When the Villains Unite - Chapter 15: Trace (3)
At that moment, a familiar breeze swept through the room.
I froze, tightening my arms around my legs and burying my face deeper into the ruined hem of my dress.
I wasn’t ready to face them—not now.
Had Belhark sensed the ripple in his magic when I interfered with the Count?
I knew he was a powerful mage, but I hadn’t realized his magic could stretch this far, sensing disturbances even from a distance.
But if Belhark was here… how had Damian also come to this place? Were they together when it happened?
“…”
They didn’t move.
They were probably stunned, not expecting me to have come here.
Or… had they wanted me to see this? If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have left this place so carelessly unguarded.
As I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the chaotic whirlwind of emotions within me began to settle, even if just slightly. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe I was alone in this space, devoid of anyone’s presence but my own.
But I knew better. Slowly, I lifted my head and turned my gaze toward where I could feel their eyes on me.
I wasn’t sure if I could call myself “sane” right now. My face was streaked with tears, my body covered in dust, and my movements sluggish from the pain of slamming into the wall earlier.
They didn’t seem to know what to do, frozen as they stared at me. The secret they had hidden, now suddenly exposed, coupled with the sight of my disheveled state, left them motionless.
Their eyes reflected emotions that were unmistakable: shock, despair, and the helplessness of people backed into a corner with no idea how to proceed.
And yet, looking back at them, I realized my own gaze wasn’t so different.
This scene felt eerily reminiscent of the aftermath of my last encounter with the Count three years ago. Back then, their slightest reaction had driven me to flee. Maybe that memory still lingered in their minds, making them hesitate now.
I couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh at their expressions.
‘What are you so afraid of now?’
Afraid I might be disappointed in you? That I’d discover the cruelty you’ve tried to hide from me?
Fine. If that’s the problem, then I’ll become like you.
Without a word, I rose to my feet and began walking toward them. My unsteady steps must have looked precarious, as Damian reached out a hand to support me.
But I ignored his hand and instead reached toward his waist.
“Wait, it’s dang—”
Shing.
The blade slid smoothly out of its pristine white scabbard. The sword was heavier than I’d expected, a solid hunk of steel, forcing me to hold it with both hands. But my left hand, still weak from the earlier impact, couldn’t grip properly.
Dragging the sword behind me, I walked past the brothers, their anxious gazes following my every move. I made my way toward the Count, who lay frozen in the chaos, still bound in place.
“Release him,” I said.
Turning slightly, I looked directly at Belhark.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes, a sign that he hadn’t slept at all. Despite his exhaustion, his sharp, deep blue eyes stayed fixed on me. At my words, his body tensed, subtly leaning forward as if to stop me.
“Let’s leave. This isn’t a place for you.”
“…”
“Do you know what, Belhark? This is exactly where I belong. I’ve just been hiding behind sturdy walls, refusing to acknowledge it. All I’m doing now is trying to remove the one who’s trespassed into my place.”
I let out a cold, bitter laugh at his words. If he wasn’t going to release the magic, I had already decided what I would do.
“Damn it, Sis!”
Ignoring Damian’s shout, I raised the sword and drove it down toward the Count’s chest.
I braced myself, expecting the magical backlash to send me flying into the wall again. But this time, nothing happened.
Instead, beneath me, I heard a strained groan, followed by the sound of blood bubbling and gurgling. The Count couldn’t speak with his severed tongue, but I could almost feel what he would have said.
And for once, I was willing to grant his unspoken request.
Thud—
“Gahhh!”
The magic released, and the blade sank into its target. However, my strength wasn’t enough to drive it in deeply.
The Count writhed, his mangled body twisting in agony as he groaned. Reacting quickly, I yanked the sword out, but as I did, a spray of crimson blood erupted, blinding my vision.
Before I could regain my composure and finish the job with another strike, a hand grabbed mine.
No—it wasn’t my hand they caught, but the blade itself.
Blood ran down their palm, pooling and dripping onto the floor. Startled, I released the sword instinctively, letting it clatter to the ground.
“Leave. Now.”
“…No.”
Belhark’s voice was sharp and commanding, brimming with anger. I faltered under the weight of his fury, but I still met his gaze head-on, refusing to obey.
His piercing eyes shifted to my hands. Only then did I notice that my own hands, much like the sword, were soaked in blood. They trembled uncontrollably, a visible testament to my shattered state.
Desperately trying to hide the shaking, I clasped my hands tightly together and turned my eyes away from his.
Despite being overwhelmed by his cold, domineering presence, I couldn’t let go of my resolve. I made a move to retrieve the sword again, but before I could, a low voice came from behind me.
“What are you hoping to gain by destroying yourself in front of us, Sis?”
“……”
Destroying myself, he said. Did Damian understand that what I was doing was an act of self-destruction?
If doing the same thing they had done meant self-destruction, I was willing to embrace it. Because if they weren’t monsters, then neither was I. I just wanted to show them that.
“…Just stop crying already. Damn it.”
“Damian.”
But of course, they couldn’t possibly know what I was really feeling.
