Failed To Abandon the Villain - Chapter 10

She had spent the past week awake, haunted by the discrepancy. In the novel she remembered, the Delight Estate Massacre was supposed to occur on the morning of her twentieth birthday.

But now, an entire week had passed since her birthday without incident. Valetta closed her eyes, narrowing her gaze as the scenes from the novel flashed through her mind:

The guards arrived in response to a report, only to find the Delight Estate drenched in blood from the entrance onward. The further they ventured inside, the more the blood pooled until, upon reaching the dining room, they recoiled in horror and fled.

There lay grotesquely twisted corpses, and above them, as if on display, scattered documents detailing all of Count Delight’s illegal dealings, as if this were an inevitable judgment.

Her heart raced as she recalled the horrific imagery.

But now? Nothing had happened.

Why?

In the novel, Valetta remembered the horrifying scene vividly, its grotesque details meant to shock and emphasize Reinhardt’s descent into madness.

At the center of the blood-soaked dining table was Valetta Delight herself, her neck grotesquely twisted and her lips split into a ghastly mockery of a smile. Around her lay a mountain of corpses, with flaming candlesticks stabbed into them like macabre decorations.

The sight had resembled nothing so much as a birthday cake.

There had been twenty candles. It was her twentieth birthday.

That scene had been seared into her memory, as the story had gone out of its way to detail everyone’s gruesome end. Valetta had long since recognized Reinhardt as a terrifyingly compelling character in the novel.

But that was fiction.

She had no desire to meet such a character in real life. The idea alone was horrifying.

And yet, things in reality weren’t unfolding exactly as they had in the story. If the massacre hadn’t occurred, was the situation resolved peacefully?

Valetta debated. If Reinhardt had changed, or if the circumstances had shifted, then perhaps this ordeal might conclude quietly. If that were the case, she almost felt sorry for how she had treated him so far.

But those eyes…

The madness she had glimpsed in his eyes hadn’t been a lie. Unless… had his grudge against the Delight family lessened because of her efforts to mitigate the damage?

She exhaled deeply, trying to steady her thoughts.

“A week… it’s been a week.”

Perhaps she could relax now. Maybe Reinhardt would still become the master of the magic tower, but not the insane figure from the novel.

“…Or is there another reason?”

Had something fundamentally changed about him? Valetta sighed heavily, ruffling her hair in frustration. If things ended quietly, she would have no complaints. She had spent so much time dreading this moment, always on edge.

In that case, all that’s left is for him to leave this place.

She sighed again. Reinhardt was now an adult and should be free to go. If he left, their entanglement would end.

“Thank goodness…”

Her voice trailed off as she stretched out on her bed, letting herself relax for the first time in a while. The weight lifted from her mind brought a surprising clarity to her thoughts.

“Though… what’s taking so long with the food?”

She hadn’t noticed earlier, but the maid who had promised to bring her dinner had been gone for nearly two hours.

Did she forget?

Night had already fallen, the mansion dim under the light of a full moon. The pangs of hunger were gnawing at her, likely worsened by the tension she’d expended overthinking.

“I guess I’ll check…”

Using her momentum, Valetta pushed herself upright, slipped on her soft fur slippers, and cautiously peeked through the door.

The mansion was unusually quiet. Far quieter than it should have been.

Is the maid still waiting in the dining room because Father didn’t approve of bringing food to my room?

The count had never liked her habit of eating alone in her room, so it was plausible.

“…Where is everyone?”

The silence was eerie. Too eerie. Valetta slowly stepped into the hallway, the stillness pressing down on her.

“Maybe they’re cleaning up…?”

Was the mansion always this quiet at night? Since she usually stayed in her room after dinner, she had little to compare it to. Still, the oppressive atmosphere sent chills down her spine.

Her gaze alternated between the staircase leading downward and the flickering candlelit hallway ahead.

Should I just go back?

Stopping in her tracks, she hesitated. Turning back seemed just as unappealing as continuing forward, given the long corridor she’d already traversed.

“Surely she didn’t decide to go hunting instead of bringing my dinner…”

She muttered to herself, trying to shake the ominous feeling creeping over her.

Valetta grumbled to herself. If Count Delight had refused to let her dine in her room, she would have no choice but to eat in the dining hall instead.

Though usually, someone would come to inform me of his decision, she thought irritably.

She was beyond tired of his authoritarian behavior. If it weren’t for the cursed bracelet binding her, she might have already left this mansion out of sheer defiance.

Did everyone decide to have some grand group dinner without telling me?

As her footsteps echoed through the eerily silent mansion, unease began to creep up her spine. No matter how she thought about it, it was strange that not a single maid or servant was anywhere to be seen in this enormous house.

“…No, that can’t be,” she murmured, shaking her head as if to dispel her worst fears.

The worst-case scenario playing in her mind wasn’t far from the horrifying scenes she’d been dreading for the past week.

But it’s been a week.

Unlike in the novel, an entire week had passed since her birthday, and no disaster had occurred. This world, while similar, wasn’t perfectly aligned with the story she remembered.

Valetta had never obsessively clung to Reinhardt, nor did she love him with the manic intensity the novel described.

She also lacked any extraordinary powers or abilities, and she wasn’t supposed to be engaged to the Crown Prince.

So, there was no guarantee the events of the novel would unfold exactly the same way. A week had passed without incident. That alone seemed proof enough that this wasn’t the story she had read.

Reassuring herself, Valetta nodded slowly. Her pace toward the dining room slowed with each step.

But if the story isn’t following the novel, what’s to say something terrible won’t happen a week late?

Her unease fed into her growing anxiety, and her thoughts spiraled into the very worst possibilities. Her faltering steps came to a complete stop.

Still, the mansion was far too quiet for there to be something as horrific as a massacre happening inside. It didn’t feel like death lingered in the air.

