She was not entirely sure when the cycle began.

The vision always opened beneath a blood-red sky.

From what her memory could piece together, it had been at least a year since she had first begun seeing it.

But the passage of time did not matter nearly as much as what the dream actively showed her.

Or the agonizing question that followed every single time.

Why?

Beneath that bleeding sky stretched an endless field of corpses.

Most of the bodies had been brutally torn apart, while the rest were simply left to rot exactly where they had collapsed in battle.

The thick, metallic stench of decay hanging in the air was suffocating, yet even that sensory horror was easier to endure than the sight itself, which made her stomach turn.

‘Who, or what… could have done this?’

The thought came to her as she stood in what looked like the aftermath of a war.

Broken flagpoles lay scattered across the mud, bearing the proud, golden crest of the Empire of Lesselhia.

Among the mountains of the dead, she recognized the uniforms of knightly houses, alongside the crushed plate armors worn by the Royal Guards who served the Imperial Family.

Mothers were clutching their infants even in death, their cold bodies curled into protective barriers as if they could still shield their children from the sky.

Broken spears and shattered swords were scattered everywhere, half-buried in the blood-soaked earth.

Slowly, Seraphina's gaze dropped down to her own hands.

They were completely drenched in fresh, dripping blood.

Then she touched her hair.

That, too, was heavily stained a deep, matted crimson.

When she lifted a trembling hand to her face, her fingers came away wet with the same substance.

Blood.

It was everywhere, coating her skin like a second layer of dress.

She did not understand why she was still alive in a place completely abandoned by life.

But she was not entirely alone.

There was a figure directly in front of her.

Slowly, she forced her head to front, meeting the gaze of a silhouette she could never fully see.

There was no distinct face she could make out, nor a clear physical form to map.

Just a pair of eyes.

They were a calm and a spectacularly clear shade of deep blue.

They gleamed with the serene brilliance of an undisturbed sea.

They looked completely out of place in a world drowned in red.

She found herself unable to look away.

Those blue eyes held perfectly steady, and for reasons her mind could not grasp, their presence instantly calmed the raging tempest within her chest.

There was no fear lurking within those pupils.

There was no unadulterated disgust.

There was not a single shred of hesitation as they stared directly back at her.

It felt as though they were desperately trying to tell her something, but no words ever managed to reach her ears.

For ninety-nine consecutive nights, she had looked into those exact same eyes.

And for ninety-nine nights, she had failed to understand what they were, or what they wanted from her.

But on the hundredth night, something changed.

She stood beneath the same bleeding sky, surrounded by the same dead.

However, this time, those sights didn’t bother her half as much as the man kneeling directly in front of her bare feet.

Her entire attention was instantly locked onto his frame.

He wore heavily battered armor.

His pitch-black hair was disheveled and caked with dirt, and his pale skin was smeared with soot and fresh blood.

He was breathing heavily, each intake of air uneven, as if his soul was barely holding onto his physical body.

Then, slowly, the dying man lifted his head.

Seraphina's eyes widened.

Blue.

It was the same brilliant blue she had witnessed in every single dream.

The same steady gaze that had followed her through a year of isolation.

The same eyes that had been trying to tell her something since the very beginning.

She tried to push a word out of her throat, but no sound escaped her lips.

Questions flooded her mind all at once.

Who was he? Why was he here?

Was he the one who had been watching over her all this time?

And why—

Why did he look at her like that?

There was absolutely no trace of fear or disgust in his blue eyes.

None of the emotions she had grown accustomed to receiving from others.

He looked up at her as if she were not an abomination to be feared.

As if she were not a cursed weapon to be loathed.

He looked at her as if she simply existed.

That alone made her chest tighten so violently it bordered on physical pain.

Why would… a stranger look at a monster like her with such serenity?

Why, even now at his own demise, did his gaze stay on her without a trace of rejection?

She wanted to scream the questions aloud. She wanted to understand.

But she could not make a sound.

She could only watch him bleed.

The black-haired man shifted slightly, his upper body swaying unsteadily as though he might collapse at any second.

He looked barely alive.

Then, after holding her gaze for a long moment, his pale lips parted.

He was trying to say something to her.

Seraphina desperately reached her blood-stained hand out toward his face, terrified that she would miss her only chance to hear his voice—

“Next time we meet…”

Snap.

Darkness swallowed her vision before he could finish.

◈—◈—◈—◈—◈

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat.

Seraphina slowly opened her eyes to the soothing sound of rain.

Her head felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish and disconnected as the faint, gray morning light filtered through the high windows of her quarters.

She stared blankly at the chandelier hanging above her bed, remaining unmoving and simply listening to the downpour outside.

Slowly, she lifted her frail hand toward the ceiling, fingers uncurling in the empty air as if she were desperately trying to reach something that had vanished into the waking world.

But all she saw was his face.

A single whisper slipped from her lips into the empty room.

“…Mine.”

The ‘Yandere’ trait has manifested within the villainess

◈—◈—◈—◈—◈

“My Lord, the Lady has finally regained consciousness.”

Harold bowed deeply as he spoke, standing before the Duke, who continued reviewing a stack of documents, without lifting his gaze.

“Has she eaten?”

The inquiry came out flat, his focused attention remaining firmly fixed on the reports before him.

“Regarding that, my Lord…”

Harold adjusted his monocle, choosing his words with care.

