I Am The Game's Villain Chapter 769: [The Rewritten Lost Past] [9]

Having observed Lisandra and Alphonse depart together towards the lake, Amael propelled himself from the ground and ascended back towards the mountain.

It was their home now, he mused. Though he had been the first to discover the location, the place had undergone a significant transformation in the three years since the two former Queens had arrived.

He had once been a man content with simple necessities: a straw bed, basic clothing, and a fire pit were all he required.

However, Lisandra and Alphonse were far from simple individuals, and they had unequivocally expressed their dissatisfaction with his 'bachelor cave' within their initial week. The subsequent renovations were thorough and, he grudgingly admitted, resulted in a considerable improvement.

The interior of the mountain cavern now resembled an actual dwelling rather than a makeshift encampment. Proper beds, three in total, were arranged with a deliberate spacing that hinted at ongoing discussions regarding personal space. Decorative tapestries adorned the walls, softening the stark stone and infusing the area with warmth. Storage solutions were meticulously organized. The rougher aspects, both literally and figuratively, had been polished away.

It presented a genuinely appealing and comfortable atmosphere, feeling like a home rather than a mere hiding place.

That, however, was not something he intended to voice aloud. Their smugness regarding the improvements was already quite pronounced.

Upon re-entering, Amael immediately proceeded to the fire pit, strategically placed near the entrance to allow smoke to escape while maintaining interior warmth. He commenced his nightly ritual: tending to the fire, arranging the pre-prepared meat, and incorporating the spices and herbs cultivated in their small outdoor garden.

Cooking had, by default and necessity, become his assigned responsibility.

By general agreement, he was the only one among the three who could be trusted with food preparation. Alphonse possessed theoretical competence but lacked practical experience, having been attended by palace cooks throughout her life. Lisandra, on the other hand...

He still suffered from nightmares stemming from the day he had attempted to have her cook.

Whatever concoction she had produced appeared edible and even smelled somewhat promising. However, a single bite had sent him to his knees, his stomach mounting an immediate rebellion against the chemical assault she had somehow orchestrated using basic ingredients. He had spent the subsequent six hours in intense agony while both women alternated between expressions of concern and barely concealed amusement.

It was the sole occasion Lisandra had come close to truly defeating him.

To prevent further such incidents, he had permanently assumed the role of cook. This arrangement ensured a more harmonious existence for everyone.

Minutes elapsed, marked by the comfortable rhythm of his routine—the familiar actions of turning the meat, adjusting the heat, and adding seasonings at the opportune moments. The aroma was already exquisite, permeating the space with warmth and the anticipation of a satisfying meal after a demanding day of training.

Then, Amael's movements ceased entirely.

His hand, gripping the stick used for stoking the fire, froze mid-action.

He slowly pivoted his head towards the entrance.

"Oh... no."

Dropping the stick immediately, he moved to step outside, aiming to intercept, to take some action—

But he had already run out of time.

A figure materialized at the entrance, silhouetted against the setting sun in a manner that would have been aesthetically pleasing if not for the utterly terrifying context. The light formed a halo around her form, highlighting the edges of her silhouette and lending her an almost ethereal quality.

Long silver hair was elegantly gathered into a braided bun. Her silver eyes gleamed like polished metal, reflecting the light. She possessed a beauty at its zenith, the prime of her mid to late twenties, representing the perfect confluence of youth and maturity—an appearance capable of captivating any man, and even most Gods, through sheer presence alone.

However, this particular woman harbored no interest in any man at this moment.

Except, perhaps, her son.

Belle stood at the threshold, arms crossed over her chest, her flowing silver gown rustling subtly in the evening breeze. A smile graced her lips as she looked at Amael.

Yet, the smile did not extend to her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, her voice perfectly pleasant.

"Cooking, Mother..." Amael maintained his composure through sheer willpower, even as a cold sweat began to bead on his back. His mind raced, desperately seeking a way to usher her away. He had to get her out of here, immediately. Before she discovered...

"Cooking," Belle repeated, her gaze descending from his face and slowly traversing the interior of the cavern.

"Why have you come here, Mother?" Amael interjected swiftly, attempting to divert her attention. "I informed you that I would meet you outside. Always outside. That was our understanding."

Belle offered no reply. Instead, she reached out, placing a hand against his cheek—a gesture that would have conveyed affection from anyone else—and gently guided his head to the side, allowing her to pass him and enter the space.

Amael watched her advance with a rapidly escalating sense of dread.

"I count three beds here," Belle observed, her tone remaining entirely conversational. "I was under the impression you were residing alone, my dear son.""I am," Amael affirmed immediately. "But sometimes I have guests. It's... courteous to have accommodations."

