The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 120: Madness And Oblivion

Chapter 120: Madness And Oblivion

Rosalie grappled with a perplexing uncertainty, unsure if her eyes rested open or shut. The encompassing darkness left her utterly disoriented, her futile attempts to bring clarity yielding only an abyss of nothingness.

Enshrouded in that mystery, she tried to move her body but found herself unable to do so as for the first time in her life, her legs felt like immovable stones. She tried again, disgruntled with her own lack of strength, and after some time and a lot of effort, it seemed to have finally worked – her legs began to move slowly, yet she still felt as if she was dragging her feet through the thick layer of cold mud.

Continuing to laboriously traverse the foreboding darkness, Rosalie was suddenly struck by a searing, nearly incapacitating pain coursing through her lower abdomen, akin to the sensation of being impaled by a sword or spear.

Initially bewildered, she found herself immobilized, her mind grappling with the gravity of the unfolding crisis. In a desperate attempt to comprehend her plight, she directed her gaze downward, yet still, her own form remained elusive. Instinctively, her hands moved of their own accord, settling atop her stomach. There, beneath her trembling fingertips, she finally felt it—the warm, viscous sensation, a grim confirmation of her own bleeding.

Miraculously, the inky shroud finally relented, and Rosalie was granted a glimpse of her own form. Gazing downward once more, she beheld a substantial, dark-red stain saturating the once-pristine white fabric of her billowing dress.

A tidal wave of shock and panic engulfed Rosalie, constricting her chest and causing her to gasp for air as fear threatened to suffocate her. Her wide gray eyes darted frantically in search of any lifeline, and in that heart-pounding moment, she beheld a figure—a tall, slender man clad in rich, foreign attire. His robe, fashioned from flowing black silk, bore intricate dark-red floral embroidery, cinched at the side by a silk belt of matching hue.

The man’s onyx hair cascaded straight and long, a rich shade of purple, despite being secured in a lofty ponytail that still managed to graze the ground, its strands sweeping gracefully in tandem with his graceful movements.

The enigmatic aspect of his appearance, however, lay in his countenance—thin white bandages concealed his eyes, rendering him sightless. Yet, with unwavering determination, he strode purposefully toward Rosalie, seemingly guided by an uncanny intuition.

Taken aback by the abruptness of the man’s arrival, Rosalie stood frozen once more, her gaze fixed on his approach. He moved with an air of tranquility, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile graced his full lips. When the mysterious figure finally stood directly before her, he extended his hand, seemingly poised to make contact with her abdomen. However, before he could do so, another man rushed towards Rosalie, almost leaping into her path, shielding her from the first man’s intended touch.

His face remained obscured from view, but a sense of familiarity tugged at her consciousness as his long, flowing black hair framed his towering form. In that moment, he spoke, his voice cutting through the tension with an icy, authoritative tone,

"No. Don’t touch her."

Rosalie winced, her voice ringing out in a panicked shout,

"Altair?!"

Her body twitched once more, violently wrenching her from the clutches of that enigmatic and disconcerting dream. Now, all that met her gaze was the reassuring familiarity of her bedroom’s white ceiling, bathed in the soft, pinkish embrace of the morning sun.

***

The Shadow Knights gathered around, their eyes darting restlessly across the hushed battlefield strewn with the massive, lifeless forms of the defeated magic beasts. Their admiration for Damien’s extraordinary abilities and nimbleness was reignited, particularly as they witnessed his deft dismantling of the colossal black wolf. However, now that their collective focus was squarely trained upon the duke who stood before them, an undeniable undercurrent of fear began to take hold.

Before them stood a man who was no longer the familiar, formidable commander of the Shadow Knights; he had transformed into something else entirely. He resembled a beast, a frenzied, bloodied creature with enraged crimson eyes that sought out its next quarry with an unsettling intensity.

"I have seen His Grace transform into a formidable combatant in the past, but this time... There is something entirely different about it."

The undercurrent of anxiety spread like wildfire through the ranks of the assembled army, casting a palpable tension over the men. The Crown Prince, his deep azure eyes locked on the duke, allowed a grin to curl on his lips. His heart raced, a mix of both fear and exhilaration coursing through him.

’Remarkable. I have longed to witness the full extent of his curse, and now I have. What untapped potential he possesses—truly, he is a perfect instrument of destruction.’

Finally, it appeared that Damien had found his ultimate victim. His large hand closed around the hilt of his sword once more, and with deliberate, measured steps, he began his inexorable advance toward the grinning prince.