“The Lady continues to refuse any form of sustenance. Her physical condition has weakened considerably due to the internal strain, yet she continues to—”

Thuck.

The pen struck the desk with a sharp snap.

Harold fell silent.

Duke Zorack pressed his fingers against his temples, irritation tightening his features before he lowered his hand and looked up.

“The girl who spent the years in obedient silence now suddenly chooses the path of defiance,” he said, coldly. “Now, of all highly inconvenient times.”

His green eyes settled heavily onto Harold.

“Is this childish defiance, or has she finally decided to test the limits of my tolerance?”

“My Lord, ever since the incident, it seems to have affected the Lady deeply,” Harold replied cautiously, keeping his head angled downward. “The Lady has always held you in the highest regard so the punishment may have—”

“She was corrected for her weakness.”

Zorack cut through the butler’s defense without an ounce of effort.

“She nearly killed my sons.”

“My Lord, the Lady has consistently managed to contain it before any harm could ever—”

“Control?” Zorack let out a short breath. “Should I praise her for containing a filth that should not even exist within these walls?

“Should I reward her for accomplishing the bare minimum expected of something I permit to live under my roof?”

His eyes sharpened.

“Answer me, Harold. Is control now a virtue worthy of praise?”

Harold lowered his head even further. “No, my Lord.”

“One day, that fragile ‘control’ of hers will fail,” Zorack continued. “And when that day inevitably arrives, what exactly do you expect will happen?”

Silence answered him.

“My Lord… the Lady has made significant progress since the Restrict,” Harold attempted after a long moment, his voice still low. “Given the current state of the empire, her suppression has been nothing short of exceptional. It may simply be that her mind is currently shaken because of—”

Tap. Tap.

Zorack’s fingers struck the desk twice.

“Are you suggesting her well-being outweighs the lives of my sons?”

“No, my Lord,” Harold answered immediately, his spine straightening before he bowed even lower. “I would never presume to harbor such a treasonous thought.”

“Then do not indulge her pathetic defiance,” Zorack commanded coldly. “For the immense effort I expend to conceal her stain, the least she can offer is obedience.”

His hands clasped tightly together, pausing briefly.

“Besides, this is not the first time she has been punished,” he continued. “If she cannot endure something as insignificant as a single strike, then she has no right to bear the name of Armathorne.”

“…Yes, my Lord.”

“Ensure she is fed,” Zorack added, waving his hand dismissively. “I will not have her die of starvation within my domain. Though given her recent, unhinged behavior in my office, I begin to suspect her mind has deteriorated alongside her body. Running and embracing an escort, of all things…”

A flash of genuine disgust flickered across his expression.

“...She’s starting to resemble her wench of a mother the same.”

Harold remained silent, waiting patiently until the Duke exhaled a breath and returned his focus to the documents.

“If there is nothing further of substance, you may leave my presence.”

“My Lord, if I may be permitted to ask one final question…”

Zorack did not bother to look up from his papers. “Speak.”

“Why did you choose to accept Young Master Leon’s proposal?”

That made him pause.

“I have thoroughly investigated his background in the Serpentine territory,” He continued. “He possesses no divine power or magical sensing abilities, yet he is aware of the Lady’s condition. We took great care to erase every single trace of it, which makes his knowledge… deeply concerning.”

“And yet, despite the mystery, he remains highly useful,” Zorack replied smoothly.

“My Lord, that may be true, but his knowledge grants him leverage. Keeping him in such proximity may prove dangerous to us.”

“Hm… it is a valid concern.”

Zorack leaned back slightly in his grand chair, his expression entirely unreadable.

“For now, however, he is the most advantageous piece on the board. The boy risked his life by delivering information that could get him executed, all to secure an alliance. It is quite romantic to think that such blind loyalty still exists in the younger generation, would you not agree?”

“My Lord, I still firmly believe that—”

“Harold,” Zorack interrupted, his deep voice lowering just enough to carry a weight that filled the room, “do not mistake my patience for oversight. The moment he ceases to be useful, I will dispose of him accordingly.”

“…Understood, my Lord.”

“He entered my hall expecting no refusal,” Zorack continued, with a condescending air to his words. “Youth breeds that sort of charming arrogance. Fortunately for him, my current circumstances make immediate execution inconvenient, so I will make use of him until his presence is no longer necessary.”

A faint smile touched his lips, something darker settling behind it.

“And when that fateful time comes, he will not be the only one to have outlived his usefulness.”

Harold hesitated slightly at the implication of those words, but chose to say nothing more.

“For the time being,” Zorack said, completely dismissing the topic as he picked up his pen, “observe his movements. I will uncover the source of this leak myself.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Harold bowed deeply one final time and quietly withdrew from the office.

The door clicked shut.

Only then did Duke Zorack lean back fully into his chair, the silence of the room washing over him.

“Leon Vardez Serpentine…”

Harold’s assessment was correct.

No matter how he considered it, from a logical standpoint, the situation remained inconsistent.

There should have been no possible way for an outsider to learn of the demonic seed.

‘How interesting…’

The boy undoubtedly posed a threat, but not anytime soon.

For now, he was highly useful, and that was the only thing that mattered.

Zorack opened the central drawer of his desk and withdrew a folded map, spreading it across the surface before him.

His gaze settled on a marked intersection.

Slowly, a calculating smile formed.

When the time finally arrived…

He would ensure that every single piece on the board fell exactly where it belonged.