The Male Lead Is the Villain, and I'm the Only One Who Knows - Chapter 20

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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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The Male Lead’s True Identity Is the Mastermind, and Only I Know It — Episode 20
In the original work, Iban’s reason for killing Chahil was simple.
‘Because Shana found Chahil’s suspicious behavior troublesome.’
As a supporting male lead faithful to the pure-love keyword, Iban had quietly assisted Shana from the shadows, and one of those ways was discretely eliminating anyone who caused her distress.
‘When I read it, I thought it was romantic, but now that it’s real, it might be a little frightening.’
There’s a reason people say that fiction is beautiful only as fiction. Male leads in romance novels look impressive on the page, but in reality, what they do is often criminal.
The same went for Chahil.
Though Chahil had used his special ability to entertain Shana at first, that was only the beginning—as time went on, he grew obsessively attached to her, becoming a nuisance in multiple ways.
‘When Iban found that out, he killed Chahil without hesitation.’
The problem was that the original work never described the scene of Iban killing Chahil in detail.
Since I had no way of knowing how Iban had disposed of him, preparing for any contingency became impossible.
I’d need to know what happened to prepare for it, and since I couldn’t know that, there was only one thing I could do.
‘Keep the two of them from meeting as much as possible.’

* * *
A moment ago, at the Temple.
As Linen descended from the carriage and received the priests’ greetings, Banel quietly approached Iban’s side.
“I’ll go to the Main Hall with him to handle the work I’ve been entrusted with.”
Iban gave a slight nod without speaking, then turned his gaze to the man who stood before him.
“Your Highness, it’s been a long time.”
The man wore a smooth smile, his light wood-colored eyes softening pleasantly as he offered a greeting of welcome.
Dressed in white vestments adorned with a crimson cord signifying a cardinal, he bowed slowly with reverence.
“My fervent wish for your return to the Temple seems at last to have reached your ears.”
“It hasn’t.”
The even voice flowed out coolly, yet Iban walked past with disinterested eyes.
He might dress himself up as a cardinal, but what could that change about his nature?
‘A demon worse than demons is stuffed into the Temple, and no one knows it. Even Arnosil has lost her edge.’
Dante Shannon. Now that he had become a cardinal and the son of the goddess Arnosil, his name had lost all meaning—but Iban remembered him clearly.
That day when he first met Dante: a wretched and pitiable little sacrifice, soaked in magic and wearing a corrupted, wicked smile.
“Congratulations on your engagement. His Majesty made the announcement himself, I hear? How delighted I am that we should meet because of it.”
“Did you prepare what I asked for?”
“Of course. This way.”
Iban cut off the flattering words with a curt dismissal and a cold stare, and Dante smiled pleasantly as he opened the path ahead.
As he walked silently in the direction indicated, his mind drifted suddenly to words Linen had mentioned in jest.
‘Hmm. I understand the idea, but will it really be all right?’
‘What’s your concern?’
‘It just feels like someone might die…’
‘…You’ve already assumed it’ll be me, haven’t you?’
But if anyone dies now, it would certainly be Dante. A mere cardinal, not the ‘real thing,’ would be no match for him.
“By the way—”
As Dante walked the empty corridor, he gradually slowed his pace. He opened his mouth tentatively, and only then did he turn slightly to face Iban.
“How did you find that room? It doesn’t seem like there’s anything suitable for Your Highness to use.”
“Be quiet. Just guide me.”
“Your disposition remains unchanged. Does the Second Highness know? I do hope she doesn’t.”
Despite Iban’s bluntness, Dante didn’t bat an eye and instead let out a hearty laugh. He’d heard it so often that it had become familiar, and he even followed with words that suggested it had grown endearing.
“You do bark on and on.”
“Ha ha. Young companions seem to prefer longer words, I’ve found.”
At the unfazed reply, Iban’s brow furrowed slightly. The foul aura that Dante emanated was hidden so perfectly that even demons would struggle to sense it—yet to Iban alone, it was starkly clear.
Dante arrived before a firmly locked door and drew forth the key hanging around his neck, turning it in the lock.
“No matter how much you claim to be His Majesty, this room will be difficult. It is, after all, the repository of sacred treasures… Should you need assistance, do ask.”
“Be quiet.”
Iban stepped past Dante and pushed the unlocked door open wide, stepping inside.
‘An unpleasant room.’
The moment he crossed the threshold, a sacred aura rushed violently against his body.
