BVIB 01

◆ Chapter 1 ◆

◆ Prologue ◆

“What a truly wicked woman she was. The villainess who ruined her family and even killed her fiancé is finally dead!”

Those who heard of Roselyn Bellion’s execution spoke with satisfaction, breaking into laughter.

The noble lady abandoned long ago by the Bellion family.

The beautiful seductress who survived by devouring her fiancé.

The cruel villainess who defied even the bonds of kinship.

The wicked witch who ravaged the world.

There were many words to describe her, yet none were flattering. Roselyn herself felt indifferent to these numerous labels.

Slap!

The sting on her skin made Roselyn slowly open her one remaining eye.

Convicted of regicide for killing the third prince, serial murder, fraud, and public indecency, she was sentenced to death. Her appearance was pitiful.

She had long lost one eye, her fingers were sparse, and she had only one ear left.

Contrary to the grandiose labels, she lay dying in a damp, moldy underground prison, breathing raggedly.

Of course, that didn’t mean Roselyn was trembling in fear.

Even as her hair was yanked painfully, she defiantly lifted her eyes to see her captor.

“Ha ha, look at you,” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.

A man with a freckled, plump face wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, his breath heavy and labored.

“You should have thanked me and bowed when I offered to marry you, Lady! I was willing to marry a woman like you,” he continued, his tone both self-satisfied and condescending.

Roselyn furrowed her brow, struggling to recognize him. Her vision blurred, she finally managed to ask in a hoarse, dry voice, “Who are you?”

Her inability to recognize him seemed to humiliate the man, his face flushing crimson with indignation.

“You fool! Calling you a villainess or a witch is laughable! What could a stupid woman like you ever become?” he barked, his voice filled with spite.

He moved his bulky body to kick at her through the bars but soon stopped, panting with exhaustion.

“Hopefully, that knocked some sense into your thick head!” he added, his breath ragged.

Roselyn chuckled softly. Even in the filthy dungeon, her radiant smile was captivating enough to make him pause.

 Her ethereal beauty, untouched by her disabilities, stirred a dark desire within him, igniting something primal and unsettling.

“Oh, my apologies. Baron Gilbert, was it? As you can see, I’ve lost one eye, so I struggle to recognize the less significant,” she remarked, her tone dripping with disdain.

Even as she spat blood, Roselyn spoke with a natural yet arrogant demeanor, her voice unwavering.

“Eek…! I’m Robert, not Gilbert!” he sputtered, his pride wounded.

Robert shook her hair roughly, the motion sending her beautiful, blood- and dirt-stained white hair swaying wildly around her face.

Roselyn looked at the man panting in front of her. He was twenty years her senior and had constantly flirted with her since her debutante ball.

“Oh, is that so?” she said in a tone of mock sympathy, her gaze filled with scorn.

“But you’re not my type.”

Roselyn smirked.

“I didn’t realize you liked me so much. I should have given you some advice.”

“Advice?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion, yet curiosity flickered in his eyes.

Even in this perilous situation, the foolish man looked intrigued.

Roselyn opened her mouth to speak, her voice steady and deliberate, cutting through the tense air.

She understood precisely why the crown prince had sent this insignificant man to the dungeon.

“Baron Robert, if you’re going to flirt with me, perhaps you should do something about your smelly, bloated body,” she said, her words sharp and unyielding.

“And your conscience, throwing yourself at a woman twenty years younger. Also, please don’t speak so close to me. Your breath smells, and I have a weak stomach.”

“You…!” he stammered.

“Late Baron Robert, you probably couldn’t even close your eyes properly.” She murmured in sympathy. “Why else would your father hold onto the barony until he died at over seventy before passing it to you?”

Roselyn taunted, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“The late baron must be lamenting your lack of maturity.”

His face turned red and swollen like a pufferfish about to burst, his anger palpable.

A sharp metallic sound rang out as he brandished his sword.

“Shut up, you wretch…!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fury.

Roselyn glanced at Robert’s sword, her mind calculating.

She had no intention of standing on the gallows as the new emperor desired. They planned to use her death as a spectacle to solidify public opinion, but she wasn’t going to be used so easily.

He would only see her corpse, and this bundle of inferiority before her would take her place on the gallows.

This insecure man was perfect for manipulation, a puppet easily swayed by his weaknesses.

‘Just a little more provocation…’ she thought.

Roselyn spoke again, her voice laced with disdain. “Even a wretch like me can’t stand a filthy, stinking pig like you.”

“You… you dog…!” he spat angrily, his voice trembling with rage, his grip tightening on the sword.

As his sword tip aimed for Roselyn’s heart, she thought with a sense of finality, ‘Finally.’

Just as she closed her eyes, ready to accept her fate,

“Stop.”

A soft yet firm voice sliced through the vulgar tension.

“That’s enough, Baron Robert.”

“Ma-Marquis Gueran1?” he stammered, his anger momentarily replaced by surprise.

Recognizing the newcomer, Roselyn seized the opportunity and grabbed the blade through the bars, pulling it toward her with determination.

“What the…?” Robert exclaimed, nearly losing his grip on the sword. He managed to pull it back just in time, blood dripping from Roselyn’s hand where she had lost her hold.

