The Villainess is my fiance: But she is gentle towards me-Chapter 232 -: Who was I?

"Clown! Clown! Stop him!"

Ravan’s voice cracked. He stumbled backward through the air like a man trying to run on water.

His royal cloak tangled around his legs. His face had lost all color. His pride was gone. Only fear remained.

The Clown scratched the side of his mask lazily.

"Ah... right," he said as if he had just remembered something small. "I did promise he would not die."

He stepped forward.

Vivian halted mid-air. The wind stopped around him. His eyes locked onto the Clown.

The calm from earlier was gone.

There was anger now. There was resentment. There was something old and heavy inside his gaze.

For a moment he did not move.

He looked at Ravan again.

Ravan had already retreated far away. Nearly a mile. Still shaking.

That sight made the anger rise again. Vivian’s fingers tightened around the black sword.

The sky darkened slightly.

Then—

He inhaled slowly. His eyes closed.

Faces appeared in his mind.

His father’s tired smile. His mother’s gentle hands. His brother laughing. Charlotte words.

The image of her holding her stomach.

He exhaled.

The lightning around him softened.

"Tsk."

He clicked his tongue softly.

"I lost control," he muttered under his breath.

He opened his eyes again. The horns were still there.

The sword still hummed with killing intent. But the storm inside him had lowered.

"It seems I still need training," he said quietly to himself.

He rolled his shoulders once.

Then he turned toward the Clown.

"You are right," Vivian said. His voice was steady again. Calm. "I lost control for a moment."

He ran one finger slowly along the edge of his sword. The blade swallowed even the faint light of the snow.

"For now my target is not Ravan."

He lifted his gaze. "I am here for you."

The Clown’s shoulders shook.

"Kekekekekeke!"

He slammed his left palm with his right fist.

Boom!

A sonic blast tore through the air. Snow scattered. The wall below cracked in several places. Soldiers covered their ears.

From his thin body, that strength felt unnatural.

"I was waiting for you, heaven’s child."

Vivian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Since the first day they met, the Clown had used that name. He had never explained it.

"What do you mean by heaven’s child?" Vivian asked.

His tone was calm, but his eyes were sharp. The Clown tilted his cracked mask.

Instead of answering, he asked, "You have seen it, haven’t you?"

Vivian said nothing.

"The path," the Clown continued softly.

"The one beyond what mortals could achieve?"

The air felt heavy.

Vivian’s expression remained unchanged.

"I have seen something," he replied.

The Clown’s laughter slowed.

"Good... good..."

His voice lowered.

"Only that path can make you worthy of facing him."

Vivian’s grip tightened slightly.

"Facing who?" he asked.

The Clown lifted one finger and pointed upward.

Not at the sky.

Higher.

"As long as this world exists," the Clown said quietly, "there is someone watching it."

The snow began to melt before touching the ground.

"You were chosen long ago."

Vivian’s face remained calm, but inside, something stirred.

"I was not chosen," he said. "If I had then I wouldn’t have suffered my whole life."

The Clown clapped once.

"Wrong."

The sound echoed strangely.

"Many suffer. Many die. But only one walks that path."

He leaned forward slightly.

"You carry balance inside you. Not light. Not dark. Both."

Vivian’s eyes flickered briefly toward his horns.

The Clown noticed.

"Kekeke... you feel it, don’t you?"

Vivian did not answer. Silence stretched between them.

Below, the drums still sounded.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

The Clown spread his arms wide.

"Show me how far you have walked the path of heaven."

Vivian slowly raised his sword. Lightning coiled around the blade.

"I do not walk for heaven," he said calmly.

"I walk for myself."

The sky trembled.

"Then show me!"

The Clown roared and shot forward.

The air split behind him.

"Come."

Vivian moved at the same time.

Lightning wrapped around his entire body. It ran across his shoulders and down his arms like living chains.

His long black hair whipped behind him.

He stomped in the air.

Fire exploded outward.

Flames rolled in a wide circle and swallowed the space around them. Snow vanished before it could fall.

Boom!

Vivian burst forward like a bolt from the sky. His sword rose high above his head.

"Let me end our feud today!"

Boom!

The blade crashed against the Clown’s fist.

The sound was like a mountain breaking.

Shockwaves tore through the clouds. The wall below cracked again. Soldiers fell to their knees.

Yet neither of them moved. Sword against flesh.

Steel against bone.

"Kekeke..."

The Clown grinned through his cracked mask.

"Don’t you think you are too special? Too favored?"

