Failed To Abandon the Villain - Chapter 3

In the novel, the real Valetta hadn’t treated Reinhardt like a slave but more like a lover. She had been gentle and caring toward him, while Reinhardt had returned the favor with a syrupy smile—before killing her.

‘Creepy. So creepy.’

Shuddering at the thought, Valetta rubbed her arms briskly, trying to shake off the eerie feeling. She retreated to her own room, burrowing herself under the soft, warm blankets. Closing her eyes, she welcomed the darkness settling over her—until a sudden realization jolted her awake.

“…Wait. I could’ve just made him a potion.”

There was no need to call the doctor in the first place. Her alchemical abilities, while unfamiliar in this life, were still hers. She often forgot she had them.

‘The Count might not be pleased, though.’

After some thought, she let out a yawn and reluctantly got out of bed. She approached a bookshelf, though it was filled not with books but with transparent jars containing various herbs.

Each jar bore intricate formulas, a type of alchemical preservation spell designed for long-term storage.

Valetta selected a few jars, took out the herbs, and stuffed them into an empty vial. Then, grabbing a piece of paper, she began jotting down an alchemical formula.

‘Why am I even doing this?’

Despite her grumbling, her hands worked steadily, effortlessly inscribing the complex symbols and patterns. A flawless circle took shape on the paper, filled with an intricate magic array that resembled a summoning circle.

She sighed as she finished, staring at her own work.

“Extract.”

Her lips barely moved as she gave the command, and her violet eyes glowed brilliantly.

A pristine, white magic circle appeared, overlaying her irises as if engraved directly onto them. The symbols within the circle shimmered faintly, activating the alchemical process.

The intangible energy that had gathered at Valetta’s fingertips seeped into the alchemical formula written on the paper. It absorbed her power, glowing faintly with a violet hue.

Alchemy was a talent bestowed at birth. Alchemists could hear the “voices” of plants and use their abilities to harvest herbs at their peak, creating the finest potions.

While the exact potency of an alchemist’s abilities varied, it was said that those who achieved the pinnacle of alchemy could regenerate severed limbs or even bring back someone on the verge of death.

Of course, such feats were exceedingly rare. Most alchemists could heal wounds that would normally take months to mend in just a single day.

One distinct trait of an alchemist was the ancient magic circle embedded in their eyes. No one knew who had created the formula or how, but humans born with these engraved eyes were incredibly rare.

The potions they created were unparalleled, far superior to the imitation “potions” that mages later attempted to replicate. Despite their efforts, those mage-crafted potions could never match the genuine articles made by true alchemists.

Over the years, the number of alchemists born into the world had dwindled significantly. Fewer than 20 officially registered alchemists remained across the entire empire, most of them under the direct employ of the royal family.

Naturally, their potions were considered royal property, rare treasures used sparingly.

And yet, one such alchemist—a rare prodigy with the potential to become a high-ranking practitioner—had been born into the Delight family. That alchemist was Valetta.

‘…This wasn’t mentioned in the novel, though.’

Valetta often questioned whether this world truly was the one from the book she had read.

In the story, Valetta was a lonely girl, neglected by Count Delight. She relied on Reinhardt, aiding him in his revenge and moving to his whims.

But the current Valetta was different. Not only had she been born with alchemical powers, but she also possessed another ability she couldn’t share with anyone.

This divergence had altered her circumstances. Instead of neglect, she faced suffocating overprotection from Count Delight. She couldn’t take a single step outside the mansion without his permission.

Valetta, however, was fully aware that the Count’s protectiveness wasn’t born of love. To him, she was an exceptionally valuable asset—a bargaining chip that could secure ties with the imperial family under the guise of her alchemist’s blood.

After confirming her talents with the imperial alchemists, the Count had grown closer to the emperor, forging stronger ties. Valetta knew that her abilities had shifted the balance of power within the household.

Yet the core events hadn’t changed. Reinhardt’s presence in this house was proof enough.

Count Delight had brought Reinhardt here as a slave, assuming that his striking beauty would serve some purpose in the future. Even in the novel, Reinhardt’s status as a slave hadn’t changed, though the Count hadn’t directly given him to Valetta in that version.

The violet glow that had filled the room began to fade, leaving a faint pink liquid shimmering in the vial where she had stuffed the herbs. The alchemical formula she had written on the paper had vanished entirely, leaving the sheet blank.

