After Forcing Me to Speak, They Regretted Everything Chapter 02

After Forcing Me to Speak, They Regretted Everything Chapter 02

Archie yanked me so hard I stumbled. My gaze swept past his face, twisted with desperate worry, and landed on the woman in his arms.

Emma Carter. His childhood friend. The one in the base combat squad who’d always looked at me with contempt.

I forced down the sharp pain flaring at the base of my skull—triggered by the surge of emotion—and pried his fingers off my collar.

I turned, grabbed the notebook and pen, and wrote rapidly, shoving the page directly in front of him:

[Archie, you know the three years are almost up—only a few days left. I have to conserve my power to end this apocalypse. I absolutely cannot speak right now.]

SMACK!

He slapped the notebook out of my hand.

“End what? Conserve what? I think you’re just afraid to die!”

His eyes blazed with fury as he pointed at Emma and roared, “I’m asking you to save one person! How much power could that possibly take? She grew up with me—I can’t just watch her die!”

On the floor, Emma let out a muffled groan and coughed up a mouthful of black blood.

She weakly grabbed Archie’s pant leg and forced a pale, pitiful smile onto her face. “Archie… don’t force Lydia. She’s the base’s precious treasure now. Ordinary werewolves like us, fighting on the front lines—how could we possibly deserve her wasting her precious power on us…”

“Don’t talk! Save your strength!” Archie snapped.

But Emma’s eyes slid past him and locked onto mine, defiant and mocking. Gasping for breath, her voice remained weak and nauseatingly noble:

“Lydia’s right. She’s going to save the world. Even if it’s been three years and everyone’s been fighting and dying out there every day while she hasn’t lifted a finger… she is special, after all. If I die, it’s nothing. Don’t let my death ruin Lydia’s good life.”

Every word was a knife twisting in my flesh.

This was Emma—the woman everyone hailed as a goddess of war. She knew exactly how to wield weakness like a weapon, stirring up the greatest malice with the softest voice.

Archie snapped completely. In an instant, his body shifted—his claws extended as he partially transformed, pressing the razor-sharp tips against my throat.

“Lydia. Last chance. Are you going to save her?!”

I looked at the Alpha who had once promised to protect me and understand me forever. My heart felt like it was drowning in ice water.

If I spoke, the rune would shatter. Three years of accumulated power would vanish in an instant. The entire city—maybe the whole world—would lose its only hope.

I stood my ground without a trace of fear, letting his claws press into my skin.

And I shook my head again, resolute.

“Good… just perfect.” Archie let out a bitter laugh, the disappointment in his eyes so thick it was suffocating. “Lydia, you’re not just useless—you’re a cold-blooded monster.”

He retracted his claws, scooped up Emma, and stormed out without a single backward glance.

Within half a day, the news of Lydia’s refusal to save a life had spread like wildfire through every corner of the base.

“Useless!”

“Ungrateful wretch!”

“Hoarding the best cores while front-line heroes die!”

Rumors cut through the reputation I’d spent three years building like tangible blades.

I walked to the window, lifted a corner of the blinds, and looked down at the plaza below.

Hundreds of survivors had gathered, their faces twisted with rage.

And the ones shouting the loudest, leading the charge, hurling the worst curses—they were the very people I’d pulled from the jaws of death on the first day of the apocalypse. The ones I’d saved while coughing up blood, using my Prophetic Words to snatch them back from the zombies’ teeth.

Back then, they’d knelt and kowtowed, tears streaming down their faces as they thanked me for saving their lives.

Now they were brandishing weapons, screaming to throw me—the mute freeloader—out of the base to feed the zombies.

My gaze swept past the crowd. Archie stood at the edge of the square, watching this farce unfold with cold eyes.

And Emma—kept alive by some life-prolonging drug—leaned against his shoulder, a smug, triumphant smirk curling her lips.

Just then, the heavy electronic steel door outside my room let out a low, ominous beep.