Sparks exploded between them. Lightning crawled over the Clown’s arm. Fire pushed against his body.

He did not step back.

"First you survived the curse."

His voice was calm, almost playful.

"Then you killed Number 9862..."

He paused.

His eyes shone brighter.

"And I am sure you have guessed the truth by now."

Vivian’s eyes narrowed. He removed his left hand from the sword.

Air gathered in his palm. Fire followed.

Light began to glow from his horns.

"You talk too much," Vivian said.

His left fist clenched. A beam of light formed at the tip of his horns, ready to fire.

He was about to strike.

Then—

"You guessed right..."

The Clown’s voice dropped lower.

"...that this is not your first life."

Everything froze. Not the storm. Not the fire.

Vivian.

His face cracked. His eyes widened.

For the first time since he appeared in the sky—

True shock. The beam at his horns flickered. His breathing changed.

The Clown grinned wider.

"Bingo."

Boom!

The Clown’s fist smashed into Vivian’s chest.

The impact exploded like thunder.

Vivian was sent flying backward. Fire scattered. Lightning broke apart.

He tore through three layers of cloud before stopping himself mid-air. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

His boots scraped against empty space.

Blood slid from the corner of his mouth.

Below, the Clown rolled his shoulder slowly.

"Kekeke..."

"You remember things others do not."

Vivian hovered in silence. Inside his mind, fragments stirred. The Clown spread his arms.

"Do you know how rare that is?"

Vivian wiped the blood from his lip. His eyes were no longer shocked.

They were thinking.

"You knew," Vivian said quietly.

"Of course I knew," the Clown replied.

Vivian’s eyes wavered for a brief second.

Only a second. Then they steadied.

’So he knows.’

The word formed clearly in his mind.

’I regressed.’

He did not show it on his face. But inside, curiosity rose like a slow flame.

The Clown watched him closely.

"My first guess," the Clown said, "began when my lord spoke of you."

His voice remained playful, but there was something under it.

Fear.

Resentment.

Even now, speaking of that "lord" made his shoulders tense slightly.

"He told me something strange," the Clown continued. "He said you were... irregular."

Vivian said nothing.

"You cured your curse," the Clown went on. "A curse designed with precision. A curse meant to kill you."

His eyes narrowed.

"Then you somehow knew what Kafrik and Number 9862 were planning."

Lightning flickered faintly around Vivian’s shoulders.

"You said you were spying."

The Clown scoffed.

"Do you think that excuse would work on us?"

His cracked mask tilted.

"Number 9862 was fully trained. Raised for deception. Raised to erase his presence."

"There is no way you would catch him... unless he wanted you to."

The wind began to spin slowly between them.

"But you knew about the ambush."

"You knew where to move."

"You knew who would betray."

The Clown spread his hands.

"That is not instinct."

"That is memory."

Silence stretched. Vivian did not deny it.

The Clown’s eyes sharpened.

"So when my lord spoke, I began to suspect."

His voice lowered.

"He said you were walking in the third cycle."

The words echoed strangely.

"Third cycle..."

The Clown frowned slightly.

"That part I still do not understand."

He looked at Vivian carefully.

"If I count this life as your first... then two remain."

He raised two fingers slowly.

"Are you not curious?"

Vivian remained silent.

But inside his mind one phrase kept circling.

Third cycle.

If transmigration was the first... If regression was the second...

Then this life...

Is this the third?

His thoughts slowed.

A white void flashed in his memory.

Endless. Silent. Cold.

That was where the System appeared.

He remembered that presence clearly.

It felt familiar.

Not kind. Not cruel.

Familiar.

It had told him it would use all its power to send him back.

It had said it would return when he was ready.

But since regression—

Nothing.

No voice. No window. No guidance.

And most of all...

Despite knowing he was—

His thoughts stopped.

Vivian’s mouth slowly opened.

His face suddenly lost all color.

The lightning around him flickered.

"I was..."

His voice trembled slightly.

"I was ill... in my last life..."

Images began to surface.

A hospital room. White walls. Beeping sounds. A weak body that could not stand.

He remembered writing. Typing. Late nights.His novel.

This world.

"I died," he whispered.

"I died... then transmigrated into my own novel..."

He slowly drifted backward in the air. The Clown stopped smiling.

Something was wrong. Vivian’s eyes lost focus.

"I’m..."

His brows tightened.

"I..."

His breathing became uneven.

"Who was I?"

The question came out soft. Small. The storm weakened.

"What was my name?"