Valetta crumpled the paper and tossed it into a nearby bin. Grabbing the vial, she left the room.

The sky outside was dark, the mansion eerily silent—an indication of the late hour.

“I hope he’s still asleep…”

She opened the door to Reinhardt’s room cautiously, standing on tiptoe to reach the handle. Peeking through the gap, she sighed in relief.

‘Still out cold.’

Steeling herself, Valetta stepped inside. Without those piercing red eyes staring at her, he didn’t seem nearly as intimidating.

‘He’s still just a kid.’

Reinhardt didn’t stir, even as she began unwrapping his poorly applied bandages. He must have been in a deep sleep.

Carefully, Valetta poured the pink liquid over his wounds. In an instant, the injured flesh began to mend itself, knitting back together as if it had never been harmed.

She watched in silence as the miracle unfolded, the potion’s effects almost surreal.

Feeding him the potion would have been far more effective for treating internal injuries, but pouring it into his mouth while he was unconscious wasn’t an option.

‘This will have to do.’

Satisfied with her efforts, Valetta tiptoed out of the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Reinhardt’s eyelids fluttered open.

In the dim light, his murky red eyes gleamed as they slowly moved, tracking the space around him.

“…An alchemist, huh. So the rumors were true,” he muttered coldly, a stark contrast to the submissive demeanor he had shown earlier in the day.

A mage before awakening was forced to grovel at the feet of ordinary humans. The mana in their eyes often unsettled regular people, fostering instinctive hostility.

Perhaps because of this, mages harbored an above-average animosity toward non-magical humans.

Occasionally, a mage might be born into a good family or have kind parents who shielded them from such treatment—but Reinhardt wasn’t so fortunate.

Born into the worst circumstances, he had been sold for pocket change by his abusive parents on a whim. He had been thrust onto the battlefield as a war slave, wielding an unfamiliar sword to survive.

But he had always known one thing: he was destined to be a mage.

Those fated to become the master of the Mage’s Tower were born with an innate understanding of magic. Unlike other pre-awakened mages who couldn’t use magic at all, Reinhardt had been able to cast lower-tier spells, even before awakening.

He suspected it was because his immense mana reserves couldn’t be fully suppressed.

And yet, here he was. Wounded, stabbed by an ignorant man’s sword, dragged here by foolish humans, and bound by a grotesque magical seal etched onto his heart.

“…Useful,” Reinhardt murmured to himself, his voice low.

He had long since learned how to weaponize his appearance. He knew how to reciprocate kindness with feigned gentleness, skillfully exploiting it to his advantage.

It was a survival skill honed through years of enduring a cruel, filthy world.

A faint smile curved his lips, the kind that could captivate anyone who saw it.

For now, he decided, it was better to endure. Staying here until he came of age was a smarter choice than wandering aimlessly outside. Groveling, calling an inexperienced young girl “Master”—it was an easy trade-off for stability.

Reinhardt glanced at his shoulder, where the stab wound had completely disappeared without a trace. Slowly, he closed his eyes.

‘As expected, an alchemist’s potion is extraordinary.’

He didn’t resist the drowsiness overtaking him. He knew sleep was the best way to heal a battered body and mind.

Late into the night, the boy and girl each rested deeply in their respective rooms.

* * *

“Valetta Delight!”

The thunderous voice crashed down like lightning, startling Valetta so violently that she shuddered. For a moment, it felt as though her heart had plummeted to the floor.

Realizing who the voice belonged to, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking to clear her blurry vision.

Looking up, she saw Count Delight standing over her, his piercing gaze boring into her. He had barged into her room without so much as a knock.

‘Even if he’s my father, this is too much.’

She suppressed her irritation. Barging into someone’s room was rude, no matter who it was. Rubbing her sleepy eyes, Valetta groggily sat up on the bed.

As she rose unsteadily, Count Delight didn’t bother hiding the dissatisfaction in his glare.

“Yes, Father,” she said, her voice still tinged with sleep.

“Did you use alchemy on that slave?”

“Yes. I thought he might die if I didn’t.”

With a loud stomp, Count Delight crossed the room, grabbing Valetta by the collar with one hand. He lifted her effortlessly, her small nine-year-old body dangling in the air like a ragdoll.