The Villain’s Reckoning and the Unseen Hand

Allen’s fleeting aspirations for the future vanished in an instant.

The sense of relief that followed his brush with death, much like a soap bubble shimmering in the sun, burst with a sharp pop under the crushing weight of survival.

Allen was a villain destined to die; he had no reprieve.

He abruptly raised his head, gazing at the sky.

Unbeknownst to him, vast expanses of leaden-grey clouds had already swallowed the sunlight, pressing down heavily upon the city and obscuring the midday glow as if it were twilight.

The air, thick with moisture, felt stifling and suffocating.

A storm was brewing.

Had the Heretical Inquisition truly granted him freedom?

No, this was merely a cat-and-mouse game, every action a prelude to deeper probing.

His abandonment by the Heretical Inquisition in the Municipal Plaza of the Lower District spoke volumes.

The Upper and Lower Districts were customary designations that arose from the urban planning of the Royal Capital, Lucien.

The Upper District’s heart was the royal palace, where the royal nobility and their retainers resided.

Conversely, the Lower District centered around Saint Elliot Cathedral, serving as a gathering point for non-privileged classes such as migrant farmers, common citizens, and merchants.

These two districts were sharply delineated, an invisible chasm dividing the capital into two distinct worlds.

The Church wielded absolute control over the Lower District; even the Municipal Hall, located within it, was predominantly staffed by officials with ecclesiastical backgrounds.

Allen’s placement in the deeply entrenched Church territory of the Municipal Plaza carried a remarkably clear warning:

‘See, you brat, even cloaked in noble skin, you won’t escape the Heretical Inquisition’s grasp!’

Allen surveyed his surroundings, finding every passing pedestrian, every hawking vendor, and even the grey pigeon pecking at crumbs between the cobblestones suspiciously out of place.

“Marianne,” Allen suddenly spoke, a trace of deliberately feigned nonchalance in his voice, “let’s play a game.”

“Eh?”

Marianne startled from her thoughts, looking at him with a bewildered expression.

Allen casually gestured around him with a raised finger: “Guess how many of these ‘friendly citizens’ are spies for the Heretical Inquisition?”

Marianne paused, then genuinely began to observe.

Years of navigating the lower strata of society allowed her to quickly pinpoint the anomalies.

Though the lives of ordinary citizens in the Royal Capital were better than those in the countryside, their faces typically bore the weariness and melancholy of struggling for a livelihood, and they wore faded, old clothes.

Yet, amidst the crowd, several figures stood out: their attire was excessively neat, their fabric pristine, their movements overly deliberate, and their gazes unconsciously drifted towards them, betraying a sense of ‘performance’ utterly out of place with their surroundings.

“Young Master,” Marianne whispered, her finger subtly indicating a man pretending to select fruit at a stall, “that man’s clothes are so new they look like a costume bought for a play. And over there, the person leaning against the pillar, their eyes keep darting our way.”

Allen nodded approvingly: “Excellent observation skills, Marianne. However, there’s actually a simpler, more direct method to distinguish them.”

He paused, his gaze locking onto a ‘passerby’ in the distance feigning waiting for someone, a brilliant, almost provocative smile suddenly blossoming on his face.

He even raised his hand, waving vigorously in that direction, his lips silently mouthing: “Hard work! Brother!”

The ‘passerby’ visibly stiffened, their expression instantly becoming incredibly awkward—unable to leave, yet unable to stay, wishing they could simply vanish on the spot.

Allen withdrew his hand, satisfied, and scoffed: “See how simple it is?”

“How did you discover that?” Marianne asked, perplexed.

“The answer is quite simple: they are too clean!” Allen’s smile turned cold. “For the past few years, the kingdom has been ravaged by plague, and some ‘brilliant’ medical expert spouted nonsense about hot baths opening pores and allowing ‘toxic gases’ to invade the body, even claiming that a layer of grime could prevent illness! It’s utterly preposterous!”

In the original *Starlight Serenade*, there was indeed an outbreak of plague in the Royal Capital, so Allen was well aware of the kingdom’s current predicament.

“That theory sounds highly unreliable.”

“Indeed, having become my maid, you’ve at least received some education. But most common folk genuinely believe these outrageous claims. The result is that public bathhouses in the Lower District are closing one after another, with only a few remaining now. What a pity…”

Allen’s regretful expression sent a sudden chill through Marianne’s heart.

Public bathhouses? Such places… she certainly knew of them.

Many desperate girls would work there as bath attendants, and their reputations were hardly pristine.

The Church had, on numerous occasions, condemned their mixed-gender bathing as ‘morally corrupting.’

Young Master… why would he suddenly mention this? And in such a wistful tone? Could he… have such needs?

A wave of inexplicable sourness and intense possessiveness instantly surged within her.

She was his personal maid! In aristocratic circles, everyone understood the unspoken implications of a personal maid!

With her by his side, how could he… how could he even contemplate such disreputable places?!

