Chapter 51
But oh, how happy those moments with him had been—how warm his embrace was.
Never did that warmth feel so searingly precious as it did now, shivering in a cold rain-soaked puddle.
“Even before I regressed, it was the same! Did you forget? He killed me—to steal Nibelung!”
Cecil slammed her fist into the water.
The memories in the mansion had been so sweet that she kept denying it.
But it was the truth.
He had lured her in, betrayed her, and murdered her—just to take Nibelung.
And this time was no different.
I thought I was the one seducing him, but it was a delusion. He was the one who lured me in.
Cecil buried her face in her hands.
So that’s it… I’ve been betrayed again. Honestly, is there anyone in the world as stupid as me? To be deceived twice…
An uncontrollable despair welled up inside her. The emotions were far too large for her nine-year-old body to contain.
The overflowing turmoil in her heart agitated Nibelung within her.
Provoked by her negativity, Nibelung’s sinister mana began to boil over.
Cecil lost control. Agonizing pain ripped through her small frame as malice and fury consumed her.
“No… no, I don’t want this…!”
Staggering to her feet, her vision blurred by pain, Cecil fought desperately to rein in the dark mana.
And then—she saw someone ahead.
A young boy, perhaps eleven or twelve, walking along the path.
Anyone will do. I just want to kill…
Maybe then the pain, the maddening whispers, the searing rage in her chest would subside—if only she could kill him.
Cecil stumbled after the boy.
Just a little closer… closer…
Black, wicked energy formed and vanished in her hands again and again.
At last, the boy came into range. Mana gathered into a definite, dangerous shape in her palm.
But at the final instant, before unleashing it into his back, Cecil clung to the last of her reason.
No!
She forced the cursed mana back into herself.
Absorbing it required delicate control—but she had none left. In her rush to spare the boy, she abandoned caution.
The seething mana surged backward through her channels, burning as it went. Power raged chaotically inside her.
Without even managing a scream, Cecil collapsed.
And the last thing she saw, as her vision darkened, was the boy turning around to look at her.
Cecil, unconscious, dreamed.
A long dream.
A dream of those final days before her death.
“Cecilia Winona Lynn Obedian—surrender. You are surrounded.”
Duke Bartholomew’s commanding voice echoed off the cold stone walls of her hideout.
Cecil stood amid countless wounds, every nerve screaming in agony, yet still she endured.
Her violet eyes, once full of life, had been stained black by Nibelung’s corruption, brimming with venom and hatred.
She had turned the entire world into her enemy. Hunted and pursued, she had fled to the very ends of the earth.
Broken and exhausted, she had holed up in this den—only for Bartholomew’s troops to encircle it.
It was clear she had lost, yet Cecil refused to yield.
“Will you kill me? Just to steal Nibelung?”
She laughed, a cracked, mad laugh, clutching the pulsating golden ring tight in her hand.
“Nibelung is me. I am Nibelung. You’ll never separate us. Not until you kill me…”
From the shadows, Duke Bartholomew entered.
Under the moonlight, his black cloak and dark hair flowed behind him. At forty-seven, he looked impossibly young and handsome, his very presence radiating overwhelming authority.
Scars marked his noble face, the proof of a hard-lived life.
“No,” he said firmly.
His golden eyes locked onto hers.
“You are not Nibelung, Princess Cecilia. You’ve been blinded by its corruption. It’s time to let go.”
“Why should I? Did you forget, Bartholomew? I’m a witch—a cruel, wicked villain. And you want me to throw away my power just to feed your greed?”
“This isn’t about my greed. That artifact will destroy you.”
“Lies! Why don’t you just kill me already?”
Her shrill cry tore through the cavern.
“What do you know about me? You, who always lorded above others? You don’t know what it is to be hunted, to live every day in fear!”
Her trembling hands clutched Nibelung to her chest. Bartholomew’s brow furrowed.
With a haunted expression, she whispered,
“I’d rather be the hunter than the prey. Even if it destroys me. That’s why Nibelung… is my salvation.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you.”
Then, shockingly, the Duke did something she had never expected.
If he had attacked, drawn his weapon, she would not have been surprised.
Instead, he sat down. Right there on the dusty ground, ignoring the dirt that clung to his cloak.
“What… what trick is this?”
“Then tell me. Tell me about your life.”
“What?”
“Princess Cecilia, I did not come here to kill you or to take Nibelung. I came to hear your story.”
Moonlight streaming through the hideout’s doorway bathed him in silver.
And though his words sounded absurd, his face was deadly serious. Cecil was struck speechless.
“Even if it’s a long tale, that’s fine. After all, time is all we have now.”
Naturally, Cecil refused at first.
“Are you mocking me? I’d rather die than waste time with such nonsense! Kill me already!”
But he did not kill her. Nor did he leave.
“Then I’ll wait. Until you wish to speak.”
Suspicion gnawed at her.
He must be trying to make me drop my guard—so he can kill me painfully and steal Nibelung.
But he neither left nor attacked. And that gave her another idea.
Fine. I’ll play along. Stall for time. When he relaxes, I’ll recover my strength and mana—and escape.
So she pretended to consider.
“If I tell you my story, you truly won’t kill me?”
He nodded solemnly. “I won’t.”
“Well then, I suppose I have no choice. But you must promise me something. Every hour, I get thirty minutes’ rest. No ambushes, no tricks. A fair bargain, isn’t it?”
She spoke in the honeyed tone that had deceived so many before.
“If you agree to those terms, I’ll tell you my story. What do you say, Bartholomew?”
The terms were wholly in her favor. He could have simply refused and ended her life.
But to her surprise, he smiled faintly, nodded, and offered his gloved hand.
“Agreed.”
She did not take it immediately. She stared at it with twisted lips.
“So, the fearsome Duke is actually a saint? Who would’ve thought you’d listen to a rat’s tale instead of killing it outright.”
Even through her barbs, his hand remained steady, extended.
“You and I aren’t so different, Princess. We both carry our own stories.”
“….”
“And perhaps—though it’s only the faintest chance—understanding those stories may lead to change.”
Understanding. Change. Words that seemed laughably out of place between two villains. She snorted.
Yet… refusing gained her nothing. If anything, this could become her chance.
She felt Nibelung’s sinister pulse urging violence, but this time, she ignored it.
Cecil grasped his hand. It was weak, trembling—but her gaze held firm.
“Fine, Bartholomew. Let’s see what comes of this story.”
And so, she began.
A long tale of her life—of the glittering façade of the imperial palace, rotting inside with neglect, cruelty, and rivalry. Of the terror brought by the sound of creaking doors.
Of how she had seized Nibelung to escape that life, believing it a path to safety and freedom—only to find it yet another shackle.
As she spoke, the Duke never interrupted. He sat like a statue, listening in silence.
But his unwavering eyes told her he was truly listening.
Because she dragged out her story, pacing it to buy time, two full days and nights passed before she had finished recounting her life.
