The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service -
Chapter 76: September Rain
Chapter 76: September Rain
Upon hearing the words uttered by the black wolf, Rosalie found herself utterly speechless. Swiftly, she opened her eyes and was met with the imposing face of the creature, its head hanging over her like a menacing omen. Its breath, hot and pungent, seemed to sear her skin like vapor while the intensity of its bright red eyes, radiating a crimson glow, obscured her vision.
Perplexity swirled within her as she grappled to comprehend why the wolf hadn’t inflicted any harm upon her, opting instead to communicate. Even more astonishing was her ability to understand its message.
Suddenly, an intense wave of pain engulfed her skull, accompanied by a faint, almost incomprehensible white noise that dulled her sense of hearing. Then, a wet sensation traced down her face, gliding over her lips. Acting on instinct, her hand rose to investigate the source of this odd sensation, only for Rosalie to discover that her nose was bleeding.
’What... What in the world is happening?’
Just as it appeared that her thoughts were gradually clearing, another impediment abruptly disrupted her sight – a rather small black silhouette cloaked entirely in a long, sweeping black robe positioned itself between Lady Ashter and the formidable wolf. Their extended gleaming sword was directed at the creature’s chest, which was rising and falling with each heavy breath.
Caught off guard at first, Rosalie widened her eyes and uttered in a hushed tone, her voice quivering under the surge of an overwhelming mix of frantic emotions,
"Laith..."
"My Lady!"
Laith’s voice sounded almost like thunder, shuddering the thick sheet of silent confusion that enshrouded Rosalie’s mind.
"Run toward the shopping district, you will see the Shadow Knights there! Run, now!"
As if fallen under her spell, Lady Ashter nearly jumped to her feet and turned around to follow the girl’s command, yet, she could not seem to make her feet move again as a new wave of fright washed over her entire being.
"What about you? I will ask for help!"
"Do not worry about me, just run!"
Rosalie realized that remaining by Laith’s side might inadvertently harm the girl more than allowing her to face the challenge alone, unburdened by the need to safeguard her lady. Thus, though the initial prospect seemed daunting, she clenched the dirty hem of her dress and started running. Her velocity surged, fueled by a newfound sense of urgency spurred by the sound of clashes between Laith’s heavy sword and the black wolf’s lethal strikes.
Following Laith’s guidance to the letter, Lady Ashter reached the Capital’s shopping district where her gaze fell upon five towering figures garbed in the regalia of the Imperial Uniform, each cape emblazoned with the familiar insignia of Damien’s formidable Army of Shadows.
As the girl came into view, a familiar figure with fiery red hair materialized right before her. This person urgently clasped her shoulders, their eyes brimming with anxiety and care, intensely assessing her disheveled state.
"My Lady! Where have you been? We’ve searched high and low for you! Are you unharmed? And this blood on your face—what happened? Are you injured?"
From within his sleeve, Logan deftly produced a dainty white handkerchief. He gently placed it beneath Rosalie’s nose, tenderly sweeping away the remnants of her dried and smudged nosebleed.
In a swift motion, the girl snatched the handkerchief from the knight’s grasp, her expression a blend of frustration and trepidation as she nearly shouted,
"Sir Logan! Laith is alone over there! She is battling the black wolf!"
In response, a peculiar shadow fell upon Logan’s handsome face, a deep furrow etching itself between his red eyebrows.
"Laith? How is it that you are familiar with this name, My Lady?"
At that seemingly logical query, the girl experienced an involuntary flinch, her entire body reacting. The name ’Laith’ was shrouded in secrecy, confined to the realm of the Shadow Knights and those in close proximity to Damien. Therefore, her acquaintance with it would naturally spark a wave of suspicion among those entrusted to guard this clandestine knowledge.
"She... She introduced herself when she found me, to build trust."
Rosalie clung to this explanation, hoping it would suffice. Though the outcome remained uncertain, she could discern no overt change in Logan’s stern countenance. Nevertheless, he let out a somewhat disappointed sigh and accorded a nod in response, his seriousness unyielding.
"Very well, My Lady. We must depart without delay. His Grace’s directive was to escort you back to the Dio mansion."
"What about His Grace? Where is he now?"
