The Villainess was Loved

Chapter Twenty-Two: Rational Lead

Wights are undead that were once human, in the general form. However, despite their ‘humandom’, they were driven mad by their vanities and desires.

They could be corrupt knights, assassins who enjoyed killing or priests who took advantage of their believers.

In any case, wights came in various forms depending on their positions while alive.

Still, if I moved forward, the beast would swing its heavy doubled-edged sword at me; alternatively, there was no route back, meaning basically there was no option B other than leaping n steps below.

My gaze dropped, and a piece of rubble from the crumbling floor broke off and fell into the dark abyss confirming my horrors.

"f**k is our only option to jump down?" I whined.

The beast c****d its head to the side as though trying to understand my reasoning, and in a sudden turn of events, it swung its heavy sword directly to me, who was leading the pitiful line, leaving me no choice but to leap towards the beast to miss its hit.

"ROSE!!" Wreigner yelled frustratedly as the place I once stood crumbled and fell several floors.

"f**k!" I cursed.

'That’s not even my name!’ were words I longed to utter, but the beast wasted no time waiting for my settlement as it sliced almost instantly at where my body landed.

“f**k…fuck!” I cursed, my back glued to the wall now.

How I had moved in a matter of milliseconds astonished me too.

My weapon of choice was a longbow, which required distance. As for swords…I had nothing on me but a dagger.

A dagger I bought purely ornamentally because waiting for Breca, who had a particular order, took ages.

I placed my hands on the wall, and vines with green fleshy leaves erupted from my touch, coiling themselves around his sword only the instance they touched him, they died.

Fucking hell, the one weakness to my ability. The undead.

All undead had a particular skill that opposed my mana.

Drain.

Whether life drain or drain touch, the name simply meant the same thing: the ability to suck the life out of living things to recharge. That was how the beast found us.

The undead were particularly sensitive to my mana type.

Hell, If I had not used my ability to spy beyond the walls, perhaps we would have avoided this encounter.

I could overpower them, the undead, I mean, in my past life. But then again, I did awaken at sixteen. So, so much for the thought.

As I ducked the vertical attack, I pulled the dagger from my belt carefully so as not to rattle the three fire crystals stolen from Breca in their pouches.

To ensure I landed well, I planted the silver dagger on walls to steady my landing, an act that caused shrieks to erupt from the wright as he steadily began running towards me.

“What the hell did I do!?” I questioned angrily, “The walls are already falling apart!!”

Was the tower feeding them? Is that why the beast reacted so poorly to my ‘accidental’ attack on the tower?

I matched his momentum as I ran toward him.

The second he swung his sword, I ducked under its swing radius, grazing my knees painfully in the process; still, the fact that I missed my literal decapitation by only a hair width distance made the poorly thought out move worth it.

I grabbed hold of its right leg to slow my momentum, then sunk my blade in where the beasts’ Achilles tendon was supposed to be, in between the small crevices of its armour.

The beast let out an assuring shriek.

Still, I must have held on longer than I was permitted because the repulsion was almost instantaneous. At first, it was the simple, rapid loss of the mana gathered on my hands, then the flesh on my fingers began melting off.

The crimson of my blood poured through, exposing the white of my bone which gave me little choice but to pull away.

I near rolled to safety, but the beast still had one working leg, to which he used to draw the wind from my lungs with such a powerful kick that it sent me flying to the opposite wall breathless.

The impact of my crash on the wall caused some loose debris to fall on my body, nothing more than a pebble or two. Nothing unfamiliar, anyway. Still, the impact felt like a simple bump compared to the pain of melted flesh drawing tears from my eyes.

I bit my lip to keep from screaming at the immense discomfort pooling in my stomach, discomfort that demanded an immediate cease of the pain that threatened to take my sanity, but it was no use.

My vision was growing more pin-shaped, and worse, I could taste iron on my lips.

I was doing nothing but adding injuries to myself.

Gods but even a houseplant, I only need anything alive to heal myself. Yet we were in a literal graveyard!

“f*****g hell!!” I cried as I tried to focus my breathing.

However, I could hardly access my mana. Too much had been absorbed.

The beast bent down to pull the dagger in its tendon, but the second its hand touched the silver, black smoke oozed from its hands, adding to its cry.

If I could gloat, I would.

Thank the gods the blacksmith had not conned me. Now the beast could not use my absorbed mana to heal.

Still, the damage I inflicted was minuscule.

Well, anyway…dying like this is fine.

At least, I rebelled.

At least…

A loud thud sounded, and seconds later, before the beast's attention was entirely on me, strong hands picked my limp body.

“Are you okay?”

Wreigner’s voice was soothing.

Should I steal his mana? Right, humans are not as quickly willing to give as plants.

“I'll distract the wight. Can you find another floor to take care of her?” Breca yelled as she pulled out two daggers, both glinting beautifully under the moonlight.

The hell was she doing? She is a painter, not…this?

“Wait…wait.” I said, groggily and barely conscious, “She cannot fight the undead alone!!”

“We need to get you to safety; you are hurt!” He insisted as he rushed in the opposite direction from the fight.

Hah…I am hurt?

That is the reason a knight would leave someone on the battlefield?

No wonder we were always in different squads in the past.

Still, I know the real reason he did not offer to fight. He could easily defeat the creature. He was a lead; leads are always overpowered.

Wreigner hated being compared to his brother, so much so that he would train in secret then hide his prowess. Where he did not shine, he was invisible. Where he did, he was belittled.

A weird family dynamic, but one that would leave him willing to let Breca, his companion, die because I, a noble who could spread rumours, was around.

Do you think yourself a hero?

Are you comforting yourself, telling yourself that this was the best choice you could possibly make?