“Please…” she whispered, resuming her steps.

Please let everything be fine.

She reached the dining room and paused outside the door. Pressing her ear against it, she strained to hear any sounds from within—screams, crashes, anything. But there was only silence.

A faint sense of relief washed over her as she grabbed the door handle. After taking a deep breath and glancing around, she pulled the door open.

The faint crack of the door allowed a burst of bright chandelier light to stream out, accompanied by a nauseating stench of blood.

Valetta recoiled reflexively, letting go of the handle. The door shut softly on its own.

“…No. This isn’t real,” she muttered under her breath, spinning around abruptly.

This had to be a dream. It had to be. She had spent so much time worrying about something like this that it was only natural for her mind to conjure such a nightmare.

I need to sleep.

It didn’t make sense. The mansion couldn’t possibly be this silent. Shaking her head vigorously, she turned to retrace her steps back to her room.

But just as she began to walk away, a faint light spilled into the dim corridor. It came from behind her.

From the dining room.

Her feet froze mid-step.

She hadn’t opened the door, and she certainly hadn’t turned back toward it. It was impossible for her to have caused the light behind her.

She felt as though she were turning to stone, like a victim of Medusa’s gaze. A chill ran down her spine, and every nerve screamed at her to run, yet she couldn’t move.

“Why, you’ve come all this way but haven’t stepped inside.”

A voice, smooth and casual, called out behind her.

“No, I’ve made a mistake,” she replied, her voice stiff and trembling.

“If I had known you were awake, I would have invited you properly.”

“I’d prefer not to be invited.”

“What brings you to the dining room so late at night?”

“I… was hungry. But it’s fine. I think I’ll just go back to bed.”

Her words, though spoken with forced calmness, carried no weight of conviction. Her voice was rigid, trembling, betraying the fear she couldn’t suppress. The conversation felt hollow, like a futile attempt to deny reality.

Valetta’s words sounded absurd, even to her own ears, given what she suspected was happening in the dining room. But what else could she say? She couldn’t just walk in and casually grab food amidst whatever horrors lay inside.

Her desperate response was met with a low chuckle from behind her.

“Ah… so that maid was yours, Master.”

“….”

“If I’d known, I might have spared her. But she didn’t explain herself properly, and all that screaming and squealing… well, I just couldn’t help myself.”

The light tone in Reinhardt’s voice sent a chill down Valetta’s spine. She didn’t need him to spell it out—she knew exactly what he meant.

Her body stiffened, but she forced herself to raise a trembling hand and drag it down her face. Behind her, the sound of his footsteps grew louder, closer, each step sinking into her like a nail.

She knew she should run. Her brain screamed at her to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She felt his breath against the nape of her neck.

“How admirable, Master. Your desperate attempts to ignore me are almost endearing. But if you don’t give me the attention I deserve, I might get a little… sad.”

His long, slender fingers—fingers that could belong to a pianist—brushed softly against her neck before splaying out and gripping it firmly.

“I’d hate to get so sad that I accidentally snap your neck,” he murmured, his voice a chilling whisper.

“You’re welcome to continue whatever you were doing, but just leave me out of it,” Valetta replied, her voice sharp and cold.

Reinhardt blinked, then burst into laughter, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.

“As always, Master, you’re just as cold to me as you are to everyone else.”

She had imagined the worst so many times that even now, faced with a version of it, she couldn’t muster much more than a bitter acceptance.

Swallowing her anxiety, Valetta kept her eyes fixed ahead, refusing to turn around. Reinhardt, however, tapped her shoulder lightly, his touch unnervingly casual.

“Look at me, Master.”

His hand, cold as death, gripped the back of her neck again. The chill seeped into her skin as she reluctantly turned, her steps heavy and slow, her head rising inch by inch.

The dining room door was closed now, but under the flickering light of the chandelier, his blood-red eyes gleamed ominously.

“Good. Obedient, aren’t you?” Reinhardt murmured, his hand shifting to stroke her hair with unsettling gentleness.

How do I explain to this madman that this isn’t obedience—it’s sheer lack of options?

“I thought you were asleep, so I put up a barrier to keep things quiet. I suppose that was wasted effort,” he said with a hint of amusement.

When he gestured toward the dining room with a flick of his finger, Valetta noticed a faint ripple in the air above the door—clear evidence of a spell.

That explained the silence. Her lips twisted in frustration.

“Right. I should’ve just stayed in bed. Let’s pretend I didn’t see anything.”

She looked him straight in the eye, pouring every ounce of her desperation into the gaze. Please, just let me go.

Reinhardt chuckled softly, the sound low and menacing.

The once-scrawny boy was now a head taller than her, his lean frame filled out into that of a man. Gone were the ragged tunics he used to wear; now he stood before her in robes of fine silk and a mage’s cloak, likely enchanted for protection against water, dust, and fire.

“You’ve already stolen a glimpse. You might as well see the rest,” he whispered in her ear, his voice sending every hair on her body on edge.

People often spoke of warm, comforting scents in close proximity, but Reinhardt carried only the metallic tang of blood.

“You reek of blood,” Valetta muttered, unable to hide her disgust.

“Ah.”

Reinhardt let out a low hum of acknowledgment before removing his cloak. The bottom of the garment, a deep gray, was soaked through and heavy with moisture.

Valetta didn’t have to look to know what it was. She forced herself to keep her eyes level, determined not to let them drift downward.

If I look, I’ll lose whatever composure I have left.

Reinhardt casually flipped his robe over Valetta’s shoulders, enveloping her in its warmth. Her body, cold and stiff from fear, greedily absorbed the heat, her muscles relaxing involuntarily.

What is he doing now?

Valetta tilted her head upward, staring at Reinhardt in bewilderment.