“Young Master… are you very keen to visit a public bathhouse?” Marianne’s voice inadvertently turned cold.

“Indeed, I am…” Allen, still lamenting the regression of hygiene habits, instinctively replied, “I’m quite curious about the bathing culture of this era… Ow! Ow ow ow ow! Marianne, why did you pinch me?!”

He yanked his hand back, revealing several distinct fingernail marks on his wrist, making him grimace in pain.

“Foolish Young Master!”

Marianne turned her head, her cheeks flushed, but her gaze was like a knife, silently conveying the dangerous message: ‘I’ll kill you if you dare go.’

Allen rubbed his wrist, a bewildered and wronged expression on his face.

‘What’s gotten into this girl? Such an extreme reaction all of a sudden? Is your possessiveness really that strong?’

‘Wait… strong possessiveness?’

‘If I could redirect her possessiveness towards Livia, wouldn’t that be an excellent aid in conquering Livia?!’

Allen’s eyes lit up, instantly casting the pain aside, feeling as though he had discovered a new continent.

‘With Livia fiercely entangled by a yandere, she wouldn’t have time to bother me!’

‘Truly, it’s me; my plan is too perfect, even accounting for this detail!’

Allen, with deep foresight, acted as if everything was under his control.

Yet, he remained utterly oblivious that the one truly ensnared by a real yandere would not be Livia, but himself.

“Ahem, anyway, citizens are afraid of the plague these days, so they don’t bathe much,” he quickly changed the subject, fearing another pinch. “Church members are different. They have ‘divine guidance’ and understand the importance of hygiene, so they bathe frequently. That is the true path to preventing illness.”

“…Do you need me to help you bathe in the future?” Marianne interjected abruptly, her eyes dark.

Allen: “???”

‘How did this topic circle back again?!’

He quickly waved his hands: “Stop, stop! We’re talking serious business!”

Following Allen’s method, Marianne accurately pointed out several more spies.

Allen was highly pleased.

“See? That’s the importance of details. Marianne, you must learn this for the future; you might even need to learn how to disguise yourself someday.”

His original intention was to remind Marianne that in the future, when approaching a protagonist like Livia, who naturally drew attention, she would need to learn to move discreetly to avoid trouble from minor villains like himself.

However, to Marianne’s ears, his words took on an entirely different meaning.

Disguise? Did he need her to assume other identities?

In aristocratic circles, the line between servant and spy was often blurred.

Many spies enjoyed posing as servants to approach nobles, and servants occasionally moonlighted as spies for extra income.

Was the Young Master implying that he needed her to perform covert tasks for him?

He needed her abilities, her loyalty!

To be needed by the Young Master… to be entrusted with such an important mission…

A wave of immense happiness instantly overwhelmed Marianne, her cheeks flushing.

Allen watched Marianne’s sudden blush, his heart blooming with joy.

‘Indeed, you understand too, don’t you! Disguise is crucial for conquering Livia!’

These master and servant were clearly on entirely different wavelengths, yet they seemed to share an unspoken understanding, both displaying knowing smiles.

It must be said, this world possessed a remarkably excellent matching mechanism.

Allen and Marianne were, at their core, kindred spirits.

When Allen first realized the Heretical Inquisition was monitoring him, a lingering heaviness had weighed on his heart.

But the more perilous, the more despairing his situation became, the more fiercely the flame in Allen’s heart burned.

Having endured the previous cycle of death, Allen finally realized that no matter how much he tried to evade it, this world would not let him off the hook in the slightest.

Since he was destined to be a villain who would inevitably die, he decided to fully embrace the role of the antagonist.

The madness he had once buried deep within his heart, upon learning the truth of the world’s impending destruction, once again broke through the surface.

Allen knew that if he allowed his madness to spread, he would destroy himself before the world did.

But what of it?

‘Slay ghosts when encountering ghosts, kill Buddhas when encountering Buddhas. The path of the villain lies in this.’

‘If God won’t let him live, then he would even kill God to show them!’

“Marianne, in truth, we have never been free,” Allen’s villainous smile grew even more radiant. “We have merely been tossed from a narrow cage into a wider, more desperate prison. In this prison, not even death can offer release.”

His gaze swept over the visible and hidden ‘eyes’ in the plaza, his expression sharp as a blade.

“There are always some fools who believe they are the jailers, seeking to control us prisoners,” Allen’s voice suddenly rose, carrying a long-suppressed, almost frenzied anger and defiance. “But I will make them understand—it is not I, Allen de Laval, who is forced to be confined with them! It is they! Who are forced to be confined with me! In the same hell!”

He abruptly spread his arms, as if to embrace the suffocating sky, or perhaps to declare war on an unseen enemy, his voice filled with desperate madness:

“This world shall fear me!”

This incredibly chuunibyou declaration struck Marianne’s heart like a bolt of lightning!

