A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Find adventures on My Virtual Library Empire

As Nine had feared, assassinating the Duke of Bloodust without a trace while all fifth-stage extraordinary beings were on high alert proved exceedingly challenging.

Yet even as fate’s relentless march thundered like a tempest, granting Ansel no respite, he managed to uncover a sliver of opportunity amidst the chaos.

And this time, the pivotal point would be…

“Crow’s… Nest.”

Nine softly uttered the tavern’s name as she accompanied Ansel to its entrance.

Crow’s Nest, or Fafnir’s Nest, stood as one of the Western land’s premier adventurer guilds.

Guildmaster Fafnir’s reputation resonated far and wide. Though now allied with the Duke of Wyvern, their dependence was not absolute. Fafnir’s current power and status were not bestowed by the Duke, but rather forged through sheer determination, rising from nothing to become a fifth-stage extraordinary being.

Fafnir’s accomplishments, both in exploring the Realm Enigmas and feats in this plane, warranted the title of legend.

In the public eye, its impressive recent feat was capturing Hydral’s first pact head, the now-formidable [Calamity] Seraphina, at the moment of her awakening—outpacing all factions, Dukes, and even the Empress herself.

In retrospect, considering Hydral’s current might and Seraphina’s latent potential, this achievement’s value had only appreciated, taking on an increasingly legendary hue.

Fafnir “itself” was a peculiar entity. Rumors spoke of an ancient ritual undertaken in pursuit of greater power, resulting in a grotesque transformation. Its body, warped by the incomplete rite, now bore avian limbs and feathers.

Save for a mask, Fafnir made no effort to conceal its bestial features. This was partly due to the high status of many half-dragons in the Duke of Wyvern’s domain, and partly because the ritual had indeed granted it tremendous power…

The ability to harness shadows.

“…”

Nine, having been briefed on her mission and its reasons, knew precisely what to say and do. Yet, uncharacteristically discomposed, she instinctively grasped her left arm beneath her shawl, head bowed in silence.

Ansel understood her reticence. Guiding Marlina down this path… was not his heart’s desire, but necessity demanded it.

“Let’s proceed, Margarete,” Ansel, now disguised as the black-haired youth Faust, addressed Nine coldly. “What follows is crucial.”

This familiar yet foreign appellation left Nine momentarily disoriented. Flashes of recent, mundane yet heartwarming memories with Ansel and his expectations for her flickered through her mind. Beneath her mask, her expression, previously dimmed by painful experiences, softened once more.

“Yes, Mr. Fau—”

The girl instinctively touched her throat.

“…Yes, Mr. Faust.”

Though they had resumed their peculiar dynamic, she was no longer her former self.

The young Hydral noticed her subtle gesture, his fingertips twitching slightly as doubt crept into his mind.

Was she… reluctant?

Ansel had long since deciphered Nine’s psychological state. In her current “willing to sacrifice everything for Lord Hydral” phase, she teetered on the brink of self-destruction and worthlessness.

At this stage, others would feel no remorse for their sacrifices, no matter how tragic or heavy, if it added even a modicum of value to Ansel’s cause.

Clearly, it wasn’t so simple.

Ansel mused as he pushed open the tavern door.

As fate brutishly cast the chessboard into the burning fire , Ansel hadn’t forgotten the pawns it had placed beside him. Seraphina and Ravenna’s influence on him had deepened. If Marlina could still sway his resolve… a swift resolution was necessary.

After all, this journey was likely your machination, wasn’t it?

“Damn, what’s with this fire? If it keeps burning, we’ll have to flee tomorrow.”

“That’s why the boss is so farsighted. No industries to worry about, just this tavern. Who cares if it burns?”

“But relocating is still a hassle. If the West burns down, where will we go? And what if the entire Empire—pfft!”

The adventurer, casually sipping and chatting, instinctively turned at the sound of the opening door, promptly spewing his mouthful of drink.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, “It’s Faust!”

As his shout died down, another voice bellowed from across the room, “Damn! The boss is here!”

The adventurers in the tavern stared, bewildered, alternating their gaze between two directions, unsure where to focus.

The scene bore a resemblance to Faust’s previous visit to Crow’s Nest.

However, this time, Fafnir, descending from the second floor, lacked its previous composure. Instead, it appeared… agitated.

The moment Fafnir emerged from the stairway and locked eyes with Nine, its form liquefied into a black fluid, instantly materializing from the shadow nearest to Ansel.

Sharp, avian talons lunged for Nine’s right wrist.

“Snap!”

Ansel, expressionless, caught Fafnir’s claw mid-strike. “It seems your manners have deteriorated in my absence, Fafnir.”

“Release me,” Fafnir’s low, raspy voice emerged from behind its mask. The distorted, torn quality of its voice bore an uncanny resemblance to Nine’s.

Ansel stood his ground. The abyssal aura emanating from him overwhelmed the shadows that had come alive with Fafnir’s uncontrolled emotions.

As the two fifth-stage extraordinary beings clashed, their auras permeated the tavern. Most adventurers blanched, while the bartender, harboring a deep-seated fear of Faust, cowered trembling beneath the counter.

After a tense standoff, Fafnir relented:

“This is not the place for discussion,” it muttered, turning towards the second floor as Ansel released his grip.

Ansel glanced at Marlina standing slightly behind him, nodding subtly before traversing the silent tavern to ascend the stairs.

As Nine reached the second floor, shadows engulfed the room, sealing the door and enveloping the entire chamber in darkness.

“…Speak,” Fafnir lit a candle, addressing Ansel while fixated on Nine. “What is the meaning of this?”

“As you can see,” Ansel replied, taking a seat, “I’ve brought someone to meet you.”

“I’m asking you what this means!”

Fafnir suddenly roared, their distorted shriek chilling. The encompassing shadows writhed and contorted, manifesting their master’s fury.

“Lady Fafnir…Please!”

Nine instinctively raised her voice at the sight of Ansel being berated. As Fafnir’s gaze returned to her, she softly added a “please”.

“Mr. Faust… is my benefactor. Please don’t treat him with such disrespect.”

“You…”

Fafnir uttered stiffly, its demeanor visibly calming. It gazed at Nine, lips quivering beneath their mask, before forcing a gentler tone and responding with a tentative “Well.”

Forewarned by Ansel, Nine understood the reason behind Fafnir’s unexpectedly cordial attitude.

This matter was intricately linked to the Duke of Bloodust, a prodigy in the forbidden art of biological alchemy, who sought to transmute nine million lives into fuel. It also involved… the Duke of Wyvern.

–>