Page 337 of The Villainess Whom I Had Served for 13 Years Has Fallen

[Bam! Bam! Bam!]

"Big brother...! I’m scared..."

“It’s okay. If you stay hidden in the closet, they won’t find you... Just hide, like always...”

[Squeak.]

“There you are.”

“Aaah! Brother!!”

“Please, spare us!!”

My life was miserable. Before I was given the name “Temperance,” it was filled with darkness and filth.

I had to hide from debt collectors who knocked on our door nearly every day, and I lived in constant fear of my father, who was addicted to alcohol and gambling. My mother had run away a long time ago, leaving me with the responsibility of protecting my only little brother.

“Please don’t hit us... Big brother...! Save me...”

That’s what it meant to be an older brother. That was my life—a pathetic life, born into suffering. I lived in bitterness, cursing the misfortune that had come upon me.

One day... Yes, on a day when I was beaten by my drunken father for reasons I didn’t understand, I went to a church and prayed. I asked why I had to live such a life.

I prayed to God, wondering why others got to live in happy families, loved and cared for, while such misery befell only me.

"Please, kill my father."

Of course, there was no answer from God.

The sermons at church, which I went to for some semblance of comfort, only preached “Love,” “Forgive,” “Exercise temperance.” Yet they offered no solution for the suffering I endured.

What kind of God was this? What kind of forgiveness? I lived in hell every day.

When my father, wielding his fists, started strangling my brother, I finally broke the bonds of filial duty.

The world was a savage place.

If it weren’t for you... If you hadn’t created us... We wouldn’t have to suffer like this.

That’s when I understood. All misfortune began with the act of “temperance.”

It was because I “restrained” myself that misery found me. Because I “held back,” happiness never came my way.

It was only after I killed my father with my own hands that I understood—temperance was a fool’s game.

The strong devour the weak. That’s the way of the world, yet I had tried to run from it. After I finally understood the law of the jungle, I vowed never to hold back again.

I killed people for my gain. I spread misery for money. As I accumulated wealth, threats began to emerge.

People who held grudges against me. Those with principles that couldn’t be bought. I fell into despair when I realized the strength of those who had lived happy lives surpassed mine. They showed me mercy.

“We won’t kill you.”

"..."

“Your life is pitiful. Spend what remains of it helping others.”

And then, he appeared.

“The despair in your eyes is delightful.”

"..."

“Do you want power?”

He offered his hand, and to a man who lacked restraint, he gave the name “Temperance.”

"..."

Yes, my desire was temperance.

Restraining oneself for greater happiness—that was the desire I sought.

Clench.

With a smile, Ellicia watched as the Apostle of Temperance grasped the Holy Sword.

It was the result of a momentary lapse in vigilance.

"...!"

Ellicia’s dark magic had the power to bring forth one’s desires. The moment you let your guard down against her, you were as good as lost.

That was...

“Haha...!”

"..."

“The sword is mine, is it?”

The terrifying nature of the Apostle of Patience.

In the Apostle of Temperance’s bewildered eyes, Ellicia’s smile of madness was reflected.

A crack appeared in the face of the Apostle of Temperance, who had always been confident in his victory.

“Kah...”

The Apostle burst into laughter. In the end, he only had to kill everyone.

Holding back was for fools.

“That’s right... I should have killed you sooner.”

"..."

“Even if things have turned out this way, it’s not so bad. A true Apostle can be made rather than a clumsy imitation like you.”

"..."

He gripped the Holy Sword tighter, exerting his strength.

“You think you’ve won? I’m the one who’s won, you fool.”

"..."

“What could a piece of metal like this do?”

"..."

“Ancient relics mean nothing to me. I am Temperance, the chosen Apostle.”

But then—

Crack.

"...What?"

A large fissure began to form on the hand that gripped the Holy Sword.

His skin split, and the hand he held the sword with began to tremble, as if aging rapidly. His grip weakened.

Thud.

“Wha...”

The Apostle of Temperance’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the blood pooling on the floor. He looked at the blood on his hand, his eyes quivering.

“Why... my body...”

A powerful force that seemed to swallow his breath began to envelop the Apostle’s hand. He looked at Ellicia, eyes trembling.

“What have you done?”

“It seems the Holy Sword is assessing your worth.”

"...!"

“I thought you said you could handle it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

The Apostle of Temperance tried to pull the sword out, but it wouldn’t budge. The weight of the sword made his eyes tremble.

“Grr...”