Lady Ashter clasped the fabric of Logan’s uniform jacket, a plea evident in her gaze. The knight responded with a smile that was meant to be somewhat reassuring.
"Fear not, My Lady. His Grace stands in the midst of battle alongside the first division of knights. He remains unscathed. Engaging a handful of magical beasts is akin to his warm-up routine."
Though Rosalie acknowledged Damien’s indomitable nature, given his role as the central character of the story, an unsettled feeling persisted within her, with her racing heart and trembling hands as a testament to her anxious and distressed condition.
"Yes... Very well, let us make our way back to the mansion, Sir Logan."
***
Upon safely returning to the Duke’s mansion, notwithstanding Logan’s persistent reassurance that the estate brimmed with vigilant guards and stood as the second most secure place in the Capital after the Imperial Palace, and even after savoring three cups of Aurora’s expertly brewed calming tea, Rosalie’s tranquility remained elusive, and in the end, she grudgingly acknowledged that slumber was an unattainable prospect for the impending night.
With a thick knitted blanket thrown upon her shoulders, Lady Ashter quietly escaped her room and went downstair, finding solace in a cozy, comforting position on the soft, spacious armchair next to the mansion’s exit and curling up into a ball like a cat.
She couldn’t bring herself to entertain the idea of sleep until Damien’s safe return. It was imperative to witness him unharmed. Despite his powers and his role in the story, he remained a vulnerable human susceptible to harm and capable of experiencing pain, much like anyone else.
’I detest this... I resent being trapped in this situation, trapped in the thick of events that were never described in the novel. I’ve read countless stories where heroines exploit their knowledge of the plot to aid the central figures in their adventures, yet here I am, absolutely powerless. Utterly useless. And somehow...’
Her train of thought drifted to the recollections of the horrifying events of the ruined Festival and stopped at the memory of the black wolf beast that spoke to her in a terrifying, yet human voice, inviting the girl to join him and use his power.
’In some inexplicable way, I cannot shake off the feeling that I’ve become the center of these events. The sole reason for their happening.’
Gradually, she let her eyelids drift shut and leaned into the pliant, cozy backrest of the armchair. Her restless mind began to submerge into the amalgamation of obscurity and tranquility. The frenzied whirlwind of thoughts gradually decelerated, dissipating into a peculiarly gratifying emptiness. Finally, the weariness that had burdened Rosalie’s delicate frame was enveloped by the cloak of exhaustion, beckoning her toward the long-awaited haven of sleep.
Outside, the night’s oppressive stillness was ruptured by the cacophony of heavy raindrops, their cold impact a stark contrast to the tranquility that had settled within. The mansion’s door creaked open slowly, welcoming a breath of revitalizing air into the cozy, warm embrace of its interior.
The brown hardwood floor emitted a faint creak as it bore the weight of heavy steps, the dirty black leather boots dragging wearily across its polished expanse under their owner’s tired, limping gait.
A towering, black-clad figure positioned itself before the slumbering girl, its presence marked by the shimmer of golden eyes. A contemplative gaze was directed her way. When attention shifted to the carelessly placed knitted blanket on the floor beside the armchair, the man removed his soiled, blood-stained gloves, and with his sizable, weathered hands, he carefully lifted the blanket, enfolding it around the girl’s shoulders. His fingers, roughened from countless hardships, caressed her soft brown hair in a delicate gesture before quietly walking away, deeper into the mansion’s darkness.
***
A dense shroud of September rain blanketed the Temple Garden, its chilling droplets relentlessly pelting every exposed surface. Through this downpour, a tall, somber figure trudged deliberately, his feet sinking into the muddy terrain, each step accompanied by labored breaths as he wrested them free from the clinging morass.
Finding temporary solace under the heavy branches of the mighty oak tree, the mysterious man leaned against its powerful trunk and let out a long, exhausted exhale. Then, with a slow, motion of his trembling arm, he positioned an object tightly clutched in his right hand, in front of his face and laughed, his dark red eyes firmly fixed on the broken piece of the orange fox mask.
"What... What should I do, Rosalie?"
With another mad chuckle and a swift motion of his left hand, the man removed his wet black hair from his face and looked up, his glowing red eyes turning pallid, regaining a prominent platinum hue.
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