The Male Lead isn't Following the Script!
Chapter 274: Edward’s Past

Chapter 274: Edward’s Past

Edward stood amid the ruins of the base of the forbidden magic wielders, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the carnage. He did not spare a second glance at the bodies littering the ground, nor did he acknowledge the scent of blood that hung thick in the air.

The men who had once schemed to control him, to infiltrate his domain, were now nothing more than lifeless husks, their ambitions reduced to nothing.

He had no interest in their petty power struggles. They had attempted to manipulate him, to bend him to their will by using an elder priest as a pawn in their schemes. Fools. They had underestimated him, did they really believe he would not know about their schemes?

They were simply performing monkeys to him. They were no where close to his level. They could only scheme and plot as long he allowed them to, once he decided to get rid of them... Hah... They would be reduced to dust.

The very notion was laughable. He had tolerated their existence until now, but the moment they had set their sights on the temple, his domain, they had signed their own death warrants.

Edward stepped over the bodies without care, his boots splashing in the pooling blood beneath him. His white robes remained untainted, a pristine contrast to the destruction around him, as if the filth of the world could not touch him.

In his hand, he held a collection of scrolls, the only remnants of the mercenaries’ communication network. He had not set fire to their secret correspondence, had not destroyed their plans in a mindless purge. No, he had merely taken what mattered—their words, their intentions, their pitiful plots against him and others.

Adeline had overlooked these scrolls. Perhaps she had thought them insignificant, mere records of logistics and mercenary contracts, or perhaps she had not noticed them at all. Either way, it hardly mattered. She had left them behind, and now they belonged to him.

He unfurled one of the scrolls and let his eyes drift over the words. The scribbled letters detailed plans to manipulate key figures within the holy temple, their attempts to find a weak link in his impenetrable domain.

Locations of other bases? Hah, this was so easy. How crude and stupid were they? He had given them more credit than they deserved.

It was almost amusing—how they believed they could grasp even the faintest sliver of control over him. He was Edward, the head priest, the one who commanded both the faith of the people and the power of the divine. To think they had imagined he could be tamed, leashed like some obedient dog, was utterly ridiculous.

His lips curled into a smirk as he continued reading, his fingers tightening slightly around the parchment. He absorbed every detail, memorising their strategies, their allies, and their intended betrayals. He could tell that this followed his past life.

Each plan, each scenario plotted out involved Dimitri, Cassian and Benedict. He would probably be included too if he was under their control.

This knowledge was useful, but it did not shake him, nor did it change his path. It was merely confirmation of what he had already known—that he stood alone, that no one in this wretched world could dictate his fate.

But then, his eyes caught upon a particular phrase, a passage buried among the conspiracies and the whispers of war.

The story will continue as written. The characters will play their roles. The villain will meet his destined end.

Edward stilled.

A slow, dark chuckle bubbled from his throat. It grew, it deepened until it became a full-bodied laugh that echoed through the empty ruins. It was not the laugh of a man amused, nor of one who had found joy.

It was something far more sinister—a sound that spoke of madness, of something unravelling within him, of a mind that had long since broken and now danced on the edge of oblivion.

His laughter did not stop, even as his hands trembled with the force of his grip on the scroll. The parchment crumpled beneath his fingers, but he did not care. His eyes gleamed with something unhinged, something raw and feral as he muttered under his breath, the words barely above a whisper but filled with venom.

"A story?" he echoed, his voice laced with contempt. His grip tightened further, the paper nearly tearing. "Nothing but a story written by a damned author."

The words left a bitter taste on his tongue. A story. That was all this world was—a fabricated tale, a predetermined script in which he was nothing more than a character. A puppet, bound by ink and fate, moving only in accordance with a narrative that had been written long before he had drawn breath.

She thought he could write him as a lovesick idiot who would bend to Annora’s willfulness and stupidity? She was nothing, she was a pathetic woman who does not deserve anything.

And the author—that author—had been the one to sever his connection to her. His love...

His entire body tensed at the thought. His pupils dilated, and his breath came in short, sharp bursts. His hands ached with the desire to crush something, to break something, to tear apart the invisible chains that bound him to this accursed role.

Her.

The one he had lost. The one who had been taken from him.

He had sacrificed everything to bring her back in his past life, yet someone intervened. He had twisted faith, manipulated power, and cast aside morality in pursuit of that single goal.

And yet, every path he walked, every plan he crafted, was thwarted by an unseen force—a force that ensured he remained trapped in this endless cycle of failure. It had to be the author, who else could stop him?

In his past life he tried his best to destroy her connection to this world, he did not know that she was the author, he did not know he was in a story, he simply knew she was vermin trying to stand in his way.

And he could not even reach her to put an end to her interference, tucked away like a coward yet still brave enough to interfere. Hah.

This author. This wretched, unseen hand that dictated his suffering.

Edward exhaled sharply, his manic grin returning as he whispered, "None of this information changes anything."

It was true. He had known, deep in the recesses of his mind, that he was fighting against something greater than himself. A force beyond this world, beyond this reality. But knowing it did not alter his resolve. It did not weaken his determination.

If anything, it strengthened it.

"I will succeed in getting her back," he swore, his voice ringing through the empty ruin, a vow that defied the heavens themselves. His gaze burned with an intensity that could have melted steel. "And I will prevail."

He would not allow this story to control him. He would not allow some unseen author, some omnipotent author, to decide his fate. He was not a pawn, not a puppet to be discarded when his role had been fulfilled.

If this world was a story, then he would rewrite it with his own hands.

The scrolls in his grasp ignited, blue-white flames consuming them in an instant. The fire crackled, devouring the last remnants of the mercenaries’ plans. But Edward was not looking at them anymore.

He was already thinking ahead.

A dark plan formed in his mind, one that would tear apart the very fabric of this so-called narrative. He had been patient. But no more. He wished to rush things.

What he wanted to do was simple, if he destroyed all these bases and fulfilled Adeline’s request... She would have no choice but to follow through with her end of the deal. Obediently becoming the Saintess he envisioned, thus being in his control.

He could get rid of Annora, and with Adeline, he could try bringing her back once again.

No more subtle manipulations. No more carefully laid foundations.

It was time to act.

Edward turned on his heel, walking away from the ruin without a second glance. The flames behind him cast long shadows, flickering against the crumbling walls. He did not need to see them.

His eyes were already set on the future.

The world thought they knew him. They saw only the head priest, the man who was head over heels for Annora, the one who would kill people for her...

The world could not control him in his past life, it could never force him to like Annora of all people. It could never force him to forget the one he truly loved, it could never force him to stop his endeavours to bring her back. So who gave these fools the confidence that they will succeed this time?

They had no idea what lay beneath.

But they would soon.

Because Edward was done playing by the rules of this story.

And if the author thought they could control him?

They were gravely mistaken.