Tower of Paradise

Chapter 111: Pure benevolence

KATHYIN GRAMONT'S POV

KathyIn.

It was the name my late mother gave me.

«Pure benevolence.»

Those two words weighed on my shoulders like the cursed armor I now bore. My mother wished for me to become a woman of genuine kindness, selfless, without hidden motives. Someone whose heart radiated sincerity and altruism from a place of deep integrity. What bitter irony. I lived an existence entirely different from the one she dreamed for me, and in the end, I died pitifully, like a mangy stray animal.

The early loss of my mother robbed me of the only source of unconditional love I might have had, a devastating blow in the hostile environment of the Gramont Clan. Her absence amplified my sense of absolute loneliness, feeding a fragile self-esteem and the persistent perception of being a burden to everyone. While Jasmine, my sister, channeled this loss into fierce independence, I—more introspective, more vulnerable—internalized that pain as confirmation of my lack of worth.

From the depths of my being, I felt life reclaiming me. Pain pierced every fiber of my existence, but I welcomed it with strange gratitude. Pain meant I was alive, or at least returning to life. It was its absence that truly terrified me.

Sadness flooded me entirely. It overflowed like a raging river, and I felt my spirit splitting into two irreconcilable halves. In short, it had been a ruined life. An existence where I died shattered inside and out. I hated it with every fiber of my being.

Why did I have to die like that? Or rather, why did I have to live like that? It was unfair. Fury surged through me like an uncontrollable storm. Everything in my life had been profoundly unjust. I could have lived better. I deserved a dignified existence, to be valued.

But I had committed three unforgivable mistakes: I died by mistake, I lived making mistakes, and… I was born by mistake. Was everything a mistake from the start?

Why, despite giving so much of myself—my time, my patience, my bleeding heart—did I always feel like an invisible shadow no one noticed?

I had woven kindness with every breath, naively convinced that my gentle gestures would be a beacon for others, but instead, every act of generosity vanished into the void, leaving me with a hollow echo reverberating within. In my heart, a sinister doubt began to take root, one that made me shudder to my bones: what if the kindness I had embraced so fervently was nothing but a facade, a subtle trap pulling me away from my true essence?

I always believed the world would see my light someday, that if I strained until I bled, my warmth would reach others. But the truth was infinitely more bitter: everyone perceived the mask I projected—my forced smile, my artificially kind gestures—but no one, absolutely no one, stopped to feel what truly burned inside me. My deepest longings, my paralyzing fears, the whirlwind of dark thoughts I hid behind these eyes that always seemed to say “I’m fine.” And though I would never admit it aloud, that perpetual disconnection consumed me slowly.

My consciousness then recalled the sensation of my own death. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t scream. Under that unbearable pain, all the circuits of my mind shut down; it was impossible to make any sound. Being dead… wasn’t so terrible, considering everything.

The world sank into darkness and silence. It was almost comforting, if not for the terrible cold that pierced me to the marrow. I was so, so cold.

I was dead, but of course, such trivialities wouldn’t be enough to stop me. After all, I hadn’t spent most of my time carrying that armor received on the fifth floor without a purpose. The time had come to return to life.

[Eternal Chain (S)]

[Description: Two thousand years ago, a witch yearned to be free, but could only find freedom in death. She, who became a victim of war, left a curse in her final moments upon her killer. «For eternity… You will never escape those chains. Forever, you will live and suffer, trapped in your armor, a prisoner of time, writhing in pain and despair.»]

[Item Enchantment: Cursed Stigma.]

[Description: Anyone who activates the effect of this armor will become immortal and be trapped in the curse.]

Before dying, I had activated the armor’s effect as a desperate last resort. I still didn’t understand the consequences I would face by receiving the curse, but I simply had no other choice. For me, dying would mean failing my mission to destroy the clan and prove my worth, which drove me to resist death with vehemence. My desire to live wasn’t a cowardly act; it was a rebellion against those who deemed me unworthy. My resistance didn’t stem from fear but from an explosive mix of wounded pride, unyielding purpose, and incandescent rage against those who tried to break me.

My immortality, derived from the Cursed Stigma, allowed me to regenerate from virtually any wound, no matter how devastating, as long as my armor wasn’t destroyed or removed. This meant I no longer depended on conventional cellular processes or stellar energy reserves. The armor had the power to rewrite my existence, always returning me to my optimal state. 

From my severed neck, tissue began to form slowly, first as a bloody mass of flesh that molded with macabre precision into muscles, veins, arteries, bones, and skin, until it fully recreated my head. The process took just over a minute. The armor ensured that my new head carried the same consciousness and memories as the previous one, restoring me as if nothing had happened, though the horror of the experience remained indelibly etched in my memory.