to the white-haired boy with golden eyes, whose gaze never strayed from her—not even when so many other eyes were on him.

After the lessons ended each day, the children would gather in a vast courtyard to play, rest, and enjoy their time.

Many would naturally drift toward Snow Lionheart.

At an age no older than ten, they still lived in their dreams—immersed in a rose-tinted childhood.

Dreams of one day having a real family… a family from outside.

Or something even simpler… like falling in love.

The children were naïve when it came to such things, and it was clear that most of the girls in the orphanage were enamored with Snow, who looked more like an angel walking among mortals.

That, of course, stirred jealousy and resentment among the boys—so much so that they often sought to pick fights with him.

It was their childish way of standing out: “If we beat up the pretty boy, we’ll prove we’re better.”

But reality shattered those fantasies. Snow Lionheart, the slender boy who looked prettier than most girls, crushed every single one of them.

His movements were something far beyond their age, as if he had been born a master of martial arts.

Anyone who challenged that boy ended up kissing the dirt in defeat.

Their plans backfired horribly, only making Snow Lionheart more popular than ever.

After each bitter fight, Snow would simply remain where he stood, as if waiting for something.

And sure enough, within seconds, the orphanage guards would arrive, scolding the children and escorting them straight to the deputy director’s office.

That was exactly what Snow had been waiting for.

They were always met with the same stern lecture from that lady.

Sister Annalise—mature, with fiery red hair and violet eyes like gemstones behind the spectacles she always wore due to her poor eyesight.

Her features were so gentle that even when she scolded them, it never really felt like punishment.

Once the lectures were over, the others would leave. All except him.

“What is it? You can go now.”

Snow would shake his head and stay behind.

“I want to stay and help.”

He said that often. Annalise sometimes tried to make him leave, but she always ended up giving in.

While the other children played outside, Snow spent hours hovering around the deputy director.

He did everything he could to help—bringing her the correct documents, assisting with small tasks.

Things that would bore any child were welcomed by Snow, as long as they let him be close to her.

When she finished her work, Annalise would often stroke his hair and pull him close.

“You really are such a sweet child… Snow.”

“…”

“Remember this—always be a good, obedient boy, and you’ll always get what you want.”

Snow nodded at every word, replying in a quiet voice.

“Yes, Mother.”

For a moment, Annalise froze at that last word.

“No, Snow. You mustn’t call me that… Just call me Sister like the others, or Deputy Director.”

She sounded like she was reprimanding him, but her tender gaze and faint smile betrayed her words, rendering them meaningless.

To Snow Lionheart, Annalise was a mother.

She was his whole world, the only person who had ever been there for him since the earliest days he could remember.

He had no real friends. For some reason, he kept his distance from everyone else.

And so, he cherished every moment he spent with her. She filled the void left by the family he never had.

Eventually, he left Annalise’s office, only to bump into a man standing just outside the door.

The young Snow stumbled back, hitting something that felt like iron rather than flesh.

A tall man in priestly robes, with long messy black hair and the same type of reading glasses, perched on a face marked by two distinct scars.

“The Director.”

This was the head of the Yosefka Orphanage.

With his large hand, the man gently patted Snow’s head.

That hand looked strong enough to crush him with ease—but he didn’t.

“Be obedient, and go play with the others.”

The deep voice spoke, eyes focused on Snow.

Snow nodded quickly and darted away.

“Yes, sir.”

The director watched him for a moment before stepping into Annalise’s office.

He was rarely seen around the orphanage. His presence was intimidating, yet he treated everyone with kindness.

But Snow Lionheart could never truly accept him. Every time they met, every hair on his body stood on end, warning him.

He was terrified of the man. Though it didn’t affect his life much… yet.

Their daily routine was simple: wake up early, study, play, then go to sleep.

The only oddity was that one day of the week when all the children were gathered for what they called a “medical session.”

They were told they were sick. So routinely, they sat in that vast room while a red substance was injected into their veins.

Every time Snow saw it, he felt it wasn’t medicine at all… it was blood.

Blood from an unknown source.

But it was Sister Annalise who administered the injections. And Snow trusted her blindly…

He believed she would never give him anything that could harm him.

So he accepted the injections willingly, letting the strange liquid blend with his blood.

Some of the children ended up spending nights in the orphanage’s infirmary due to side effects.

But Snow never suffered from any… though he could feel the changes in his body.

He often wondered what that substance truly was—what it had turned him into.