6
Miller was a close aide to Kinzard Ebel. I had thought none of the mages I saw yesterday would please the manager, yet here he was, representing the Orlun Guild for this matter.
This was unwelcome news for me—I had no desire to get entangled with the main characters of the original story.
I gave him a reluctant once-over.
Anyone could tell from my expression that I was uneasy. Usually, that was enough for me to end the conversation.
It was my foolproof method for keeping distance from others.
But Miller, unlike anyone I’d met so far, continued with a crescent-shaped smile.
“I heard you inspected the interior yesterday. It was an unparalleled honor that the Archmage accompanied our team.”
“……”
Miller, with his friendly smile, looked very different from how I remembered him in the novel.
As Kinzard’s fussy, highly temperamental aide, he was described as having a good grasp of work, but I never imagined he could give such a casual impression.
Does that mean he’s exceptionally skilled despite appearances?
Orlun was famous for having skilled members, but their ethics were questionable.
They would accept any filthy request for money, using any means necessary. The pride of a mage? They called it nonsense, even among the rogue-like members.
Even taking on security for such inhumane events proved that.
So that smile of his—surely it was a mask.
I didn’t hide my discomfort, yet Miller, whether oblivious or pretending not to notice, kept talking.
“As you know, the main event is a friendly auction. Once the open auction ends, the lineup will change. I assume Lady Isabella is interested in the friendly auction?”
“What do you mean by that?”
As I narrowed my eyes, Miller, still smiling, leaned closer and whispered in a confidential tone.
“You don’t have to keep it secret from me. The place is crawling with high-ranking nobles targeting young Ombers.”
The words “young Omber” made me think of Noah.
“So it’s true, the rumors about collecting Ombers. Unless someone’s exceptionally sturdy, they break immediately.”
“……”
In other words, he implied that I, Isabella, consumed by desire, had extended my attention not just to men but even to children.
While it was true that the desire-driven Isabella would pursue handsome men indiscriminately, she had never committed unethical acts.
Reflecting on it, by the time the original story began four years later, Isabella’s reputation had become far worse than it is now.
Even today, I faced gossip about my promiscuity, but it was overshadowed by respect and attention. Four years later, I would be suffocating under endless evil rumors.
Where did these baseless rumors originate?
“…So they spout nonsense that sounds plausible.”
It was because of scoundrels like them.
Miller wasn’t afraid of me at all. If anything, he seemed to enjoy my reaction.
“Even if it’s not an Omber, I know well what might interest Lady Isabella.”
He whispered in a sly, snake-like tone.
“If Lady Isabella approves, our Orlun Guild could…”
“Isabella?”
A voice cut off Miller’s words as it called me. Reflexively, I turned toward the sound.
I was surprised when I recognized the speaker.
“Aljuro?”
Aljuro, dressed in a black robe with the hood pulled low, had soft brown hair peeking out and a gentle voice that was unmistakably his.
Miller’s eyebrows arched in confusion.
“Aljuro…?”
He murmured Aljuro’s name like it was familiar.
Aljuro ignored it and approached me. I alternated my gaze between him and Miller, then cautiously asked:
“What’s going on here?”
Aljuro smiled and replied:
“If you come to Midtown, you have to visit the public auction at least once. But I never imagined you’d look this stunning.”
“Flattery won’t help.”
As we exchanged words, Miller smoothly joined the conversation.
“Lady Isabella? If it’s not rude, could you introduce this gentleman to me?”
He had been rude moments ago, now innocent and bright-eyed. It suited the rogue-like tone of his guild.
I knew little about Aljuro, and even if I did, I wasn’t inclined to share. I remembered that he already knew about the friendly auction.
I wanted to ask immediately, but I hesitated, unsure why this sly man, Miller, had an interest in Aljuro.
Just then, the horn signaling the start of the auction sounded. It was time to put my plan into action.
I grinned at Aljuro.
“Aljuro, it seems Mr. Horgen is quite interested in you. Why not enjoy the auction together?”
I lightly nudged Miller’s back toward Aljuro. His eyes went wide.
“What…?”
I ignored him and continued.
“I’ll handle internal coordination. You two can talk and then enter at your own pace. Go on.”
With that, I calmly made my way into the auction hall.
Noah curled up and covered his ears. The surroundings were louder than usual.
The laughter from outside the tent was relentless. The high-pitched sounds reminded him of his dying family’s screams.
Scenes and sounds that haunted him for nights—no matter how tightly he closed his eyes or covered his ears—tore through his mind.
Even if he caused a commotion and was whipped, the pain only made him forget for a moment. Once he opened his eyes, he was back in the cage.
Through a gap in the bars, he saw people bustling about. Each figure in robes, hiding behind the cloth, glanced at him with eyes shining with desire.
Even seeing them shuffle about stirred rage within him.
Then, a short dagger fell from a man carrying a stack of boxes.
Noah’s gaze snapped to it. Though short, the blade seemed well-maintained and sharp. It fell within reach.
Noah slowly lifted his head from near his knees. His heart raced.
Despite months of starvation and exhaustion, if a weapon was within reach, he could fight even if his body was torn apart.
It was the will of his father passed down to him.
Noah’s sharp eyes fixed on the dagger. Low to the floor, he extended his thin, bony arm outside the cage. Fingertips barely touched the handle.
He bit his lip and strained. His hand finally closed around the dagger’s grip.
A faint smile appeared, followed by a familiar, immature voice:
“Satisfied with that?”
Shivers ran down his spine. Noah quickly pulled the dagger into the cage and hid it in his chest, then lifted his head.
A hooded figure, like the ones he had hated, was standing there.
Noah glared fiercely, and the figure pulled back the hood. Red eyes, hotter than the morning sun, glared at him.
“…Do you really think that’s enough for your revenge?”
Her small, firm voice cut through the tent.
Last night, I had devised my plan. I confidently told myself that a villainess has a villainess’s method, but whether it would work was uncertain.
Getting a cautious child out of the cage and keeping him from falling into Duke Rosenberg’s hands was a highly delicate problem.
I devised this plan with the novel’s events in mind.
For Noah, excluding Yuriel, his life’s purpose was one: revenge.
He would eventually kill every slaver after adulthood, but it would never be complete while Duke Rosenberg protected the slave traders.
As long as the duke remained, new slave traders could appear at any time.
By the time Noah learned the truth, he loved Yuriel too much to kill the duke and complete his revenge.
Every night, he suffered nightmares, haunted by the screams of fallen compatriots.
I tidied my disheveled hair, reminded myself:
A villainess has her path. And his dark future showed me the way.
Something Yuriel would never do—a nasty, ruthless move: exploiting the opponent’s weakness.
Sorry, but for me, this is the only key.