It was one of the most important places in the Temple, a space only the Pope could enter—receiving permission to access it through Dante was nearly miraculous.
A second visit would be difficult. This time, he needed to secure everything he required.
Without hesitation, he seized something in his hand.
“…Your Highness, forgive me, but I cannot lend you that. The Saintess seeks it quite frequently.”
“I’ll return it. Don’t concern yourself.”
It was a silver dagger small enough to fit in one palm, with a deep emerald-green diamond set into its hilt.
‘Long time, no see.’
His gaze narrowed imperceptibly.
This was also the blade that had pierced him in the distant past—the only sword in this land capable of wounding a Great Demon.
He had since watched for an opportunity to destroy it, but Arnosil’s interference had thwarted him.
‘If Linen holds it, she won’t easily meet her end.’
Iban claimed the blade and left the chamber without hesitation. His original purpose had been to eliminate it entirely, but giving it to Linen seemed no poor choice.
‘If Piltheus dies, matters become troublesome.’
So he would give it to her—only until his assigned duty was fulfilled.
No demon fool enough to leave the only weapon capable of killing him in this world would exist.
“Business is done. Leave. And take that foul aura with you. It’s unbearable.”
The presence of another’s life emanating from Dante’s body—the anguished screams of small, infant souls—was hardly pleasant even for a demon.
“How remarkable. Only Your Highness has ever sensed my presence so keenly.”
Iban, who had dismissed Dante’s request to return the dagger until the coronation ceremony, headed straight for the Main Hall.
Return it? Why would I. I’ll give it to Linen forever. She’ll never place this in the Temple’s hands herself. Never.
Linen should have arrived by now. It was best he return to the palace without delay.
Piltheus—Linen—lingering in such a place was far from ideal. If she were discovered, if anyone found out—
Yet when he reached the Main Hall, Linen was nowhere to be seen.
“Your Highness, you’ve finally arrived!”
“Where is she? Why are only you here?”
Only Banel occupied the reception chamber. And beside him, Ate, now awake.
“Lady Linen appears still to be in the Annex Building. The priests mentioned that Duke Karahan Barat is there as well.”
“What is that bastard doing there?”
Karahan Barat—the man who had dogged Iban’s heels since the Magic Academy days, forever questioning his humanity.
It was only recently that he had undergone Possession in the dying Crown Prince’s body, so that stalker Karahan had been nothing but a nuisance then.
He should have killed him back then.
“Ate, come with me. I’ll introduce you to your master.”
“Yes, sir!”
Karahan, whom they encountered before the Annex Building shortly after, predictably barred his entry.
Iban, in response, patted the shoulder of Ate beside him and introduced Karahan in the warmest of tones.
“Ate, that man is Duke Barat. I’ve brought you a gift—the chance to learn swordplay directly from your idol.”
“Sir! You came all this way for me! I won’t let you down!”
“Your Highness, what is the meaning of—”
“I’ll step inside now. Learn well from Duke Barat. Attack him in earnest—it’ll serve you better.”
“Your Highness! Wait, let us speak—!”
Iban thrust a real blade into Ate’s hands and smirked wickedly.
In the same instant, Ate charged forward. Because Iban had handed over his actual sword, Karahan could not ignore the child’s assault.
Clash!
Boom!
What could be more troublesome than a ten-year-old who knew no fear.
It was the perfect excuse to buy time.
Iban ignored the sound of Karahan’s voice calling after him and stepped into the Annex Building.
‘Needlessly vast.’
Still, it was easy enough to guess where Linen was. His steps carried him forward without hesitation.
Upon entering the hidden chamber at the building’s deepest reach, he found Linen holding hands with what appeared to be a Saintess.
The atmosphere suggested she was not imprisoned, but there was something unsettling about how unstable this woman’s aura felt.
‘A Saintess with nothing of substance. Not yet Awakened, then?’
Whatever the case, such trifles mattered little now.
His gaze fell upon Linen, who remained unaware of his arrival, absorbed in whatever held her attention.
“Linen.”
“…Iban?”
Her pink eyes widened in bewilderment—why are you here?—and fixed entirely upon him. Her mouth hung slightly agape.
That candid expression of hers, which seemed to hold no interest in the world, transformed the moment she turned to look at him, blooming into something far more vivid. His gaze could not help but linger.
A sudden longing seized him—to hold those countless expressions, visible to him alone, within his sight for far longer still.

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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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