This Villain Is Mine Now - Chapter 129

“Aaaagh!”

A scream echoed through the underground prison. With a sigh, the guard thought, Here we go again.

The Marquis of Redwood.

A man once said to hold such sway that even birds would fall from the sky at his command, yet even after being imprisoned, he hadn’t lost his spirit—instead, he loudly proclaimed that the just and righteous Emperor would soon release him.

Because of that bold demeanor, the soldiers standing guard had no choice but to be respectful toward the Marquis of Redwood, even if he was a criminal. Though they knew they shouldn’t, they even relayed to him what he wanted to know about the outside world.

But the Marquis of Redwood had gone completely mad.

Now resisting sleep like someone possessed by a ghost, the marquis looked like nothing more, nothing less than a raving lunatic.

“Enough already! Come on!”

The guard shouted sharply in an annoyed voice. Any formal speech had all but disappeared when referring to the marquis. Had he been in his right mind, the Marquis would have surely thundered over such insolence—but now, he seemed unable even to tell who was yelling at him.

The Marquis curled up and retreated to the furthest corner of his solitary cell. His filthy clothes were soaked with cold sweat, sapping the heat from his already chilled body. Though there were no windows to let in the winter wind, the prison, deep underground, was even colder than the surface. A bone-chilling cold permeated the air.

Clack, clack—his teeth chattered noisily. Whatever he was so afraid of, the Marquis scraped at the stone floor with his feet, pushing desperately against the immovable wall as if trying to escape something.

“Haa…”

Seeing his state, the guard sighed.

“Do you even know how many days it’s been like this? Do you know what time it is now? There’s a limit to how much one person can be tormented—what are we supposed to do when you scream like this day and night?”

The guard’s complaints poured out. But the Marquis didn’t respond, as if he couldn’t even hear. He simply gnawed at his grimy thumbnail and stared in fear at the air behind the guard.

“Don’t come near! I said stay away!”

Suddenly, another scream burst out. The Marquis clawed wildly at the air with his nails, as if someone were passing through the cell bars to approach him.

Seeing the whites of the Marquis’s eyes roll back, the guard flinched and stepped back. At this hour, the Marquis’s behavior sent chills down the guard’s spine. It really did seem like there might be a ghost in here.

With a grim expression, the guard returned to his seat. Screams continued to ring out behind him, but he stubbornly closed his eyes and sat down, pretending not to hear.

By the time dawn passed and shift change arrived, another soldier came down to relieve him. Half-asleep, the guard, sick of the Marquis’s constant madness, trembled all over.

“What the—what’s with him?”

The sound was like a beast howling. Or the wailing of a sinner cast into hell—bizarre and eerie.

The replacement soldier frowned. It was his first time guarding the underground prison, so he knew nothing of the Marquis’s recent change in behavior. The other guard shook his head.

“It’s like he suddenly went insane.”

“Since when’s he been like that? Shouldn’t we stop him or something?”

“Try it if you can. Ever since the Archduke came, he hasn’t rested for a second. I feel like I’m the one being tortured.”

With a tired face, the guard quickly grabbed his things and stood. He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

“I’m heading out. He’s been making a racket all night, driving people mad. Ugh.”

He handed the prison keys to his replacement without another word. At the grumbling, the newly arrived soldier shrugged nonchalantly.

“If he’s been like that all night, then maybe he’ll quiet down now. Looks like I came at a good time.”

At that, the other guard gave a hollow laugh. “We’ll see. You’ll find out soon enough.”

And indeed, just a few hours later, he came to realize that nothing the night guard had said had been an exaggeration.

“This is a dream… all a dream… I’m dreaming, I am. A finely crafted dream made by that bastard Lyle Grant.”

The Marquis ground his teeth, vowing he would kill them all once he woke from the dream, only to suddenly shout out apologies and beg for forgiveness.

“Sorry! I’m sorry…! I’ve committed a mortal sin! Forgive me, please…!”

And at times, as if seeing the phantoms of his late wife and son, he trembled all over in fear and raised a commotion.

“Eek! Stay back! You’re already dead! Son, stop your mother! Hurry!”

Screams and shouting echoed again and again through the prison, which held only one inmate. The erratic behavior—giggling one moment, cursing someone the next—seemed the very definition of madness. The guard, like his colleague the night before, wore a look of disgust and plugged his ears.

***

He couldn’t sleep. Every night, if he fell asleep, those he had killed came to visit him. But staying awake only blurred the line between reality and dream.

Was the prison the dream? Or was it the real world?

What kind of person was I in the real world? Who… am I?

Fleang Redwood. In that way, he completely lost himself.

Sometimes, he was an old man living out a prosperous old age, recognized by the Emperor for his service. His eldest son, who inherited his title, had elevated the family name so high that House Redwood became more distinguished than even the Duke of Winchester.

Other times, he was the most brilliant vassal of the Northern Archduke. Following the orders of the previous Archduke, he assisted Lucin Grant and demonstrated his talents. Under Lucin Grant’s wise rule, the North experienced immense prosperity, and Fleang, more trusted even than Shawd, eventually became the lord of Pendita.

And sometimes, he led a simple life. When the Northern Knights were disbanded after a punitive campaign in Mabel, he, wanting to save his own life, left the order. Returning to his hometown, he lived an ordinary life with his wife. Though called a Baron, his small rural fief was all he had. Still, it was a better life than when death constantly loomed, so he let go of ambition and lived content with what he was given.

Then at some point, he would regain his senses, crawling on the cold prison floor.

He had killed the previous Archduke. Killed the heir. Gotten his wife and eldest son killed. And in the moment he realized that this was reality, the ghosts of the dead came rushing toward him.

“Why did you kill me? Why did you kill me? Tell me—tell me!”

Sometimes he screamed. Sometimes he begged forgiveness. Other times he shouted in rage. But no matter what he did, the ghosts would not vanish. They only came closer, right up to his face, glaring as they yelled:

“Why did you kill me, Fleang Redwood? Answer! Why did you kill me!”

When his mind was pushed to the brink, the Marquis would faint. Then the cycle would repeat. All the futures once open to him—he could have lived in modest happiness, he could have been content with what he had, he had so many paths.

And in the midst of those illusions, waking up to reality was nothing short of hell.

With each passing day, the Marquis visibly withered. In just a few days, he looked like an old man who had aged decades overnight. His body grew emaciated, his eyes lost their light, and his hair turned completely white.

Because of this, the guards were given a few additional orders. Until the day of the trial, the Marquis must not die. If something happened, and he died, the soldiers could become scapegoats in a conflict between two great houses—Grant and Redwood.

The guards force-fed the Marquis, who refused to eat, and used injections to make him sleep. But it didn’t help much. Every time he woke up, his condition worsened. By now, he didn’t even scream. He just muttered quietly to himself, cursing, cursing…

And so, the life of the Marquis—who looked like he might die at any moment—was extended day by day. No one cared about the fact that he had gone mad. Their only concern was keeping him alive.

And then, some time later—

The day of the public trial finally arrived.