Belhark called his name in a tone meant to rein him in after Damian’s frustrated outburst. Yet, Damian ignored him, stepping closer to me with fierce eyes that pinned me in place.
Damian’s gaze fell on me, trembling as I stared back at him. Without a word, he reached out and snatched his sword from Belhark’s hand.
The blade, which had seemed clumsy and unwieldy in my hands, immediately transformed in his grip. Its surface caught the light, gleaming with a silver brilliance, as golden aura began radiating from deep within the steel.
Before I could stop him, Damian turned and swung the sword toward the Count.
Time seemed to slow, as though the world had paused to hold its breath. But the illusion shattered the moment the blade pierced flesh. A harsh, cruel sound reverberated in my ears, letting me know it had all happened too fast for me to intervene.
Before I could react, Damian plunged the sword precisely into the Count’s heart with a decisive motion.
In that instant, Belhark’s uninjured hand moved to cover my eyes.
A deafening crash echoed through the room, as though the blade had struck not just the Count but the very foundation of the floor. The oppressive magic that had shielded the Count finally dissipated, and with it, the agonized groans that had filled the room came to an end.
Belhark’s hand, though firm, felt unnecessary. What was the point of covering my eyes now? I had already seen too much.
Still, he must have thought shielding me from the Count’s final moments would spare me from further anguish.
Hot tears and unrelenting, streamed down my face, soaking the hand that blocked my vision. It felt as if my tear ducts had malfunctioned, releasing everything I’d been holding back.
It was over.
The Count was dead.
I’d thought his death would bring relief—a sense of closure. But instead, my heart felt unbearably heavy. Would it have been better if I’d realized all of this sooner?
If I had uncovered the truth before I’d grown so close to them, perhaps my chest wouldn’t ache with this suffocating sadness.
I stepped back, withdrawing from them. Belhark’s hand, now with nowhere to rest, fell limply to his side.
“…I can’t go on this trip,” I said quietly.
“……”
“I’m sorry. You made time for this, and now…”
I tried to force a smile, but with the mix of tears and blood staining my face, I doubted it looked convincing.
Using the sleeve of my soiled dress, I roughly scrubbed at my face before turning away. I left the room, heavy with its grim atmosphere, and stepped out into the corridor.
We needed time. Time to think, to process. For all of us.
* * *
After the Count’s death, I began avoiding the Orca brothers. It was for the same reason I had abruptly canceled our travel plans with no explanation.
At that moment, I simply couldn’t bring myself to face them. I was afraid that if I did, an uncontrollable anger would bubble up inside me, making it impossible to hold a rational conversation.
That anger, of course, was directed at myself. On that day, I had ultimately left the Count’s death in Damian’s hands and allowed Belhark to cover my eyes. Why had I faltered then? Why had I let my hands tremble and fail me?
And then there’s the fact that Belhark and Damian showed no awareness that torturing the Count was a pRosection of their own wounds. That’s another reason why I can’t talk to them.
Naturally, the Orca brothers didn’t understand the reasons behind my actions. And as much as they cared about me, they were clearly offended by my behavior. If they weren’t, they would have sought me out despite my avoidance, trying to smooth things over.
Instead, they had shown me an almost dismissive indifference—so close to neglect it felt deliberate.
It had been nearly two weeks of this silence.
In that time, the bruises on my back had faded, and the cuts on my hands had nearly healed.
Belhark, however, still bore the mark of his injury. The gash on his palm from gripping the sword hadn’t fully closed, and he was still wearing a bandage on his right hand.
A few days ago, I had run into him by chance in the library. He looked even darker and more coldly sharp than the last time I had seen him.
When he saw me, I froze, unable to move. He seemed like he wanted to say something, hesitating for a moment before silently turning away. It looked like he, too, was trying to make sense of my actions that day.
Damian, on the other hand, had been coming home late every night, long after midnight, despite his duties to the crown prince. According to Sebastian, he had taken up drinking—a lot of it—something he normally never did. He would come back to the estate reeking of alcohol, staggering through the halls in a way that felt so unlike him.
Even though we were in the middle of this cold war, I couldn’t help but worry about him.
I had been staying up late these days, reading until I heard the faint sound of a door creaking open in the distance. Only then could I feel some measure of relief and finally fall asleep.
Tonight, like every other night, I stayed awake reading in the stillness of the house. It was 2 a.m., and the servants had all gone to bed. I felt a sharp thirst, so I decided to step out of my room and head downstairs.
Half-asleep, I let my hand trail along the wall to guide me down the staircase.
Once in the dining room, I drank a glass of water. The coolness cleared my head for a moment, though I knew it wouldn’t last long. I’d likely feel sleepy again soon enough.
As I turned to climb back up the stairs, I paused.
The sound of the front door bursting open echoed through the house.
Startled, I turned my head toward the entrance—and froze.
Standing there was a face I hadn’t seen in so long.
Strictly speaking, it had only been two weeks, but having never spent this much time apart from the Orca brothers, it felt like an eternity.
“…Damian.”
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