Loyd locked his gaze onto the duke’s, absorbing the searing red intensity that seemed to have frozen him into a statue of unyielding resolve. Amidst the tense silence, one of the knights broke through, his anxious voice tearing through Loyd’s eardrums.

"Your Highness, please seek refuge immediately! We must wait for Revered Alexander’s arrival! This situation is growing perilous!"

The Crown Prince flinched, the loud warning jolting his senses. Yet, an inexplicable force held him in place. He recognized that Damien was now fixated on him, and yet, an undeniable urge compelled him to face this formidable adversary head-on. Caution, however, still coursed through his thoughts; he could not afford recklessness.

’So, this is the extent of your madness, is it? Are you now turning your aggression toward me? Or have you become indifferent to the identity of your foe?’

In that pivotal moment, as if attuned to Loyd’s inner musings, Damien quickened his pace, hoisting his sword before his laboring, blood-soaked chest. With each accelerated stride, the prince’s grin widened, inciting a fresh surge of lunacy coursing through the duke’s veins. This frenzy seized hold of him, culminating in a guttural groan, as he prepared to launch his attack upon the Crown Prince, but his attempt faltered.

Loyd, unwavering and unyielding, made no effort to evade Damien’s impending strike. A collective gasp rippled through the ranks of the Shadow Knights, echoing with disbelief. Sir Christian, his eyes widening in shock, raced toward His Highness, his voice thundering at a fevered pitch,

"No! Shield the prince! Protect him!"

In an instant, as if out of thin air, his powerful frame materialized in front of the Crown Prince, just when the duke’s blade was about to reach him. Loyd flinched as a hot splatter of crimson red blood splashed over his face and then he saw it – Sir Christian’s body cut in half, succumbing to the relentless force of gravity so unbelievably slowly as if the flow of time purposely slowed down just to make him witness his fall.

Finally, as if fully comprehending the situation, the prince took a step back, his azure eyes still fixed on the severed body of Sir Christian. In an instant, the other knights rushed forward, throwing themselves on Damien in an attempt to suppress his madness but it was all in vain – the duke’s strength was overwhelming; it was out of this world, the power bordering with omnipotence.

The relentless struggle persisted unabated. Despite the knights’ valiant attempts to subdue Damien without harming him, he remained an indomitable force, tirelessly wielding his formidable black blade with a ferocity ignited solely by the insatiable thirst for the demise of anyone who dared to obstruct his path.

Meanwhile, Loyd, his eyes widening with each fallen knight, found himself paralyzed once more. He stood frozen, aghast at the unfolding spectacle, his veins coursing with ice as the horrifying realization crept insidiously into his consciousness.

Amidst the bedlam, the High Priest’s approach went unnoticed, the clamor of battle drowning out the sound of his hurried steps as he raced toward the epicenter of the unfolding carnage.

He swiveled his stunned countenance toward the Crown Prince, his eyes wide, and his voice rang out, loud yet trembling, in the midst of the chaos,

"Your Highness! Seek shelter! We must address this at once!"

However, Loyd merely shook his head, his grin taking on an ominous quality as he responded,

"This is astounding. His power verges on omnipotence. Witness how he flings the most esteemed Imperial Knights aside like mere insects!"

Alexander, taken aback by these words, involuntarily took a step back, struggling to comprehend their import. Faced with the escalating madness before him, he had no recourse but to seize control of the situation and issued a resolute command,

"Converge on His Grace en masse! Do not hesitate to employ force! Employ all means to disarm him and subdue him!"

Several of the Shadow Knights briefly glanced at the somewhat dazed prince, who remained at a distance from the tumultuous scene. They exchanged knowing nods amongst themselves, a silent consensus formed, and they converged around Damien, executing the Priest’s directive to assail him in unison.

Resembling a cornered beast, Damien emitted a guttural growl in response to the relentless onslaught of the knights. Yet, he valiantly persisted in resisting their collective might. This time, they harbored no reservations about inflicting harm as they pooled their combined strength to forcibly wrest the massive black blade from the duke’s grasp.

Pinned to the frigid, blood-stained earth, Damien’s body continued to writhe, wracked by the torment of his struggles. His fiery crimson eyes darted restlessly, capturing glimpses of the Crown Prince’s malevolent grin as he muttered through gritted teeth,

"He will kill her... He will kill her... He will kill her..."

Once the situation had stabilized enough for the High Priest to approach the subdued duke, he laid his hands upon Damien’s wounded chest, channeling his Holy Power to mend both body and spirit. Gradually, the Priest’s soothing abilities reached Damien’s tormented heart, coaxing him to finally lower his heavy eyelids and surrender to the embrace of oblivion.