She gazed at Allen’s figure, appearing particularly slender yet incredibly resolute beneath the leaden-grey sky, watching the insane flames in his eyes that seemed capable of incinerating the entire world. An unprecedented surge of powerful emotion and resonance swept through her.

“If you intend to stand against the world…” Marianne’s voice was exceptionally firm, her crimson eyes gleaming with an equally zealous light, “I am willing to face it with you, to become your companion.”

Upon hearing this, Allen’s heart warmed, and he nearly wept tears of profound emotion.

‘What a comrade! What a loyal ally!’

He clapped Marianne’s shoulder, deeply moved: “Well said! But you don’t need to stand against the world. Once you and Livia find happiness together, a powerful alliance, then this world will have to make way for us!”

Marianne: “…”

She looked at Allen’s satisfied expression, as if he were ‘content to be the green foil for their happiness,’ and a creeping vine of doubt began to grow in her heart.

‘Why is Young Master so insistent on pairing her with Livia? He’s never even met Livia, yet he knows everything about her?’

‘He even knows that Livia will be a threat to him!’

‘But Young Master and Livia are fundamentally kind people; why would they become enemies?’

‘Behind this… there must be a deeper meaning!’

Recalling Allen’s drastic change in temperament after waking, his prescient knowledge of the Cult’s attack, and his current declaration of ‘making the world fear him’…

A bold, almost preposterous thought, like the morning light at dawn, instantly illuminated Marianne’s chaotic mind!

‘Divine Revelation!’

‘Young Master truly received divine revelation!’

‘The once debauched Young Master, steeped in tyranny and indulgence, is dead. Standing before her now is an emissary descended from the divine realm, bearing a sacred mission.’

‘The fire burning in his heart is not senseless madness, but an immense wrath against fallen humanity!’

‘He intends to use fear as a whip, to awaken this decadent world!’

‘And she, Marianne Durand, a sinner who had forsaken God, was nevertheless forgiven by God, allowed to serve by the emissary’s side, basking in his glory…’

‘What immense grace! What profound honor!’

‘The Young Master’s wish for her and Livia to be together is actually a hint—’

‘He knows Livia is a righteous person worthy of salvation, but Livia has been deceived by this decadent world and will ultimately stand in opposition to the Young Master.’

‘For this, he needs Marianne to assist Livia, to help her expose the world’s lies!’

‘Only then can Livia truly become the Young Master’s companion!’

‘Livia… you too can achieve such happiness…’

‘I’m so envious… and so happy.’

“Young Master,” Marianne’s voice carried the fervor and devotion of a pilgrim, as she gazed deeply into Allen’s eyes, her crimson gaze glinting with a morbidly twisted light, “I will fulfill your grand vision; I will help you save Livia.”

Marianne’s sudden intensity left Allen somewhat bewildered.

‘Why does her state seem to be getting stranger and stranger?’

‘Never mind, as long as she’s happy…’

Allen shook his head, pushing his unease aside.

As long as Marianne was willing to put effort into conquering Livia, that was a good thing!

“Good, very spirited!” Allen’s spirits lifted, and he once again flashed his signature confident villainous smile. “Let’s work together! Grow stronger! We must make Livia fall at your feet!”

This time, the stone he had picked up did not seem to land on his own foot. Yet, he could never have dreamed that this very stone was whistling through the air, hurtling towards the unsuspecting, proud heroine far away.

****

Meanwhile, in the Upper District of the Royal Capital, at the border count’s private training ground.

Livia von Stern had just concluded a session of fierce sword practice.

Sweat had dampened a few strands of her platinum-blonde hair on her forehead, clinging to her smooth temples, making her skin appear even fairer than snow.

She breathed shallowly, her full chest rising and falling with each breath, her slender yet powerful arm gripping a training longsword, its tip angled towards the ground.

Suddenly, without warning, she shivered, an inexplicable chill climbing her spine, causing her to involuntarily sneeze.

‘…Marianne?’

She unconsciously murmured the name, a flicker of confusion and an indescribable tremor passing through her clear blue eyes.

It was as if an invisible thread, spanning across space, had tightly linked her emotions to some distant presence.

She furrowed her delicate brows, looking up at the sky.

Above the training ground, the same heavy, leaden-grey clouds loomed, making it difficult to breathe.

The clouds roiled, like a deep sea brewing a storm.

“Allen de Laval…”

Livia softly uttered the name, her gaze gradually sharpening and turning cold.

She slowly raised the longsword in her hand, its blade reflecting a stark, cold glint in the dim light.

The next moment, the sword light fell like a bolt of silk!

“Crack!”

With a crisp sound, the sturdy wooden dummy used for training split in two, its cut remarkably smooth.

Livia stood still, her sword sheathed, her breathing steady, only in the depths of her cerulean eyes did a cold resolve churn.

“…We will meet soon.”

A cold glint flashed in her eyes and then vanished.

The countdown timer for Allen de Laval’s death, at this very moment, seemed to have quietly advanced by one notch.