I Killed The Main Characters

The forest glade trembled.

Noel stood in the eye of the storm, breath ragged, fingers clenched around the haft of his ice-forged spear.

Frost misted from his lips with every exhale, his body aching beneath the strain of continuous magic.

His ice spear glimmered with runes, sharp enough to cleave through steel and cold enough to burn flesh.

Yet even now—as his body screamed from overuse and a subtle numbness crept from his right side—he could feel it: it wasn't enough.

Across from him, the two Black Vassals moved as if in tune to a silent rhythm.

Conrad, the butler, his face unreadable, advanced with the poise of a duelist and the calm fury of a man born to kill.

His weapon, an Estoc with a basket hilt, was a long, needle-like sword meant for precision and armor-piercing thrusts.

He wielded it in one hand, the other folded behind his back in perfect dueling etiquette, like a ghost of a forgotten age.

Beside him, Elira danced.

Her green eyes glowed with venomous light, and in her hands gleamed a pair of poison-tipped daggers.

Each flick of her wrist came with a hiss of lethal elegance.

Her feet barely kissed the ground as she twisted and turned, her strikes made with the grace of a ballerina and the deadliness of a cobra.

The two moved together in terrifying synchronicity.

Where Conrad thrust, Elira spun.

Where Elira feinted, Conrad pressed.

Back to back, side to side, step and turn and strike.

They fought not as two warriors but as a single, lethal organism.

And Noel was surrounded by it.

His ice spear shot out in a wide arc, scattering frost and earth, but Conrad simply stepped around it, sword flashing forward with surgical precision.

Noel barely twisted aside, the tip grazing past his ribs.

He thrust back with the spear, but Elira slid under it like water, slashing upward.

A line of fire traced his thigh.

"Tch..."

Noel grimaced, dancing back, blood misting from the wound and freezing mid-air.

Already his veins screamed, his body weakening.

Poison.

The system flared within him, pulsing.

[Poison Detected. Minor Countermeasures in Effect.]

It would slow, but not cure. Not in the middle of battle.

He raised his free hand, eyes burning with desperation.

Magic churned.

"[Glacial Lance.]"

A 3rd Circle spell.

A spear of ice formed above him and rocketed toward Conrad—but the butler merely turned his blade and deflected it, spinning to parry another thrust from Noel.

"[Frostbite Wall!]"

A jagged wall of ice erupted from the earth between him and Elira.

She didn't stop.

She vaulted over it, landing behind him with a slash meant for his neck.

Noel ducked, spun, and drove his elbow into her stomach.

She barely flinched—dagger scraping across his shoulder in response.

[System Countermeasure Reinforced: Anti-Toxin Active. Temporary resistance increased.]

He panted.

Vision swimming.

"They're not just fast...

They're reading me."

He needed to escalate.

"[Frozen Tomb!]"

A 4th Circle spell.

The air turned vicious.

Dozens of icy spears burst from the ground in an area around him, a cage of death meant to pierce and trap.

Conrad weaved between them.

Elira rode one upward, flipping over the field of death as if it were a playground.

They came again.

Steel met ice.

Daggers scraped runes.

Blood spilled.

Noel fell to one knee, gasping.

"Even 5th Circle isn't enough..."

His body trembled as he conjured a burst of frigid wind, a 5th Circle technique—

"[Glacial Tempest!]"

A whirlwind of razors and snow tore through the glade, uprooting trees, carving through the earth.

Conrad crossed his arms, blade forward, sliding back but standing firm.

Elira vanished into the storm, her silhouette dancing in the haze.

And yet—when the spell ended—they still stood.

Conrad's clothes were torn, his cheek bleeding.

Elira coughed, one leg trembling.

But Noel's mana was almost gone.

He gritted his teeth.

"I could use 6th Circle..."

He muttered, eyes flaring.

*cough

"But that would be suicide."

His fingers curled tighter around the ice spear.

"Then spear it is."

He charged.

Elira met him first, her daggers moving in a blur—one aimed for his throat, the other for his wrist.

He parried, twisted, and drove his shoulder into her, sending her tumbling.

Conrad came next.

They clashed in a blur of white and silver.

The estoc flashed like lightning, Noel's spear a storm of frost.

Feint.

Parry.

Twist.

Step.

Noel ducked a thrust, slammed his spear into the butler's ribs—Conrad didn't flinch, retaliating with a shoulder bash that sent Noel staggering.

Behind him, Elira was already up.

"You're strong, my lord.."

She hissed.

"But not enough."

Noel roared, stabbed the ground.

A shockwave of ice exploded outward.

They were thrown back—only a few feet, but enough.

His breath came shallow.

His legs threatened to give.

[System Notification]

[Poison resistance holding]

[Mana at 8%. Core stability weakening.]