“Keep holding it.”

Just as Ellicia was about to strangle him—

The Apostle of Temperance gritted his teeth and severed his own hand, which had been gripping the sword. He felt his strength draining as long as he held it.

At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to fend off Ellicia, let alone the man standing behind her. Resigned, the Apostle of Temperance looked at his severed arm and laughed hollowly.

“Kuhaha...”

He laughed as he looked straight into Ellicia’s eyes.

“Kuhahaha! This is amusing... truly amusing.”

Ellicia stared right back, her smile growing even more twisted.

‘This is terrifying.’

Watching the fight between Apostles, I clicked my tongue and sighed. The battle between two madmen was unnerving. If I had one regret, it was that he had cut off his hand. If he’d held on a bit longer, one of his black magic abilities might have been sealed. Perhaps he would have even been forced to retire.

The Holy Sword’s specific powers were unknown, but the author had left clues about the test of worthiness.

Q: What happens if a cultist forcibly draws the Holy Sword?A: Their black magic is sealed, or they die. The Holy Sword is a prickly thing, you see.

All I knew about the Holy Sword was that it granted numerous blessings to its user.

What was certain was that the current Apostle of Temperance couldn’t defeat Ellicia.

I gave a slight nod to Ellicia, who was full of a vengeful gaze, signaling that she no longer needed to hold back.

At that signal, a cold, dark force began to coil around the space behind her. The energy was so overwhelming, it was as if I wasn’t even facing the same person as before.

‘...?’

Awakened Olaf? No, the force was even stronger. Ellicia lowered her head in gratitude, muttering softly.

“Glory to the Saint.”

It was good that she’d been recruited. Had she not been, that force would have been directed at me.

Ellicia’s hand clamped down on the Apostle of Temperance’s face, hurling him into a corner.

Thud.

The space distorted. Everything Ellicia looked at seemed to crack and shatter like glass.

“Temperance. Or perhaps I should call you ‘Jehar.’”

“...You insolent woman...”

The Apostle of Temperance struggled to his feet, unfolding a massive magic circle across the ground.

His black magic was “Temperance.”

It was the power to impose rules, to restrict.

The ability to restrict death. It created rules within a defined area, allowing him to subdue his enemies as he wished. A truly formidable power.

Though it had limitations, during his battle with Lowen in the novel, he’d even restricted his aura—within his area, he could practically play god.

But—

Rumble.

Ellicia knew his abilities well. After all, she was also an Apostle.

With blue, piercing eyes, Ellicia twisted the space around her, speaking in a cold, soft voice.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment.”

“Don’t get cocky, Patience.”

“It’s you who seems overconfident. Aren’t you afraid? I wonder what sort of gift I’ve prepared for you.”

“Foolish.”

The Apostle of Temperance began to chant his rules coldly.

“Black magic. Regulation.”

"..."

“From this moment, Apostle Ellicia’s black magic is restricted within this space.”

"..."

“Struggle all you like, you foolish woman.”

Ellicia responded with a sly smile.

“Holy magic.”

"...!!!"

“Ritual Flame.”

Pure white flames began to dance over the Apostle’s body. At the same time, flames began to burn on Ellicia as well. For one who had forsaken the gods to use such high-level holy magic was an act punishable by divine wrath. It was a double-edged sword that harmed Ellicia as well.

But—

“Graaah...!!!”

The holy magic inflicted even greater damage on the already-wounded Apostle of Temperance.

“Your rules are faltering.”

"..."

“This makes it easy for me to exploit any gaps.”

“Stop...!”

“Like this.”

Thud!!!

As Ellicia twisted the space, the Apostle of Temperance’s magic circle cracked and began to divide the space where the Holy Sword lay into two distinct realms.

The black magic circle symbolizing Temperance clashed with Ellicia’s blue aura, creating violent waves that split the Holy Sword’s resting place into two territories.

Crack...Craaack!!!

Ellicia’s explosive power twisted and reformed, as if struggling to contain itself.

“Struggle harder,” she said, watching him.

“...”

“If you die, your brother will be in danger.”

Ellicia gazed directly at the Apostle of Temperance, her eyes reading the colors of his emotions.

The swirling red of rage.

The dark blue of fear.

“Aren’t you curious?” she asked.

“...”

“Aren’t you curious what color your emotions are ? Nоvеl?g?t ? (Official version) right now?”

“...Shut up!”

“Right now, your emotions are...”

The color of dread.

“A deep blue.”