Chapter 27

Lyla Green was imprisoned in the underground dungeon.

The charge: attempted murder of the marquis’s wife.

She was caught at the scene, and a deep stab wound remained in her abdomen. Even with a fatal injury, she hadn’t given up. Her eyes had blazed with murderous intent, and she hurled curses without end.

I’ll kill you no matter what. Even if it costs me my life, I won’t let you live.

She had cursed Florence, swearing to erase her from this world.

Lyla’s curse was powerful. Florence would not escape unscathed. At the very least, she wouldn’t remain whole. Lyla was that strong.

Even Linus, who had tried to decapitate Lyla the moment Florence was attacked, had failed.

“You’re really obsessive when it comes to your wife, Commander…”

Locked in the dungeon, Lyla chuckled. She heard Alex’s voice teasing Linus about how he’d become petty when his wife was involved. She glanced at the shackles on her wrists. Despite the blood pouring from her wounds, they had thrown her into the filthy dungeon—clearly intending to let her die.

The shackles were cursed to suppress magic. With her energy drained, she couldn’t even heal her injuries.

“So this is what they call the youngest Sword Master.”

Lyla couldn’t stop laughing. She could die laughing just thinking of Linus’s shocked expression when she ambushed him. She may have lost, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t left a mark. She’d cursed him so that for the next three years, every time he used his strength, his insides would twist in agony.

Lyla Green was a top-tier spirit summoner and a 6th-class mage.

But spirit summoning and magic weren’t her specialties.

Her true specialties—unknown to others—were assassination and curse magic.

She had vowed never to return to that world again. She just wanted to stay beside that sunny man, to protect him as a friend so he could love someone and live a happy life. She was tired of surviving by taking lives for food.

She had wanted to live with pride.

But all of that was from a time when she still wanted to live.

Some would say Alex hadn’t died because of Florence. Lyla knew that. The attackers who ambushed them were the ones who killed Alex, not Florence herself.

But the one who had the power to save Alex—and chose to ignore it—was Florence.

He had been injured protecting her, and yet she had looked at him like he was filthy, as if even touching him would taint her. Even if she had been terrified, that reaction was unforgivable.

“Did she even know his name? Will she even remember him? Will she remember that a knight died trying to protect her?”

By now, Florence had probably completely forgotten.

She was probably crying in Linus’s arms, complaining how scary it all was.

Someone like that doesn’t deserve to live.

It wasn’t about revenge. Nothing could repay Alex’s life, so Lyla had no desire for vengeance. She just believed someone like Florence didn’t deserve to exist.

Sitting in her cell, Lyla reflected. She had known from the start that it was impossible. She’d gone in ready to die. Maybe, deep down, she’d wanted to. Ever since she decided to kill Florence, it felt like the world itself was protecting that woman.

Why?

Lyla knew she’d been lucky in her own way. She was born a commoner, but not a slave. She had far more talent than the average person. She was powerful enough to be called a monster.

But Florence was even luckier.

Born into nobility, never once starving, and a gifted summoner and mage. Possessing power without ever being condemned for it, beloved by everyone—Florence lived as if destined for happiness, her life untouched by even a shadow.

Does God love someone like her? If so, then even God deserves to be cursed.

“Spirit summoning won’t work. With her contract with a Grand Spirit, mine won’t be able to get close…”

She couldn’t use magic or spirit summoning. All she could do was wait for the right opportunity.

“Those nobles think locking me up means I’m helpless—that’s their mistake.”

Nobles never treated servants as people. But servants could still speak, hear, and think.

There were many things that moved in the shadows. Even if the place was tightly secured, the things nobles ignored could pass through freely. In the six days she’d spent in the dungeon, Lyla had spoken at length with over ten people.

All of them offered to help her.

All but one.

“I’m just curious—why sit here in that filthy place when you clearly have a way out?”

“Mind your business.”

The man shrugged. He had dazzling blond hair that shimmered like melted moonlight and an extravagant yet vulgar air. He frowned at Lyla’s battered state, muttered something—probably a healing spell.

“It’s no use. This wound was caused by a Sword Master. Normal healing magic won’t—”

“Too bad. I’m not exactly ‘normal.’”

He grinned. True to his confident words, the wound that had only barely stopped bleeding began to heal rapidly.

“Still, your insides are weak. Don’t push yourself.”

“I have nothing to give you.”

“Forget it. Just a nosy favor.”

“I hate owing debts.”

“Just put it on a tab.”

She wondered when they’d ever meet again—but didn’t say it aloud.

“Why did you try to kill the marquis’s wife?”

“…”

“She seemed kind to me—not exactly evil.”

It seemed he was acquainted with Florence. Lyla didn’t deny his assessment. Florence wasn’t especially malicious. She would likely be categorized as “good.” After all, refusing to help wasn’t a crime.

But Lyla still couldn’t forgive her.

Florence had denied Alex even the dignity of a noble death. She had dismissed his sacrifice. Looked down at him as he died, like he was filth.

I’ll return the favor.

I’ll make her die slowly, wallowing in filth, in utter disgrace.

“Well, I guess that’s your story.”

“…”

“It’d be nice if you came with me.”

“Not a chance.”

Lyla rejected him flatly. She no longer wished to stand in the light.

The man didn’t seem particularly disappointed. He simply nodded and asked:

“Then where are you going?”

“…”

“Come on, you could at least tell me that.”

He looked at her with a serious expression.

Lyla was a pitiful sight. Covered in wounds, her wrists shackled and chained to the wall. She was alive only because she was exceptionally strong. In this dungeon, where they poured water and thin soup down her throat every three days, an ordinary person would’ve died long ago.

Yet even now, she hadn’t given up on killing the marquis’s wife.

“The world is on her side.”

“…”

“Everyone loves her…”

“…”

“…So I think it’s okay if there’s at least one person who hates her.”

Even if she spent the rest of her life trying to kill Florence, Lyla wouldn’t regret it. She could leave the dungeon whenever she wanted—but chose not to. Now that her assassination attempt had failed, security would be even tighter. She’d only raise Linus’s guard.

She had time. She would wait for the right chance.

“Well, it’s your choice, but don’t die a dog’s death. That’d be a waste.”

Lyla let out a small laugh.

A dog’s death—that’s what happened to someone like Alex.

“My name’s Keith. Keith Hayden Brien.”

“…You’re giving your real name here?”

“Look me up if you ever change your mind.”

“Is charity a hobby of yours?”

“Who makes charity a hobby? I told you. I’m interested in you.”

Keith smiled faintly.

Lyla closed her eyes, signaling she had nothing more to say.

Before he left, Keith cast one more healing spell on her.

After that, Lyla didn’t open her eyes for a long, long time.