Page 351 of The Villainess Whom I Had Served for 13 Years Has Fallen

Desmont Darbav.

Among the Desmont lineage, aside from the founding head of the house, Darbav possessed the most exceptional talent for magic.

He was known by many as the "Wizard of Annihilation," for every enemy associated with him vanished without a trace.

Whether it was a territory or a single individual, he annihilated them, embodying the raw, terrifying potential of a grand mage.

Numerous famed swordsmen bowed their heads before him, trembling in fear at the mere mention of his name.

A monster, they said.

The Empire’s strongest swordsman, called the Sword of the Continent, actively avoided conflict with him, as did countless nobles—all deterred solely by the name of the grand mage, Darbav.

Yes, once nicknamed the “Noble Bomber,” this grand mage...

"...Let go of me!"

...was now tasting bitter defeat at the hands of a swordsman for the very first time. And his opponent was a swordsman in his early twenties.

"Let goooo!!!"

Watching Darbav held back by Kyle, I couldn’t help but feel awkward. I hadn’t expected him to go down so quickly.

Honestly, I hadn’t thought I’d win so easily. Sure, I thought there’d be an intense back-and-forth because, after all, he is the head of the Desmont family...

-Caliburn. -Yes, Master. -Did I rely too heavily on your power during the exchange just now? -No...? You didn’t even use me. -...I see.

I gazed at Darbav with a wry expression, uncertain how I should look at him.

If I smiled even a little, I had the feeling the mansion wouldn’t survive. I knew how volatile a Desmont could be in anger.

"Let gooooo!!!"

I knew, too. That Darbav wasn’t using his full power. The strength he displayed in the novel was beyond comprehension, so I wasn’t arrogant enough to believe this was all he had.

Sure, I knew he was holding back during our sparring...

"Let goooo!!!"

Watching Darbav genuinely rage, I didn’t know how to respond.

One thing was clear: the dark magic aura that had been blocking his energy had disappeared, and he had grown stronger. That’s likely why he was so heated.

"If I used my full power...!" "Father!!" "Kyle, release me!"

A mage, especially one who engages in hand-to-hand combat with a Sword Master, might seem foolish. Yet, Darbav was the monster who could make it possible, so I couldn’t just let my guard down.

"Let go! If I use magic, I’ll...!" "Please calm yourself, sir! Olivia is watching from the window!"

At Kyle’s words, Darbav looked toward the mansion’s window, where Olivia, sipping milk beside Rosanna, observed the yard with wide eyes.

"Ooh... Mom, Dad and Ricardo are fighting." "They’re not fighting, just sparring. And it’s ‘Dad,’ not ‘Dad.’" "Then why are they sparring?" "I don’t know." "Hmm... I’m bored. Want to make a bet?" "What kind of bet?" "I’ll bet one chocolate that Ricardo wins." "In that case, I’ll..."

Rosanna, watching Darbav’s fiery gaze, recalled her husband’s younger days—the passionate man who hated to lose.

Hey, thanks for saving me last time, adventurer. Shut up. You’re ruining my drink. Hmph... Next time, I’ll be the one to save you. I swear on the name of Desmont. Yeah, right.

With a soft smile, Rosanna accepted Olivia’s wager. After all, as the lady of the house, she had to protect their wealth.

"I’ll bet on Ricardo too."

Darbav, sensing the eyes on him, stood up, igniting his resolve.

My wife is watching. My daughter is watching. I am Desmont Darbav, the family head, and a father determined to test the thief who dares to steal his daughter. I need to assess his worth.

Before being the head of a family, he was still a husband. Although Rosanna didn’t expect him to win, Darbav found himself filled with a rare, long-absent determination as he took a deep breath.

"You’ve grown strong." "Thank you for the compliment." "No, take pride in it. Few swordsmen could even touch my feet." "That’s because you’re powerful, Head of House." "Indeed."

This was a problem... I hadn’t yet thought of a way to lose while sparing Darbav’s pride. I needed to manage my strength, but too much hesitation could be fatal.

Did Darbav realize this, as he approached me, exuding an eerie aura?

"From now on, I won’t be Olivia’s father—I’ll be Desmont Darbav." "It might be best if we stop here..." "Here I come." "...Don’t tell me." "Meteor...!"