Footsteps echoed as a middle-aged man, appearing in his late forties, emerged deliberately from the shadows.

“She was just trying to use you to end her life. If you kill her, you’ll take her place on the gallows,” he said, his calm, gentle voice carrying a hint of kindness.

Roselyn’s expression tightened.

Because with just a few words, he calmed the flustered Robert and sent him out of the dungeon, then turned to Roselyn with a knowing smile.

“Good afternoon, Roselyn. Tsk, your pretty face is a mess. That fool didn’t know his strength and acted rashly.”

His voice carried a touch of regret, and Roselyn furrowed her brow, choosing to remain silent.

His hand brushed the blood from Roselyn’s cheek and withdrew.

Gueran Wilbred, the man who personally captured and imprisoned Roselyn after her life on the run, making him her arch-nemesis.

Her mocking gaze toward Robert had transformed into a fierce glare as she turned her attention to the newcomer.

“Here to pity me? Or to mock me? You’re interfering to the very end,” she snapped, her voice edged with defiance.

“I’m here to offer you a chance,” he replied smoothly.

“I don’t care to hear that from someone who’s constantly obstructed me,” she retorted, her frustration evident.

He stood straight, looking down at his intriguing adversary with a low chuckle. “The world is quite dull, isn’t it? Boring and tedious… Even the fun things end faster than expected.”

The middle-aged man, having lowered his gaze, looked at Roselyn with an enigmatic expression.

Roselyn furrowed her brow, bewildered. This man was the one person she could never understand, no matter how long she tried.

One day, he acted as her protector; another day, he threatened her with a sword. Sometimes he hid her, and recently, he relentlessly pursued her for over six months until he finally captured her and threw her into prison.

“Do you believe in parallel worlds, Roselyn?” he asked with a smile, his voice smooth and curious.

His slightly drooping eyes and hair neatly combed back, with a few strands out of place, gave him an air of carelessness. He wore a suit and coat instead of a uniform.

He appeared dignified, yet he was unpredictably violent, a truly enigmatic man.

His violet eyes rarely showed emotion, and a perpetual smile lingered on his lips.

“What nonsense is it this time, Gueran?” she retorted, her voice laced with irritation. That’s why Roselyn disliked him.

“You only speak harshly to me. I’m hurt,” he said, shrugging in his impeccable attire as Roselyn continued to glare at him.

“Why not? Even in Gilbert Dande’s book, it says there are countless branching points in the world, and identical worlds might split based on choices.”

“And that man was burned as a heretic, and his book was banned,” she replied sharply.

“But you and I have read it.”

Gueran replied with a low laugh to Roselyn’s hostile words, kneeling on one knee on the dirt- and blood-stained floor, meeting her gaze.

“Don’t you sometimes regret your choices? Do you sometimes wish you’d made a different decision or developed a different relationship with someone?”

She remained silent, her thoughts swirling.

“I find it a bit wasteful to let you die with the trivial label of villainess. Don’t you want to live, Roselyn?” Gueran asked, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

Roselyn narrowed her eyes briefly, then exhaled softly, leaning her head against the cold bars. Her vision blurred, and the bleeding from her palm refused to stop.

Only then did Gueran notice the pool of blood on the floor and her pallid face, causing him to hesitate for a moment.

“…You.”

“Didn’t I tell you, Gueran? I’m quite frail. I’ve never been healthy since birth and have always lived with the warning that I could die at any moment,” she confessed, her voice weak yet defiant.

“I’ve lived quite long despite that, haven’t I?” Roselyn murmured weakly, and Gueran’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Before you caught me, I took a drug. It shows symptoms after a week. It prevents blood from clotting.”

Without clotting, a person will die. It was a simple act based on common knowledge.

Seeing Gueran’s hardened expression, she chuckled softly, amused by his reaction.

“Seems there was something even you didn’t know. In the end, I win.”

“…You’re the first to ever outsmart me,” he admitted, a hint of admiration in his voice.

What an honor.

Facing death, she seemed to have finally shed the sharp thorns that surrounded her, a gentle smile gracing her lips.

“Gueran, I was lonely,” Roselyn admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

Gueran hesitated, caught off guard by her confession.

“Running away wasn’t easy either. So…” she trailed off, her strength waning.

Roselyn knew her vision was fading. Feeling the end approaching, she didn’t bother to stop her lips from moving.

A sloshing sound came from the floor, a reminder of her dire state.

“…The answer to your question is ‘no.'”

As soon as she finished speaking, Roselyn’s body, leaning against the bars, slowly collapsed to the ground.

“…You always manage to surprise me,” Gueran murmured, a mix of admiration and sorrow in his voice.

After a long pause, green flames suddenly engulfed the dungeon, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

“…Attempted suicide? How could you even think of such a thing? It’s embarrassing. That’s why everyone finds you uncomfortable and dislikes you,” echoed a voice, filled with disdain.

When Roselyn opened her eyes again, she was sitting on a bed, facing someone she hadn’t seen in a long time.

It was her stepmother, the first person she had killed after leaving home long ago.

‘…Gueran, you bastard.’