The Tyrant's Terminally-Ill Childhood Friend (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 116

Thus, only those unqualified sit here. Peter could not be free from the words he himself had spoken. Had he not, after all, lost Lowell precisely because he once tried to conceal the truth? In the dream that imprisoned him, Peter realized this truth in its most horrifying form.

Even now, her reproach seemed to echo vividly in his ears—the wail accusing him: “Why did you kill me? Why do you brazenly go on living after that?”

In countless dreams, Peter had begged for forgiveness and cried out for her to just let him go.

Yet, of course, he could not escape. He had killed countless Lowells. Trapped in that dreadful cycle where dream and reality blurred beyond distinction, he thought of only one thing:

the day he had decided to conceal the truth about the Hessens—returning to that very day.

If only he had done so, would he have made a different choice? Would he have laid everything bare before Lowell and begged her forgiveness?

As if sensing his thoughts, the Lowell in his dream screamed and raked her nails down Peter’s arm.

[You should have told me the truth! You should have told me it wasn’t your fault! The moment you held the truth, you were as good as absolved! If only you hadn’t deceived me, I wouldn’t have died!]

Yes, Lowell. You’re right. Had I revealed everything, you might not have forgiven me—but you wouldn’t have taken such cruel revenge. But listen to me, Lowell. What would I have gained by receiving your forgiveness?

Watching you walk away, bereft and alone, having lost your vengeance? Watching you burn yourself alive, unable to handle the hatred that consumed you? One thing is certain: the moment I begged for your forgiveness, you would have left me.

Now that things have come to this, I finally understand. It wasn’t your hatred I feared. It wasn’t hearing your reproach after telling you the truth that frightened me. I simply knew, deep down, that once you knew everything, you’d leave me.

What bound Peter and Lowell together was no longer affection—it was bitter hatred.

They clung to each other endlessly through a love-hate bond that would shatter helplessly the moment one sought forgiveness. Only when one embraced hatred and the other affection could they finally stand on equal ground. Amidst the raging flames, they understood each other.

‘I won’t ask for your forgiveness, Lowell.’

Hate me. Prioritize me over your own life. Live hating me with the same passion you once loved me with.

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