-Ku-goo-goo-goong....

Afterward, Darbav ended up getting scolded by Rosanna.

As for the winner...

"Let go!!! We’ll just rebuild if it’s destroyed!" "Be quiet!" "Arrgh!!!"

...it was me, though.

Darbav, unable to finish the duel, continued to struggle in Kyle’s arms. Still, I noticed a hint of ★ ?????????????????? ★ a satisfied smile in his eyes as he departed.

"..."

At least, it seemed I had his approval.

That night, I had the dream again.

Once more, I dreamed of the woman wandering the battlefield, caught in a killing frenzy.

It was a one-sided massacre. Soldiers, powerless against her overwhelming strength, trembled in terror at the sight of the woman. She, on her part, merely smiled sadly as she confronted those who blocked her path.

Please, just move aside.

In the dream, her pink hair was soaked in red, and any semblance of a heart that once sought solace from the gods had long since vanished.

As always, she wandered aimlessly across the battlefield, and once again, a man stood to block her path.

Stop. ... I can’t let you pass any further.

The man with red hair—not stained with blood, but naturally red—looked at her with a sorrowful expression, raising his sword.

His lips moved, but no sound reached me, and though her lips trembled with anguish, I heard nothing from her either.

...!! ... ...!!!!!

All I saw was the sorrow etched into the two wounded figures before me.

And the dream’s end was always the same.

Shk...!

The man’s death.

"...Huff. Huff!!"

Yuria jolted awake from the nightmare, breathing heavily.

Her entire body was drenched in sweat. Her clothes clung to her skin, soaked through, and her breaths came out ragged.

-Drip.

Feeling the wetness on the back of her hand, Yuria reached up, rubbing her eyes, only to see her hand smeared with tears as she let out a long sigh.

"Again..."

The nightmare that plagued her three times a week. She had hoped she’d eventually get used to it, but this recurring dream continued to unsettle her.

I have sparring with the Director today.

Shaking off the unease, Yuria checked the time and quickly dressed. She was supposed to meet the Director at the training hall by five in the morning.

She had to keep her promise. Only then could she grow stronger.

That day, on the journey to find the Holy Sword, she had been painfully reminded of her own weakness. Even though the Director had praised her at the meeting, she was still no more than a helpless child compared to Ricardo.

It didn’t matter how brightly she shone in the eyes of others; if she couldn’t shine in his eyes, it was pointless.

Her unpaid debt only grew.

Stretching, Yuria hurried along. She knew that lingering in her gloom wouldn’t help her at all.

The dungeon. The ballroom. The events in the north.

Among countless incidents, she could do nothing but strive to grow stronger. Exhaling deeply, Yuria tied her hair back.

On her way to the training hall, she recognized some familiar faces.

Histania Hanna. -I need to catch up to Senior Mikhail...

Mikhail. -Please be quiet. I can’t concentrate.

Ruin. -Sneaks a glance...

Many were busy with their own efforts, pressing forward. Mikhail, in particular, seemed to be pushing himself almost to the point of self-destruction lately.

They were all so occupied that they hadn’t had the chance to chat like they used to in their second year when they would often share meals.

"Mi..."

Just as she awkwardly raised her hand to wave at Mikhail, Yuria’s attention was caught by a voice, and she quickly hid her hand.

"What are you doing?"

It was the Director.

Unwrapping the bandages on his right arm, the Director cracked his neck, then turned his gaze in the direction he’d been watching and spoke softly.

"Mikhail, huh." "..." "He’s been working hard lately." "..." "But..."

The Director flexed his wrist as he voiced his observation, noting something odd about Mikhail’s appearance.

"Is he..." "..." "Is he growing his hair out?"

...

Malik shrugged as if it didn’t matter and gestured for Yuria to step forward.

"Let’s begin." "Yes."

During their lengthy sparring session, the Director, deftly dodging her strikes, shared a piece of information with her in a low voice, as if it was for her ears alone.

"Oh, by the way, did you know a special class is being offered this summer?" "Excuse me?" "They’re bringing in an external instructor. You should consider attending." "Was this always in the plan?" "Hm... I arranged it."

As her mentor, Malik offered his advice.

"It would be wise to join." "..." "This instructor was quite difficult to recruit."

A subtle, cold smile curved Malik’s lips.