Failed To Abandon the Villain - Chapter 11

He smiled gently as he fastened the robe snugly around her, his actions meticulous, almost tender. If not for the streak of crimson splattered across one side of his face, it might have been the kind of gallant gesture to make any woman swoon.

“Can’t have you getting dirty while watching, now can we?”

His thumb slowly brushed against her cheekbone, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

“I’ve dulled your sense of smell, so the scent of blood won’t bother you,” he added, his tone disarmingly soft.

Though his voice was honeyed, his eyes remained lifeless, devoid of warmth, which only heightened her unease.

If you really cared, you’d send me back to my room, Valetta screamed internally.

Why the robe? Was it some grotesque courtesy before killing her? She couldn’t shake the haunting image of the novel’s description—the twisted, laughing corpse of herself atop a mountain of human remains masquerading as a birthday cake.

“Come in, Master,” Reinhardt urged, gently tugging her closer with the arm draped over her shoulders.

But Valetta refused to move. Her legs braced against the ground, unwilling to take another step.

A low chuckle escaped him, and with a snap of his fingers, her body began to move against her will.

“Wait, no… stop!” she cried, her voice trembling as her feet betrayed her.

“You wanted to cast me out, didn’t you, Master?”

His whisper brushed against her ear as his grip on her shoulder tightened. Her back stiffened as a cold chill seeped through her spine.

“…”

“You said I was useless, didn’t you?”

The icy edge in his voice sent a wave of dread crashing over her.

Like hell I did! Valetta screamed internally, though her lips remained sealed shut.

In her desperation to get rid of him, she had undoubtedly said things thoughtlessly, recklessly. Never had she imagined he’d hear—or remember—every word. Her face paled.

“Since you’ve deemed me worthless, I thought I’d prove my utility,” Reinhardt murmured, leaning down to brush her hair behind her ear.

Their eyes met, his glowing crimson ones locking onto hers. His gaze, manic and sharp, sent her heart racing with terror.

“So watch closely.”

Reinhardt’s lips curved into a crescent, his eyes glinting dangerously. He reached for her left arm, his fingers trailing over the emerald-encrusted bracelet.

It was the forced-return bracelet Count Delight had placed on her.

“I’ll show you how useful I can be by cleaning up the trash myself.”

His fingers tapped the bracelet lightly, and a series of sharp, crackling sounds filled the air.

Snap. Crackle.

The golden bracelet fractured, its surface splintering before crumbling into dust that scattered onto the floor.

Valetta stared in stunned silence, her wide eyes fixed on the remains of the bracelet. When she finally looked back at Reinhardt, his attention was no longer on her.

His hand, still draped over her shoulder, pulled her forward as he threw the dining room door wide open.

The sight that greeted Valetta was a grotesque tableau bathed in crimson. While some of the figures in the room were still alive, none of them were intact. Severed limbs and faint, gurgling groans filled the heavy silence.

At the head of the long dining table sat Count Delight, his body impaled and pinned to the chair like a macabre decoration.

Valetta’s face twisted in disgust as she took in his condition.

…Is he still alive?

Her suspicions were confirmed when his remaining eye, still trembling in its socket, rolled toward her. It locked onto her with a flicker of recognition.

Count Delight’s limbs were pinned down by steak knives, and one of his eyes was an empty, bloody cavity. His fingers had been sliced off, and his remaining eye quivered uncontrollably.

The sheer horror of his condition defied description. And yet, he was still breathing. Still alive.

Valetta’s gaze remained impassive, though she found herself thinking it might have been better if he were dead.

“Ugh… Uhhh…!”

His bloodshot eye widened upon seeing her. She stared back, her expression cold and detached.

What’s he trying to say?

She knew that if she had an alchemist’s potion at hand, it could likely heal even injuries as severe as these. But there was no point in such thoughts now.

Pity stirred faintly within her, but it was swiftly buried under the memory of her countless pleas for the count to rid them of Reinhardt—pleas that had gone ignored for his own selfish greed.

He brought this upon himself.

Though the scene before her was gruesome, the lack of the stench of blood made it feel almost surreal, like watching a film. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen horrors depicted on screen back in the world she came from, and in some ways, this was easier to distance herself from.

Besides, her lack of attachment to anyone in the mansion now felt like a blessing. After all these years, she couldn’t even remember the names of the maids or servants who had served her.

“Looks like the pig isn’t done squealing yet,” Reinhardt remarked, his crimson eyes narrowing as he glanced at the trembling count.

The count’s body convulsed violently under the weight of that gaze.

