Spiral of Madness: Ascension of the Villainous Dragon Prince-Chapter 133: Kill The Grievance [4] — Cardoon Zorba’s Journey

Chapter 133: Kill The Grievance [4] — Cardoon Zorba’s Journey

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Cardoon Zorba had endured a brutal life.

Since childhood, he starved on the streets while his father beat him mercilessly.

He never knew his mother—she died giving birth to him—but he was constantly reminded of her through his horns and third eye, which drew revulsion from everyone he met.

His older brother—the one person he once relied on—mocked his lack of talent and called him ugly for inheriting their mother’s features. He often insisted Zorba wasn’t truly his brother, claiming their mother had been someone else.

A woman their father had genuinely loved, who vanished one day, leaving him shattered.

In such an environment, Zorba slowly sank into despair from childhood. Starving, alone, despised. He had considered ending his life many times—jumping into the nearby lake to drown.

But he never did.

The reason was simple: his hatred burned stronger than his desire for death. It gradually consumed his reason. As he grew up in this twisted, dark world, Zorba developed a mind unlike any other.

Though he appeared calm and obedient on the surface, a deep rot festered within—waiting to erupt.

When news reached them that their father had died in a bar fight, both brothers reacted with cold indifference.

His older brother seized all their father’s money and spent it on resources to reach Rank 1 in his Spirit Orb, finally evolving his Natal Spirit into a Rank 1 Spirit.

With newfound strength and talent, he hunted monsters in the countryside and rarely returned home—except to abuse Zorba, mock him, and barely feed him out of pity. It made him feel superior, even though among his peers, many ridiculed his still-mediocre talent.

Everything changed one rainy, freezing night when Zorba encountered a dying old man on the dark streets. The man begged passersby for help.

No one stopped. No one looked. No one listened.

Except Zorba.

He slowly dragged the man home, fed him warm soup, and gave him clean, dry clothes to replace his soaked rags.

The old man, overflowing with gratitude for Zorba’s kindness, gifted him a dark book before passing away that night—likely from hypothermia.

Even a decade later, Zorba still remembered the dying man’s words.

"Take this book, child... The world hates us; the world despises us... because we are different, aren’t we?" He revealed a third eye like Zorba’s. "We are talentless, hated... nothing... but I say there is value even in worthless trash like us."

Zorba held the book. His red eyes gleamed as he studied the ancient text; his third eye reacted to a language he had never seen or heard.

Demon Language.

"And that value... is in what we decide to make of our poor, pathetic lives... heheh... cough, cough...!" The old man coughed blood. "You gave me shelter... and a warm meal... I’ve never received such kindness before... Please take this book, and never let go of it, child... it will be your guide in this dark world... in this... world full of despair... and hateful souls..."

Zorba felt nothing when the old man died. But he looked at the book and realized it resonated with his own heritage.

He read it. He learned what it was.

"The Spiral of the Desecrated Soul..."

At the tender age of nine, Zorba understood what he must do to claim the power denied to him.

He had to take it from someone else.

From the person he hated most—and yet the last person he loved.

A month later, when his brother finally returned—exhausted and weary.

After his brother struck him as usual, abused him as usual, berated and insulted him as usual...

At night, when his brother slept—most vulnerable.

Zorba pressed a knife to his throat.

Without hesitation, he stabbed deep into the vein.

His brother’s spirit surged to fight back. Zorba’s arm was bitten by the giant wolf; flesh and skin tore away.

"Aaarrggh!"

Zorba fought for his life, stabbing the spirit’s face. The creature yelped in agony and recoiled for a moment.

His brother struggled to breathe, bleeding profusely, trying to stand and reach a potion.

Zorba kicked off the ground, snatched the potion first, and hurled it out the window.

"Y-You...! Nngh...! Z-Zorba...! You fucking... bastard—Kill him! Kill him, wolf—Aaagh...!"

His brother groaned, collapsing. His eyes slowly rolled back.

The wolf barked furiously, leaping onto Zorba and tearing at his face before scattering into spirit energy.

"...Haaa... Haaa... Haaa..."

Zorba gasped for air. His face half-disfigured, hands trembling, he dropped the knife.

For the first time in his life... Zorba smiled.

He felt alive—covered in blood, wracked with pain—as tears welled in his eyes.

He stood, looked at his brother’s corpse, and laughed.

Then a voice echoed.

The Necromancer emerged behind him, a skeletal, ghostly figure, an eternal companion.

And...

The Spiral of Madness etched itself into his soul. His Fantasy Heart was born from despair and desperate grasping.

"Hahaha... Hahahaha!"

He laughed, kissed his brother’s bloody face, licked the blood from his lips, and stood. With the Necromancer’s help, he danced with his brother’s corpse.

"Hahaha... Hehehehe!"

He laughed and danced through a night that felt eternal. The crimson moon above cast faint scarlet light into the dark room. For the first time, Zorba felt truly alive.

At that moment, Zorba did not turn his brother into a zombie. He left the soul and body to rest in peace, abandoning them in the house.

Throughout his life, Zorba regretted what he had done. Many nights he missed his brother’s mocking words; many nights he missed the boastful laughter.

After all, his brother had been his only family—even when he abused him and made him feel worthless...

He cried many nights in the cold embrace of the Necromancer.

Because of all this, Zorba now stood frozen in shock.

The man before him—the man who had stopped his Undead Army—the man he had killed a decade ago.

The man he had missed ever since, crying in regret many times—even though he had laughed and danced with the corpse that very night.

The man who had made his insanity blossom yet also allowed him to retain a fragile thread of humanity through later guilt.

"V-Veynar...?"

"Hello, brother. Long time no see."

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