Chapter 134: Oscar: The Making of a Devil

“I used the tactics I learned from the tribe,” Oscar said quietly. “Like a hunter, I gathered information about my prey—my own father.”He gave an ironic smile. “The man already had another wife and a seven-year-old child. He forgot about his son quickly.”

Carmensa could only sob softly, pitying the young man who had suffered so much.

“Then, in the information I gathered, I found an opportunity,” Oscar continued. “Every night he drank with some of his superiors. It was how he tried to win their goodwill so he could get away with doing those kinds of things. After giving them their bribes, he always walked home alone through the streets of the town, back to his family.”

“So one night, I prepared myself. I hid in the darkness and waited in a narrow corner until he passed by. Patrols were sporadic, so I had plenty of time. When he walked close to me, I struck him, tied him up, and dragged him into the forest.”

Oscar’s eyes darkened—red, burning with revenge.Carmensa let out a small gasp, frightened. She had never seen him so furious.

Hearing her, he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down before continuing.

“Once in the forest, I waited for him to wake up. The look on his face… priceless. He was terrified—too terrified to speak at first. Then he got angry and shouted, ’I am a captain of the Spanish Empire! If you dare lay a hand on me, the Spanish troops will hunt you down!’”

Oscar chuckled bitterly.

“From behind the tree where he was tied, I told him, ’Who do you think you’re trying to scare? You’re just another soldier to them—disposable. If you die here, they’ll probably say you wandered into the forest drunk and were killed by some wild beast. You’re not as important as you pretend to be.’”

“’Who are you?’ he asked, trying desperately to look behind the tree.”

Oscar stepped forward in front of him and chuckled. “Your son. Didn’t you miss me, dear father?”

He laughed hard as he remembered his father’s expression—how it shifted from anger to fear the moment he recognized him, those same eyes that once looked at his mother, the woman he used to climb in rank all those years ago.

Seeing him laugh, Carmensa walked behind him and gently wrapped her arms around him, trying to comfort him. The moment he felt her embrace, Oscar began to cry.

Softly, she whispered, “If you don’t want to continue, you can stop. I understand these memories are hard for you.”

Oscar cried for a while before he finally wiped his face and murmured, “Sorry… I just want you to remember this story. Because if I die, I don’t want to be forgotten by time. Better that one day someone can read it and understand the silent sacrifice of men like me.”

Seeing he had calmed down a little, Carmensa let him continue.

“I tortured him, of course,” Oscar said bluntly. “And then I killed him, leaving him in the forest to be eaten by animals. The man who destroyed my family twice died in the same way he wished for me when he abandoned me there.”

He sighed, exhaustion weighing on his voice.

“After that, I began killing officers who tried to follow in his footsteps—those who falsely accused tribes or innocent people to gain favor. I became a nightmare for the Spanish officers in that region. Until one day, a man approached me and warned me about a Spanish ambush. I was young and reckless, so I just thanked him and prepared myself for the hunt. And he was right—it was an ambush. I was nearly killed, but that man saved me. He later introduced himself as an agent of the liberals, a group fighting for independence.”

Oscar leaned back, staring at nothing.

“I’m telling you this so you understand that my resentment toward Spain is stronger than the value I place on my own life. Even if I die, as long as that information reaches the liberals, the ones who will suffer most will be the Spanish.”

Carmensa sighed softly. She hesitated before speaking.

“That hatred in your heart… you should abandon it someday. But I understand how hard it is. Even I still want revenge against the bandits who took my husband from me. So I’m not worthy of lecturing you.”She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But if you truly see me as a mother—just as I see you as a son—promise me that you’ll at least try to save your life and come back to us.”

Oscar looked at her kind face, and for a moment, he remembered his own mother—always beside him, always caring for him whenever he fell from a tree or returned home covered in mud. He nodded.

“I’ll do my best to survive. But you must listen to me.”

Carmensa nodded softly. “Don’t worry about us. Just do whatever you need to survive. I’ll go pack my things.”

Oscar nodded. When she left, he remained sitting alone for a while, letting the silence settle. Then, unbidden, a flashback tore its way into his mind—back to that day in the forest.

His father, tied to the tree and coughing blood, laughed weakly.”Do you think you’ve won, boy? By killing me, you’re no better than I am. I killed your mother, and you killed your father. We are the same.”

Oscar frowned, disgust twisting his features.

Oscar frowned at his father with open disgust. “If I were truly the same as you,” he said coldly, “I would have killed your new wife and son before

coming for you—left you drowning in grief, suffering a death far worse than the one you gave my mother. But instead I chose to end you and cut you out of this world, to stop you from causing any more harm.”

His father coughed blood while laughing, the sound wet and pitiful. “So what are you, some kind of saint? Don’t fool yourself. You’re a patricide. Scum—just like your father.”

Oscar, exhausted by his father’s last attempts to wound him, exhaled slowly. “You know what? Maybe you’re right.”

His father blinked, startled by the answer.

“Maybe I am scum,” Oscar continued. “But at least the people I want to hurt are men like you—people who toy with the lives of others for their own gain. If I end up in hell for it, I’ll accept it with open arms. Someone has to do what cowards like you never will.”

That look in Oscar’s eyes—calm, absolute, merciless—finally broke the old man’s bravado. His expression sagged. He closed his eyes, accepting that there would be no escape, no redemption, no final plea.

Oscar watched him for a moment… then drew his knife and slit his throat, ending the man’s life cleanly.

As the memory faded, Oscar muttered to himself, “I’ll become the devil if I must… to punish those who don’t deserve to rule.”

His gaze drifted toward the distant palace of Caracas. His resolve hardened like steel.

He rose from the chair and walked to a bookshelf. From behind a row of worn books, he took a small iron tool. With steady steps, he went to the basement. The air there was cooler, the faint smell of damp stone lingering in the corners.

He pressed the tool against a specific seam in the wall and pried. A section of rock shifted loose, revealing a narrow hidden crawlspace—just wide enough for a person to squeeze through.

He waited.

After a few minutes, Rosa arrived first. When she saw Oscar beside the passage, her face stiffened with anxiety. She approached him without a word, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

“This is my first kiss,” she whispered, cheeks flushed but eyes determined. “I don’t want you to die. You took my first kiss… so now you have to take responsibility.”

Oscar froze, speechless at first. But when he saw her expression—fragile yet earnest—he realized Carmensa must have told her something. This was Rosa’s way of forcing him to come back alive.

Oscar hugged her gently and said, “Thank you for giving me a reason to come back. I’m grateful for you and your family. Without you this past year, my life would’ve been as colorless as it always was. And… please take care of your sister and your mother. I hope the three of you can live a better life once you reach Antioquia. The Gómez family isn’t as ruthless as my current patron, but even so—stay prepared.”

Rosa frowned. “Stop talking like this is the last time we’ll see each other. You need to come back alive. And you know I’m serious about my feelings for you. I just… I hope you won’t reject me for being an impure woman.”

Oscar sighed softly. “If I manage to come back alive, I’ll accept your feelings. I swear it. After all… I’m just as broken as you. Maybe more.”

They held each other in silence, the faint candlelight flickering over their faces. The shadows swayed gently around them—a quiet, painful melody of farewell.

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