The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 92: Discovery

Chapter 92: Discovery

As they ventured further into the obscurity concealed beyond the weathered metal door, a shared realization unfolded within them. The tower, it seemed, was a clever ruse, for the staircase beneath their feet descended into the depths rather than ascending.

The impenetrable darkness that enveloped them upon entry appeared to consume their very beings, shrouding them in its inky veil. Though Damien held Rosalie’s hand with unwavering grip, an undeniable sense of disorientation washed over her. The sheer lack of awareness concerning her surroundings proved to be an overwhelming challenge to surmount.

Finally, the very thing Rosalie had feared materialized - her foot slipped on one of the worn stone steps, causing her to lose her balance. Yet, her impending fall was thwarted by Damien’s sturdy form, his arms swiftly enfolding her, drawing her close to his body.

"Lady Rosalie, are you unharmed?!"

Damien’s warm breath gently brushed over the top of her head, igniting a fresh flutter within her chest. In the oppressive darkness enveloping them, her racing heart seemed to echo against the frigid stone walls like an unwavering drumbeat.

With her own heartbeat now an unsettling presence, Rosalie hastily withdrew herself from Damien’s embrace, her response bore a chill, evident in the nuances of her voice as she replied,

"I am fine, Your Grace. Let us keep moving."

They continued their gradual descent down the staircase, their every step cautious and deliberate. However, amidst this descent, a faint noise began to infiltrate their senses, creating a disorienting perception. Were it not for the undeniable descent, Rosalie might have believed they were moving toward a sports arena. The distant cheers bore a striking familiarity; in her previous life, she had been an ardent follower of baseball and soccer and could recognize the cheering atmosphere no matter what.

As Rosalie’s ears acclimated to the comforting sounds of cheering, a new element intruded upon the auditory landscape – a resounding clank, the unmistakable clash of metal. But before she could fully grasp the unfolding scene, Damien’s voice, laden with distress, urgently pierced the air,

"Lady Rosalie, do not look!"

And before she could fully comprehend the unfolding situation, the Duke’s substantial, comforting hand shielded her eyes, sparing her from the unsettling sight that awaited them upon their descent from the final step.

Nevertheless, this protective measure could not entirely fulfill its purpose. The amalgamation of the pungent scent of blood, the raucous cheers of the crowd, and the relentless clanging of dueling blades evoked a disconcerting memory within Rosalie – a particularly distressing recollection from the novel, one of gladiator combat, involving children no less.

With gradual yet unyielding determination, she gently withdrew Damien’s hand from her eyes, her apprehensions tragically confirmed. Before her, in all its horrifying splendor, stretched out a vast underground arena, marred by darkened bloodstains. Surrounding it were scores of spectators, exuberantly cheering as they observed two almost lifeless children mercilessly assaulting each other like frenzied maniacs, brandishing sharp, blood-drenched swords in their frail, trembling hands.

Yet, even this gruesome spectacle was not the most repulsive sight that confronted her – it was the audience itself. Comprised solely of the aristocracy, they clutched money in their corpulent, oily palms, jeering at the struggling child while simultaneously cheering the victor.

Rosalie could not summon the courage to turn her gaze back to the arena. Instead, her eyes remained steadfastly fixed upon Damien. In contrast, he directed his incensed glare forward, sweeping it across the jubilant spectators. His brow furrowed, his fists clenched, and his distress was palpable. It was hardly surprising, especially given that this was not his first encounter with such a harrowing sight.

She recalled the harrowing tale of Laith’s past, and it sent a chilling shudder down her spine. How could this be? Why? How could such a tragedy repeat itself? The fact that Laith had unearthed it anew, enduring this agony once more, was a reality Rosalie found almost incomprehensible. And she was not certain if she wished to comprehend it.

Abruptly, the atmosphere among the spectators shifted. The once-unified cheers diverged; one faction erupted in even louder celebration, while the others expressed their disappointment through a collective murmur.

Overcoming the powerful reluctance that had gripped her heart, Rosalie slowly turned her gaze to discern the cause of this sudden transformation. Her eyes widened instantly as they fell upon the combat arena. One of the children had already met their demise, their tiny body lying motionlessly, completely covered in blood.

"Oh God..."

Lady Ashter found herself unable to restrain her emotions any longer. Regardless of what she had tolerated since awakening in the world of the novel, this was an unbearable burden she could no longer feign the strength to endure.

In that very moment, the crowd’s demeanor underwent another transformation. The room abruptly plunged into silence, interrupted only by faint, subdued gasps that resonated through the space, akin to the fading sparks of a fireworks display. Laith stepped forward, using her own body as a shield for the remaining child. Her sword gleamed, its tip directed at the stage master, whose bewildered countenance was fixed upon the girl’s glistening blade.

Following her lead, Felix Howyer vaulted onto the stage, forcibly pulling along a stout, short man by the pristine collar of his shirt. He held his own sword firmly against the man’s throat, threatening his very life.

"What is the meaning of this?! This is a legally sanctioned establishment! Who are you people, and by whose authorization do you dare to intrude in such a manner?!"

The rotund man howled, resembling a frightened creature, frantically wriggling his limbs in an attempt to break free from Felix’s unyielding grip.

Yet, before Felix could formulate a response, a resounding voice, both commanding and frigid, resonated beside him, instantly seizing the audience’s attention like a powerful magnet.

"It was done under my authority, Lord Kaylen."

Rosalie involuntarily flinched, taken aback by Damien’s abrupt presence within the combat arena. The rest of the crowd, in stark contrast, was immediately enveloped by an unyielding wave of fear and dismay.

"Y-Your Grace?!"