When I Finished Playing the Terminally-Ill Villainous Omega C14

Chapter 14

He spoke without flinching, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

“No. It’s simply that I have no intention of returning to the estate.”

“…What?”

“I will not go back to the mansion.”

The air inside the cave cooled, all warmth seeping out of it.

Locke’s departure from the Hestian estate had originally occurred not long after the Emperor’s death—years into the future.

Now the story had shifted, and I could already guess why.

Because I hadn’t followed the script.

Even if Locke was the protagonist, the Hestian household was the axis of his story—and the part that affected him most was Cedric. If I had stopped playing my assigned role, then naturally, the plot had to warp in response.

Should I really just let him go like this…?

I had sworn to do better in this life, yet all I had done was dodge the missions and avoid Locke at every turn. We hadn’t had a single real chance to rebuild anything between us.

If I had tried a little harder, maybe… we could have been closer. Not friends, perhaps, but something less distant.

Feeling uneasy, like a puzzle with one last stubborn piece missing, I asked carefully,

“Are you leaving because of me—or because of Cassian? If it’s either of us, then I’m really sorry. I’ve been reflecting a lot—”

“Did you not see the corpse?”

“…What?”

“The knight’s corpse.”

I froze, recalling the face of the man I’d found dead—eyes rolled back, cold as marble.

Had Locke been watching me from that moment? If so, why hadn’t he shown himself sooner? I glared half-heartedly.

“So you saw me freaking out back there? You were watching all along? You could’ve said something! I was screaming your name until my throat gave out, you know.”

“Does that matter?”

“Then what does matter?”

He took a slow step closer.

“There were only two people in that place—the knight and me. And now the knight is dead.”

His gaze sharpened. “Are you not afraid?”

“…Afraid? Of what?”

“Of being in the same space as a murderer.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, almost mocking.

“You’re not the killer,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “So why say it like that?”

“And why do you assume I’m not?”

“Because I saw the wound.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“The burns around the stab mark suggest a fire-attribute magic weapon. Those things are expensive—and you couldn’t afford one.”

His golden eyes flickered faintly with intrigue.

“And besides,” I continued, “you’ve never trained in swordsmanship, right? You don’t use magic either?”

He gave a small shake of his head.

“Then how could someone like you defeat a knight personally appointed by the Count?”

Unless it was a competition in trimming hedges or mowing grass, there was no way.

“See? My deduction’s flawless—”

I stopped short. The sword in Locke’s hand gleamed orange from the fire, and right there on its hilt… was a mana stone.

“…That’s a magic weapon.”

He caught my stunned look and smirked faintly.

“Are you frightened now?”

“N-no! You’re still not the culprit. You’re left-handed.”

His mouth curved, just barely.

The knight’s wound had been on the left side of his abdomen—meaning the killer had struck from the right.

Locke took a step forward, wet clothes whispering across the cave floor. The sound made the air tense.

Why is he coming closer? Did I say something wrong?

My throat went dry. I backed away instinctively, nerves prickling. Even if he wasn’t the bloodthirsty tyrant he would become, there was something overwhelming about his silence, his eyes locking onto mine as if to read my soul.

Then, without hesitation, he raised his sword and aimed it directly at me.

The blade’s blue sheen nearly touched my nose.

I didn’t think he’d actually hurt me. If he’d wanted me dead, leaving me unconscious in the storm would’ve done the job cleanly. But the suddenness of it all still made my heart twist.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“I wanted to show you the answer.”

He shifted the sword from his left to his right hand—and threw it.

I flinched, eyes squeezing shut. Something sharp pierced the air—and a wet, ugly crack echoed behind me.

When I turned, a huge spider was impaled against the cave wall, twitching before going limp.

“Ugh!”

I shuddered violently, while Locke exhaled as if mildly inconvenienced. He drew the blade from the wall and sheathed it in one smooth motion.

“So you really didn’t think I was the killer,” he said quietly.

“I told you I didn’t! You didn’t have to prove you’re ambidextrous by scaring me half to death!”

Breath rushed out of me all at once, my chest heaving.

“You seem afraid of swords,” he observed.

“Is there anyone who isn’t?” I shot back.

Especially someone who’d already died by one.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt, and I glared at him through the panic.

“I’m not,” he said.

“Well, of course you’re not, you’re—” I stopped myself before blurting the slaughtering tyrant of legend. “…strong. And dependable. Built like a damn fortress.”

His eyes narrowed, as if trying not to smile.

“I get that you don’t have to serve me anymore if you’ve decided to leave,” I said, regaining my breath. “But we’re still in the Allure Domain. Maybe ease up on the murder-eyes for a bit? If you want to leave, I can help.”

“And by ‘ease up,’” he asked flatly, “what exactly do you mean?”

“Oh, I don’t know—maybe don’t point a sword at my face without warning? Or glare like you’re about to kill me?”

“Ah.”

Completely unbothered, as always.

I sighed, fishing something from my pocket. “Anyway, I found this on the corpse.”

A broken shard of metal.

His gaze sharpened immediately.

“The sword you used has a clean, tempered edge—it didn’t break. Which means you couldn’t have been the one who killed him.”

“…There was evidence, then. I nearly made a mistake.”

“Mistake?”

“I thought perhaps you were only defending me out of pity.”

“That’s not it at all. I would’ve believed you even without proof. Someone who gives me roses doesn’t have it in him to kill a man.”

His lips twitched faintly. “You’re sentimental.”

“Maybe. But I meant it.”

“The rose had no special meaning,” he said coolly. “It was only repayment for the ointment. I’ve only met two people in my life who’ve ever worried about my injuries.”

“Who was the first?”

“…I don’t remember.”

Lie. No one’s eyes looked that sad when lying. Whoever it was, she—or he—had mattered deeply.

“Still, thank you, Locke. You keep pretending to be annoyed, but I… like you. You’re the first person who’s ever been kind to me like that.”

He didn’t reply—only stirred the fire with the tip of his blade.

The flames danced in his golden eyes, glowing brighter than the blaze itself. Maybe it was only a trick of the light, but I thought for a moment I saw something else flicker there. Something fragile.

Maybe he was remembering his “first.”

Silence lingered, deep and heavy.

❖ ❖ ❖

Drip, drip.

The relentless rain outside had softened to a light drizzle. Locke, who’d been staring out of the cave mouth, finally spoke.

“You should return before your pheromones grow stronger.”

I was huddled under my blanket, shivering, and sniffed at myself in confusion. All I smelled was rain and damp wool.

“Hey, Locke…”

He turned his head slightly.

“Do I really smell like pheromones to you?”

Without a word, he came closer, sitting down beside me. His face leaned in, breath warm against the back of my neck. The faint heat spread slowly across my chilled skin, making me squirm.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

He caught my shoulder, preventing me from retreating.

“It’s hard to tell. The scent’s faint—it could be pheromones or just perfume.”

Normally, a servant touching a noble without permission would be scandalous. But this wasn’t the mansion, and Locke wasn’t exactly my servant anymore. The proximity made my head spin.

“Um… you’re kind of close.”

“You have to be close to smell properly.”

“R-right. Sorry.”

He lifted his head then, and our eyes met in the flicker of firelight.