TAVD 12

Chapter 12

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“This is ridiculous…”

Driving one’s ability insane and being imprinted on weren’t all that different.

And yet Lillian Tillard looked completely fine?

What…?

Wait. Then does that mean—

She’d already been imprinted on?

“Water.”

At that moment, Lillian’s lips moved.

“Water… my throat… I’m thirsty…”

Ebren forcibly unclasped his intertwined fingers.

His hand moved on its own toward the water bottle on the small bedside table.

Ah, damn it.

He almost laughed—something he never did.

For the first time in his life.

“If you’re conscious, try sitting up.”

“Why do I haaave to…”

“You said you wanted water.”

This was absurd.

She was the one who said she wanted to drink, wasn’t she?

In the room that had been taut with tension, clumsy noises echoed.

Before he knew it, Lillian had finished the water and laid her head back on the pillow.

Her gaze, however, was still fixed on him.

Ebren spoke first.

“You got imprinted on me, Miss. What are we supposed to do now?”

There was no answer.

In truth, Lillian Tillard was too dazed to respond.

“What are you thinking right now?”

From the moment he met her on that mountain path, she’d been a woman he couldn’t predict even once.

In a voice so small he might have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, Lillian whispered,

“…That you were pretty late.”

“I’m the only one who got imprinted, Tillard. Late to what, exactly?”

“Hmph… and here I thought you were so annoyingly clingy before.”

“…? Me?”

When?

Lillian made an irritated face.

Her eyes narrowed sharply.

“Why are you playing hard to get?”

“I am?”

“Are you going to keep spouting nonsense just because you’re good-looking?”

“…Me?”

“Yes.”

Ebren lightly furrowed just his left eyebrow.

…Who was she confusing him with?

Surely not her trash of a former fiancé, Carkin Pavil?

“Heh.”

Ebren clicked his tongue.

This feeling… it’s new.

If he had to describe it, it was like drinking monster blood.

Monster blood tasted like water squeezed out of a rotten rag.

He didn’t understand it at all.

Was it possible to like someone so much that you’d long for them even in your dreams?

Was that normal for people?

As Ebren frowned,

Lillian closed her eyes again.

“I kept my promise… I did everything…”

“…Promise? What promise.”

“Ahh, don’t talk to me. Business hours are over…”

“What kind of business does a noble young lady even run?”

“I’m going to sleep…”

Despite the prince’s questions, Lillian answered boldly—and promptly fell asleep again.

What an absurd woman.

“Hm.”

Ebren rubbed the back of his neck.

What was he supposed to do about this?

His ability’s instincts were being extremely troublesome right now.

That salvation had been so sweet, that he wanted to break it—his entire body was pounding with that urge.

Wouldn’t it be better if Lillian Tillard simply didn’t exist?

“You—just try waking up.”

He needed to come to a decision.

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Lillian survived the next day looking vaguely human.

Like someone who’d suffered a high fever, her limbs were weak, but her head was working again.

And she wished she’d just died of the fever.

Oh, Creator God.

Why are you doing this to me?

Everything had been going so well—successfully breaking off the engagement, submitting an anonymous tip to the press, escaping the capital, screwing over Ramio.

Just like when she was ten years old, however, the gods offered no answer.

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“Can’t we go pray together at the temple? If I become a good child, maybe I’ll gain an ability!”

Back then, she’d pestered her parents into visiting the temple.

If she’d known her parents would be murdered by bandits, she wouldn’t have uttered a single word about prayer.

Even now, the situation itself is hopeless.

She felt nothing even when the kindly-looking physician congratulated her.

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“Congratulations on your awakening, my lady!”

An awakening fever? At this age?

And on top of that, her compatibility with the female ability user present here was perfect?

Does that even make sense?

In this world, surpassing a compatibility score of 60 was absurdly difficult.

Wasn’t that why people relied on control artifacts?

Because there simply weren’t enough compatible controllers.

And I’m supposed to stop a villain’s rampage?

Impossible.

He was S-rank—he must’ve overcome it on his own. Male leads could do anything, after all.

He’d finally learned how to save himself.

Truly something to celebrate.

