The Baddest Villainess Is Back - Chapter 51

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 51
* * *
“Absolutely not.”
“……But I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You’re not leaving this bed. Under any circumstances. None.”
Rozelin found herself at a loss for words before Cherti’s meticulous kindness.
The incident in the city of Landarin had concluded, and she’d returned to the Bellion Estate to convalesce—or rather, to be confined—to bed as a patient.
A handful of rumors spreading from the events in Landarin set the entire realm abuzz.
First: the culprit had fled into the chaos bearing fresh wounds and remained at large.
Second: the Third Prince himself had rescued those dying from asphyxiation when, though the flames were extinguished, the depleted oxygen still choked the air.
He had used the Abyss to obliterate a dome of earth so tightly sealed that not a single ant could pass through—in a single breath.
There were those who suffered severe burn injuries, but mercifully, no deaths.
Kalutin had produced only a handful of minor casualties.
The survivor whose body had caught fire also fared better than expected, the Kalutin’s distinctive regenerative ability leaving her with only light burns.
Either way, the realm could not stop talking.
The rumors that swept the town—of fire suddenly vanishing as though sucked into somewhere unseen—were repackaged as divine miracle, as the compassionate watchfulness of the heavens over Marquis Wilbred, who so frequently performed acts of virtue.
‘Ridiculous.’
Rozelin let out a derisive snort at the absurd reputation, even thinking back on it now.
As if a man who’d made a pact with demons could earn the heavens’ favor for tossing around a few donations.
There were also rumors that Kalutin had been present at the scene.
Some whispered it was all Kalutin’s orchestration; others spread tales of him shattering a colossal wall with his bare fists to desperately protect the empire’s people.
Of course, the latter rumor was one Rozelin had asked Marquis Garren to circulate.
In any case, owing to such circumstances, Landarin—reduced to ash and cinders in Rozelin’s original world—retained a semblance of form in this one.
And Rozelin had paid dearly for her exertions afterward.
With a frail constitution, the journey had been long and life in a foreign land taxing; falling ill on the return was inevitable.
To press through the Fire Demons and overexert herself in that state was reckless, and when Cherti finally retrieved her, her condition was beyond description.
Though she was shielded by a Blue Stone, having ventured to the heart of the Fire Demons left her with light burns scattered across her body—unavoidable collateral damage—and her eyes sustained such injury that she couldn’t open them for days.
‘At least I can summon the Healing Priesthood.’
Upon returning to the estate, Cherti had brought in the Healing Priesthood and begun treatment; by now, she’d improved considerably.
Today marked the fifth day since her return to the estate.
“……But the bed is suffocating.”
“……Absolutely not. Not even if dirt gets in my eyes.”
“Dirt is conveniently at hand, actually.”
Rozelin reached toward a small potted plant someone had brought as a get-well gift, speaking as she did.
Cherti fixed her with an expression of disbelief before opening his mouth again.
He seemed somewhat wounded.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t leave until dirt got in. I said you can’t leave even if dirt gets in.”
At Cherti’s precise correction, Rozelin pressed her lips together.
She felt as though her very soul might escape her body.
She twisted herself entirely to convey this sensation of her essence threatening to depart.
“What’s troubling you? Need the privy? I’ll carry you. Is the bedding uncomfortable? I’ll change it. You might develop bedsores, so I’ll turn you over properly.”
What came back was advice rather mortifying to hear.
Rozelin looked at Cherti as though wondering what manner of father he was, then sighed and closed her eyes.
The prescribed recovery period was one month.
Duke Devon of Bellion had added his own weight to the decision upon seeing her condition, making refusal impossible.
“I’d like to sleep now.”
“Yes, rest well.”
The moment Rozelin obediently closed her eyes, Cherti slowly stroked her forehead with a gentle hand.
“My dear, I love you.”
“…….”
She didn’t dare answer that embarrassing declaration, feigning sleep instead.
She’d never imagined spending an entire month like this, unable to leave the bed.
* * *
After the month of recovery ended, the first person she had to meet was neither the Emperor nor Kalutin whom she’d brought with her, nor even the Third Prince Alma.
“Rozelin.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
It was Devon Bellion himself.