Valetta, unaccustomed to seeing the once-proud and arrogant man reduced to such terror, found the scene strangely foreign.

Reinhardt reached out, his thumb brushing against her earlobe in a mockingly gentle gesture.

“Apologies for sullying your ears, Master,” he said with a sweet smile that felt grotesquely out of place amidst the carnage.

Valetta froze, her body going rigid as the stark realization set in: He’s completely mad.

Reinhardt, as though trying to soothe her, gently stroked her back. She wanted to scream at him, What kind of twisted comfort is this? But her lips wouldn’t move.

“I’d originally planned to wrap this up as a gift for you tomorrow morning,” Reinhardt mused, his tone almost conversational as he led her toward the one corner of the dining room not soaked in blood.

Valetta tried desperately to move, to resist, but whatever spell he’d cast held her completely immobilized, her limbs utterly unresponsive.

“But you came early, Master.”

This is your fault for getting up, his tone seemed to say.

Yet Valetta wasn’t fooled. Reinhardt, who had served her for over a decade, knew her habits well—knew when she’d wake and when she’d eat. It was obvious he had orchestrated this.

“It might not have come to this if you hadn’t tried to throw me away,” he said suddenly, his words laced with a bitterness that made her skin crawl.

Valetta knew it wasn’t true. This had been inevitable the moment Count Delight had acquired Reinhardt.

From the start, the count had intended to use him for his own vile purposes. He was a slave trader notorious for turning “investments” like Reinhardt into commodities that increased in value as they grew older.

“I’ve already taken care of the hand that dared to slap me, the disgusting rod that twitched at the sight of me, and the tongue that licked its lips in hunger,” Reinhardt continued, his voice a chilling monotone.

As he spoke, his fingers idly played with a strand of her hair.

The robe draped over her shoulders seemed to have some sort of enchantment, providing warmth even as her body trembled with tension. It was almost mockingly considerate, keeping her from succumbing to the cold while her mind was gripped by dread.

“What, do you want to see more?”

Valetta stared silently at Reinhardt, his crimson eyes gleaming with manic energy. If he was going to ask questions, couldn’t he at least allow her to speak?

Reinhardt chuckled softly, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. The spell that had sealed her lips shut lifted, and she instinctively opened and closed her mouth a few times before releasing a long sigh.

“My father brought you here intending to use you in that way from the start,” she said bluntly, her voice heavy with frustration.

The words spilled out before she could stop herself, driven by the injustice of Reinhardt blaming her for something she had no control over.

Reinhardt’s response was unexpected. His shoulders shook as he erupted into laughter, his mirth ringing hollow amidst the carnage around them. Among the mutilated bodies, he looked utterly deranged.

“Ah, I see. Perhaps I would’ve been welcomed with open arms if I were to be your lover instead,” he teased, his smile sharp and mocking as his eyes narrowed playfully.

When Valetta shot him a glare of pure disgust, he shrugged with feigned innocence.

Reinhardt’s hand moved slowly, stroking her shoulder with an almost tender touch.

“And whatever revenge or destruction you bring to this family has nothing to do with me,” she added coldly.

At her words, Reinhardt crossed his arms and tilted his head, his gaze darkening as he studied her. It was the look of someone weighing options, deciding whether to kill or spare her.

Valetta tensed, her body instinctively preparing for the worst.

“As long as it doesn’t harm me, I don’t care,” she finished.

Her voice was firm, but inwardly she knew how heartless she sounded. She didn’t care what happened to the Delight family. They’d brought this upon themselves. She had tried, for years, to steer them away from disaster, and they had refused to change.

She had already come to terms with their fate countless times. If not for the cursed bracelet, she would have escaped long ago.

“So heartless, Master,” Reinhardt sighed dramatically, his exaggerated performance bordering on mockery.

It was impossible to tell what he truly felt beneath the act. He’d always been like this, which was why Valetta had never trusted him.

“I’ve always been ready to be your loyal dog,” he said softly, his icy hand cupping her cheek.

“And yet, you’ve always tried to push me away.”

The bitterness in his narrowed gaze felt almost like hatred, though something deeper simmered beneath it.

That’s because you’re destined to kill me, she thought bitterly. But she couldn’t say it. She couldn’t explain that she had seen the future, that this madness was inevitable.

Reinhardt waited, unmoving, as if expecting her to respond. When no words came, he sighed softly, his hand reaching for her lips again.

“Everything about you…”

His hand stopped just short of touching her. He raised his head, meeting her gaze with emotionless eyes.

“…is a lie,” he finished.

This expressionless face, devoid of any pretense, was the closest thing to his true self, Valetta thought.