Lillian knew the reality of it.

But with asylum just around the corner, how could she possibly give up hope?

So until the moment she met the villain, she clung to one last sweet dream.

The villain who came out to greet her was dressed as loosely as ever.

His long silver hair was casually tied near the nape of his neck.

Ugh, can’t even button his shirt to the top. Shameless.

His large build and clearly defined muscles, combined with that careless attire, gave him a strangely decadent air.

Everything about him was the complete opposite of the upright, disciplined Second Prince, Kyle.

There was a reason people in this rigid empire kept their distance from villains…

At least he looks healthier.

Only then did she realize—

Perhaps that man had truly been in danger.

“First, congratulations on your awakening, Lillian Tillard.”

“You honor me, Your Highness.”

“But it seems we’re in quite a predicament.”

“Ah, because of the rampage—”

Oh my, there must be some misunderstanding.

Lillian cupped one cheek with her hand, preparing to speak—

When the villain tugged his collar even farther aside.

Despite his beautiful face, his thick neck, prominent Adam’s apple, and collarbones were laid bare.

What is this? Showing off tattoos?

Now not just beneath his eyes, but on his neck too?

A chain-like pattern shimmered faintly in gold before fading away.

Surely not.

Why was this man showing something so grotesque to someone who only wanted to live quietly and modestly?

“Don’t tell me—”

She said it out loud.

“That’s exactly what you think, Miss Tillard.”

The villain smiled beautifully.

Then a faint red spiderweb pattern slowly surfaced as well.

He must be furious—furious enough to radiate killing intent.

“I got imprinted on you.”

“…This is insane.”

“So what do we do now?”

“…Wait. Haven’t I heard that line before?”

Was this really Lillian’s fault?

She was grateful for being saved from Ramio. Grateful for the nursing.

But no matter how she thought about it, she’d done nothing.

If anything, she was like a carriage parked quietly at the palace’s rear gate.

Then the villain rammed into it and demanded to know what she planned to do about his shattered driver’s seat.

Still, she wasn’t socially inept enough to argue that point here.

Lillian washed her face with dry hands while the villain crossed his arms.

“Miss. You understand how troublesome this situation is, right?”

“Of course.”

Imprinting—an impossibly romantic trope in genre fiction.

In modern Fernies, it was practically a death sentence.

It was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting it wander around outside!

If your imprint partner is attacked, you take damage too.

In a world overflowing with political strife and monster subjugations, it was suicide.

But… I don’t feel anything?

Normally, imprinting left matching marks on both parties. There was supposed to be a burning sensation.

But nothing appeared on Lillian.

Which meant—

“…Your Highness, are you the only one who got imprinted?”

“Yes. How does it feel to be holding my leash?”

“I will do everything in my power to find a way to return it.”

Not buying it. Not interested.

But when she offered to return it, the markings beneath the villain’s eyes darkened further.

What kind of personality felt destructive urges toward their own imprinted controller?

Smiling, he stepped closer.

The scent of phytoncide—the fragrance that ruined Lillian’s life—washed over her.

“That was a bit too quick of an answer. I’m a little hurt, Miss.”

Did he even have a heart left to hurt…?

It had already been ripped out.

The villain looked down at her from an angle, his eyes curving.

“Miss. I never had a dedicated controller to begin with. I have control stones and monster cores—why would I need one?”

Of course you wouldn’t.

Rocks were better than humans who needed emotional care, right?

“So I never intended to make you my controller. And yet—an imprint.”

“It is thanks to Your Highness’s immense contribution to my awakening.”

She politely shifted the blame onto him.

“Since it’s come to this, how about you imprint on me too? Fair’s fair.”

Translation: Would you like to be imprisoned?

At this point, Lillian abandoned her original plan entirely.

She’d survived this long by adapting quickly to changing realities.

Think again. Roll your brain one more time.

That man would start a war four years from now.

If they mutually imprinted—

She’d be dragged straight into that sea of blood.

There’s only one way.

“Your Highness. I know a method to解除 an imprint. On the one-year anniversary of the imprint.”

It took her 0.3 seconds to say it.