Noel breathing was now heavy with mist forming around the corners of his mouth...

One of his eyes was closed as he breathed in and out desperately.

*Huff

*Huff

*Huff

He raised his spear again.

***

The forest was cold now.

Ice covered the ground like a spreading sickness, glittering under the fading light.

Trees stood broken, branches shattered like bones.

And at the center of it all, Noel stood with his ice spear gripped tightly in his hands, his breath ragged, his body bruised, his blood mixing with melting snow.

Across from him, the Black Vassals—his family's so-called loyal shadows—circled like wolves.

Their blades dripped poison and intent.

But still, he stood.

"This story..."

Noel whispered to himself through grit teeth, eyes narrowing.

*Huff

"...even if I'm the villain in it... I won't play their part anymore."

A sharp clang echoed as steel met ice again.

Conrad, the butler, moved with grace and precision, his Estoc sword dancing in tight arcs.

One hand always behind his back, his style elegant and noble.

Elira, the dagger-wielding girl, twisted like a flame, her green eyes glowing, laughter spilling from her lips like a mad song.

Together, they fought like one, perfectly in sync, covering each other's blind spots, reading each other's movements like second nature.

A deadly waltz meant only for killing.

Noel ducked, spun, and thrust.

His ice spear met dagger and steel again and again.

He had been using spells—second circle, third, even fifth—but nothing was enough.

If he reached for sixth circle, he'd burn out. Not just mana, but life. He could feel it—his heart wasn't built for such weight.

"I can't use it," he muttered.

His mind drifted back to what had been hidden from him for so long.

He had always known his family was not what they seemed.

But seeing it now, living through this chaos, every crack in their mask showed.

"The Ashbournes..."

He breathed out during a dodge.

"...they're criminals... no, worse. Puppeteers in noble masks."

His father—always so composed in court—had been rigging auctions, rigging noble tournaments, using cheap illusion tricks to make sons of lords bow and fall.

Manipulating results to gain debt and favors.

His mother, ever sweet and smiling in the ballroom, had been laundering coin through high-end tailoring houses, draining smaller businesses, turning fashion into her private empire.

And his sister?

A charming diplomat in public, a dealer in secrets behind the curtain—spreading whispers like poison to bring down political rivals.

And here he was.

The monster child.

The disgrace.

"If I'm going to live..."

He said aloud now, slashing back at Elira, who cackled in delight.

"...then so will this choice.

I'm leaving that house."

Elira's eyes widened, just for a moment.

Then she lunged.

"So dramatic! You really do know how to entertain me, master~"

Their weapons clashed again, blow for blow, spinning through the broken forest.

Each impact shattered bark, sent roots flying.

Magic danced in the air like sparks, and cold wind howled through broken trunks.

Elira laughed as her dagger grazed his shoulder—but then stopped.

Her arm froze, turning blue.

Then, it shattered.

She jumped back, shrieking.

Her blood hit the ground and froze instantly.

She stumbled, eyes wide, breath catching as ice spread through her veins.

Noel stepped forward slowly.

He pointed the spear at her with one hand.

"If either of you make it out of this..."

He said in a low voice, eyes glowing.

"...send my father a message.

Tell him: I've disowned myself from the Ashbourne family."

Elira screamed again, blood leaking from her mouth as she clutched her shoulder.

Her eyes were wild now—not mocking, but afraid.

The way a beast looks when it realizes it's not the hunter anymore.

Noel rested the ice spear over his shoulders, arms draped lazily, breathing heavily.

"I almost forgot," he said, voice dry with a smile curling.

"...there's someone who really hates it when trash like you touch her lover."

He lifted the spear, then slammed it into the ground.

A shockwave of frost spread out.

The ground cracked.

The air turned thick with cold.

Snow began to fall where there had been none.

"You know what pisses me off?"

Noel asked, stepping forward, ice gathering at the edges of his boots.

"Everything.

This world... the way it works.

It's all rotten.

The strong pretend to be kind.

The weak beg for mercy while biting your ankles when you turn around."

He took another step. The temperature dropped again.

"But people like you," he hissed, glaring at the two of them, "you make me sick."

His tone turned sharp, brutal.

"You kill for a man who treats you like dogs.

You smile while you do it.

You're not loyal—you're leashed. You don't even see it."

A small trail of blood dripped from his lip, freezing before it hit the ground.

"I'm tired of pretending."

His hands shook, but not from weakness.

"There are times I regret killing people. Times I wonder if there was another way."

His eyes locked with theirs. Cold. Unflinching.

"But I won't feel a single thread of remorse while killing you two."

Steam rose from his shoulders as ice crawled up the side of his head, encasing part of his hair and temple.

The air around him shimmered.

His breath was pure mist.