The Trash's Guide to Rewriting a Parallel World

V

His mother, still alive, smiled at him as she fell to the ground. The only thing that can kill a dark elf is a holy artifact or having their heads cut off their bodies.

Alvers chose the most heartbreaking thing. If his mother survives, she'll die an even more miserable death at his father's hands. She didn't want to torture her, nor had her limbs been torn off by beasts.

Ahh. Killing the person you love the most is the same as killing yourself.

However, the bliss of thinking she died honorably for a cause of the future was better than having sacrificed for power.

"Mother... I..."

"Shh."

Matildes smiled sweetly at him. Her breath slowly stopped. She gave him a knowing smile and told him that everything was fine.

"Living is the best, my little Alberu."

The doors of the grand hall opened with a young Alberu coming in. He gazed at his younger self. His gaze was fearful, his tears flowing down. He stared at him, thinking that everything was in place.

For the first time, his conviction strengthened at the sight of his useless, cowardly self.

The sight of him not being able to do anything. The sight of him not being able to protect anything he held dear. The sight of him, the version of him who he loathes the most.

He didn't want his younger self to curry favor with the nobles. He didn't want him to undergo the same misery where he had to bow before everyone else just to survive.

With Cale posing as Young Alberu's royal instructor, his resolve deepened to finally raise the curtains for a stronger Alberu.

He raised the sword and swung it right on his mother's neck.

Today, mother, I promise you... I will protect the future you want to have...

Alver Crossman finally realized what his mother desired for him.

I will make a version of me, stand proud, someone that no one will ever question.

He promised.

A version of me who will be prouder than anything in this world.

He watched his mother's head roll on the ground. He sees his cowardly self, unable to even cry.

Yes. Carve this memory into your mind. Don't forget. Don't ever forget that rage you're feeling.

The anger and resentment he harbored, something he forcefully kept hidden in his heart just to keep himself alive.

You are someone born to become a monarch. Then live your life as one. Grow up into someone who doesn't need to suck up on others' arms.

He walks down.

"Pitiful." I am so pitiful.

He slowly approaches the version of him that he hates the most.

"So pitiful." You are the version I abhor and have forgotten throughout my life.

Seeing this version of himself, the innocent Alberu, who couldn't keep one person safe.

The version of him he detests even now.

He swung his sword and had it on his younger version's neck. He stared at the boy with hatred and pity.

I was never a victim in this farce called nobility.

The truth that made him shudder and loathe his innocent self anymore.