At Rozelin’s cunningly shrewd address, the corner of Devon Bellion’s mouth twitched once.
Beside him stood Igis Bellion and Ian Bellion, whose expression was darkly stern.
Over the past month, Rozelin had grown extraordinarily attentive to Cherti’s moods.
She had committed wrongs in the past, and when she first opened her eyes after a prolonged illness, she saw his pallid face and eyes hollowed by despair—she couldn’t bring herself to act carelessly.
“Rozelin, if you disappear from my sight without permission again, I will die.”
He spoke these words with eyes bloodshot and inflamed, and what could she do, as his daughter, in the face of that?
She knew full well that it was she herself who had driven her father—always composed, ever serene, indifferent to the world—to such a breaking point.
And so Rozelin was kept docile, buried beneath quilts, eating and sleeping, eating and sleeping, fattened like livestock.
“I heard you slipped away from the evacuation column and acted alone with Garren. Why would you do something so reckless?”
Rozelin sat in a plush dining chair, surrounded by delicacies, being interrogated.
……
She remained silent, mentally recounting the events of recent days in concise order.
Long ago, she had made a friend.
When she went to Kaluta, it turned out that friend was actually a god.
One night, the friend appeared to her in a dream.
A Seven Star Stone—a Divine Object—was torn from the friend and given to her.
Among them happened to be a pearl effective against such a massive Fire Demon, which she used.
Running through it all in her head, she felt fortunate if she could avoid being written off as insane.
“Before I say anything, know that the Wilbred house does not carry a favorable reputation.”
Devon broke the silence, uncertain what to make of Rozelin’s prolonged quiet.
“Though they appear wealthy, their total assets pale before our Bellion Estate, and there is no grandfather like myself or uncles of standing among them.”
“Yes……”
“And that man has always had something insidious about him, niece—a snake forever snatching what belongs to others, a worthless wretch.”
Igis added his own words to the matter.
“Honestly, a timid girl like you with nothing but a pretty face and a dense head would be devoured on sight. What about his appearance anyway? The rumors say his house is filled with all manner of dangerous things. Do you understand?”
When Rozelin’s response proved tepid, Ian could not help but add his own remark.
Looking at his face now, with many fewer bruises than before, it seemed his education had been largely completed.
‘A beating is the best medicine for a troublemaker.’
Rozelin recalled Ian’s final appearance—his eyes blackened and swollen—and lowered her head slightly.
“Yes, I understand……”
Of course she knew. That there was only a snake of a man there, his belly full of guile. That he kept rooms collecting all manner of strange and dangerous collections.
She knew all of that too.
“I understand.”
“You understand?”
Rozelin nodded.
“How in blazes do you know that!?”
Ian’s voice rose sharply.
Rozelin’s expression soured with annoyance.
“Didn’t you ask me that, Uncle?”
“……You, you, Uncle—who said you could call me that……! Ahem. Well, anyway.”
First he told her to call him uncle, now this.
“Understood, Lord Ian.”
“……Good grief, why won’t you call me properly!? Am I not your friend? Tell me I’m your friend!”
She was weary of this.
Rozelin furrowed her brow, then opened her mouth with a somewhat pitying expression.
“I don’t befriend idiots, so I understand you want to be my friend, but I must decline.”
“……What?”
“I simply know these things because I’ve been to that house.”
Rozelin added flatly, watching Ian’s lips move wordlessly.
‘Come to think of it, I should mention the marriage proposal too.’
Better to say it myself than to hear it later through someone else’s mouth and invite misunderstanding.
“And Lord Garren made me a proposal—to become his daughter……”
Clang!
Rozelin lifted her head at the sound of metal striking marble.
“What……?”
“Ah……”
Cherti, his face stunned, stared with wide eyes in shock.
“No, Father……”
“……I suppose I fell rather short.”
Cherti cut off her words with a murmur, then turned and left the room—like some tragic heroine abandoning all hope.
“This is maddening……”
Rozelin pressed her forehead, muttering softly.
“I quite agree, granddaughter.”
Devon, who had watched Cherti wear that expression since childhood, played along with his agreement.
Silence settled over the room.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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