"Guests." Belle turned to regard him, one silver eyebrow arching. "You're inviting guests into Enigma's precious, secret sanctuary? The place you guard specifically because it must remain hidden?" Her smile took on a sharper edge. "I doubt you’re that stupid, Amael. Perhaps 'Amael' might be, but Nyrel certainly isn’t. You don’t trust easily. You wouldn’t simply invite random 'guests' here to play around. I raised you better than that." A beat of silence. "You don’t even know what playing means."

"That’s harsh, Mother." Amael attempted to muster wounded dignity. "I understand you’re upset, but I’ve already explained that I don’t wish to participate in Father’s grand plans for me, so I’m spending time here, staying hidden and out of reach as much as possible—"

"Who," Belle interrupted with a perfect, terrifying calm, "is living with you, Amael?"

Amael smiled, offering the easy, charming smile that succeeded on approximately everyone who wasn’t his mother. "No one, I already told you. If there happen to be some guests on occasion—"

"My sweet boy."

The temperature within the hollow seemed to plummet several degrees.

Amael felt genuine fear surge through him as he observed his mother’s smile transform into something that was technically still a smile, yet devoid of warmth or patience.

"You have learned to lie to your own mother now?"

"Mother, I’m not—"

-BAM!!

"Ughhh!"

Amael barely registered the movement before Belle’s fist connected squarely with his stomach.

All the air fled his lungs in a single, explosive gasp. His body folded inwards around the point of impact, then was propelled backward with devastating force, flung out of the cave entrance as if launched from a cannon.

-BOOOM!

His trajectory didn't cease upon exiting the cave. Something—Belle's follow-up strike, though he hadn't even seen her move—slammed into him mid-air, driving him straight down into the ground far below. The impact gouged out a deep crater, earth and rock spraying outward in a perfect circle, the trees in the immediate vicinity shuddering from the shockwave.

Amael lay at the center of the crater, groaning, blinking up at the sky and struggling to recall how breathing functioned.

"M—Mother! Wait!"

Belle materialized beside him without transition, one moment absent, the next standing over him with one heel poised above his stomach, ready to deliver another blow.

"What concerns you so much in this place," she inquired, her silver eyes blazing with cold intensity, "that you would ignore your own mother? That you would lie to me?"

Amael raised both hands in swift surrender but remained silent.

Belle’s eyes narrowed further.

She was fully prepared to bring that heel down, knock him unconscious, drag him from this place, and lock him away somewhere she could watch him every single day, ensuring he never attempted such a stunt again, but...

"Amael!"

Two voices rang out simultaneously.

Belle's head turned.

Amael desperately wished he could slam his face into the ground and possibly keep going until he reached the planet's core.

Lisandra and Alphonse appeared at the crater's edge, both clearly having rushed from the lake, their hair still wet and unbound, water dripping from the ends, their clothes hastily thrown on. They must have heard the explosion and come running.

Straight into the worst possible situation.

"What are you doing to Amael?!" Lisandra bellowed, her single eye ablaze. Her entire being erupted in dark blue flames, her full mana unleashed without hesitation, the heat distorting the air around her.

Alphonse was half a step behind, her sword already drawn, her body crackling with golden lightning at maximum output. The electrical discharge spread across the ground in branching patterns, the sound akin to a thousand angry insects.

The ground trembled under the combined pressure of their unleashed mana.

Belle, however, stood perfectly, utterly still.

Her eyes had widened.

She looked at the two women poised to attack her.

Then slowly, her gaze descended to Amael, who had turned his face away in what could only be described as a pout.

Belle’s lips curved into a smirk.

"She is my mother," Amael stated, still not looking at anyone, directing his words toward Lisandra and Alphonse.

The blue flames flickered.

The golden lightning stuttered.

Both women's eyes went wide as saucers.

"What?!"

***

Several minutes later, four figures were seated inside the mountain hollow around the fire pit.

On one side: Lisandra and Alphonse, sitting close together.

On the other side: Belle, perched gracefully on her knees with immaculate posture, appearing as though she was attending an elegant tea ceremony.

On Belle’s side, Amael was laid out, his head resting in his mother’s lap. He gazed upward, a look of utter acceptance on his face as he stared at the ceiling.

Belle’s smile was tranquil as she gently stroked Amael’s silver hair with her fingers.

Lisandra and Alphonse could only watch, utterly baffled by the scene unfolding before them.

Amael, however, showed no sign of shame. This was simply the way things were between him and his mother.

Belle’s silver eyes shifted from her son to the two women opposite them. Her smile broadened with evident curiosity.

"So," she remarked cheerfully, her hand never ceasing its gentle motion through Amael’s hair. "Are you my son’s wives?"

A visible tremor ran through both women.

Lisandra's hands immediately flew up, frantically waving in denial. "N—No! We are not... we aren't—"

"Where are my grandchildren?" Belle interjected, her smile growing a fraction wider.

In less than a second, Lisandra’s complexion transitioned from pale to a deep, unmistakable crimson.

"Nowhere!"