The Villainess Duke Lady Hides Her Identity - Chapter 21

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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 21

The Wooden Horse, stripped of its light, tumbles to the ground. Leponya, still bound to it, plummets into the Abyss alongside it.
She thrashes, trying to escape, but there is no way out. The darkness pressing down from above feels like the Pope’s enormous palm.
She should never have sunk this far to begin with.
No matter how desperately she wanted to break free, no matter how fiercely she clung to life, she could never—should never—fall into this Abyss.

Is there anyone in this world who wants you alive?

From the darkness below, the hands of dead children pull her down.

This is where you belong anyway.

The whispers and curses come without end, as though determined she never forget.

Once you finish the Task and escape that place, what will you do?

Once the Task ends and she escapes, she will live somewhere no one searches for her—ordinary, unremarkable, like everyone else.
To experience, of her own choosing and not by compulsion, things she has never known.

Do you think you could ever be happy?

Soft.
A hand smoothing her forehead draws Leponya’s eyes open. Unlike the dream of falling into the Abyss, she is still in the Craitan Estate bedroom.

A mercy or a curse—she cannot say.
As she lies still, staring up at the chandelier, she feels a draft. Leponya tilts her head slightly.
“…You.”
Her pupils widen. Right beside the bed stands that boy from before.
The one who said he was alive.
The terrace door stands open—clearly his way in.
‘How could I not sense someone standing this close?’
The boy gazes down at her without expression, then reaches out to brush away a strand of hair clinging to her forehead.
It was that same gentle touch that woke her.
His golden eyes, regarding her with such detachment, seem to hold a radiant light within them—luminous and full.
“Did you report it when I was at the Empty House?”
Leponya whispers, careful that no one else might hear. The boy’s hand, which had been brushing her hair back, stills.
‘So it was him.’
From that hesitation, Leponya knows for certain. She tries to sit up, but the damned five-year-old body refuses to obey.
Frowning, she reaches out weakly and grasps the boy’s sleeve.
There are so many things to ask.
Did he switch the Potion at the Cottage? If so, why? What did he mean by what he said before? If he meant to kill her, why hasn’t he? Why is he watching her? Who exactly are you?
There is too much to ask, and she cannot decide where to begin.
She has spent her whole life doing only what others commanded, never questioning anything—it comes naturally that she should falter now.
“You—”
The boy’s eyes meet hers. As though to say: fine, I’ll answer one.
Among all the questions flooding her mind, the one Leponya chooses to ask first is, in the end.
“What’s your name?”
It is a useless question. Apparently taken aback, the boy’s eyes widen before he smiles.
There is no sound, but the gentle curve of his eyes is enough to make her feel strange.
“Lydeume.”
The boy answers softly. She never expected him to actually respond.
Leponya blinks, rolling the name over her tongue.
Lydeume.
It is a name wholly unfamiliar, strange even to her lips.
“Then Lydeume, you…”
“I don’t know what to do with you. Leponya.”
Lydeume murmurs quietly, his voice calm and measured.
It was a voice that made you hold your breath and strain to listen, despite the casual words.
‘So he knows my name.’
Well, if he could slip into my bedroom unnoticed like this, of course he’d know my name.
“Last time it was a fire, wasn’t it.”
“What?”
“This time you fell into the lake.”
How did he know everything that had happened?
“Perhaps everything that happens to you is somehow my doing.”
“…?”
Leponya tilted her head as she watched Lydeume speak with such gravity.
“I might—”
“Aren’t you being a little too self-important?”
“What?”
“Do you really think you’re the main character in every single thing that happens in the world?”
Leponya asked with genuine concern in her voice. Lydeume’s expression turned incredulous, his brows furrowing.
‘Oh. At his age, he might actually believe he’s the center of the world.’
Struck by the thought that she’d just trampled on a child’s dreams and hopes, Leponya scrambled to make amends.
“No, wait. Actually, thinking about it—yes, you could be. You’re the main character of the world. That’s right.”
“…Don’t do that.”
Lydeume sighed and reached out to stroke her hair.
Craitan and Fellens did the same sometimes, but this felt entirely different.
“It’ll be all right.”
“Hmm?”
“I’ll help from now on.”
What was he even saying? Why did children suddenly spout things you couldn’t possibly understand?
“I’ve gained the ability to do more things now.”
“I don’t understand a word of this—could you at least explain it to me instead of keeping it to yourself?”
Lydeume simply chuckled and continued stroking her hair.
‘For a child, he certainly treats me like I’m the child.’
But strangely, it didn’t bother her. Why was that?
“You’ve forgotten the nightmare by now, haven’t you?”
“What?”
Lydeume withdrew his hand from her hair. Leponya instinctively understood that he was preparing to leave.
“Wait!”
Leponya desperately grabbed at Lydeume’s sleeve. Startled, he looked down at her with wide eyes.
There was still so much she wanted to ask.
“…Again.”
She thought he would shake off his sleeve and go. Instead, Lydeume stood still and waited for her to speak.
“Will you come back?”
Lydeume slowly took her hand properly, then carefully placed it back under the blanket.
“We’ll meet soon.”
“Soon?”
“Then it’ll be you who comes. Leponya.”
Lydeume let out a soft, deflating sound and smiled faintly.
“So live. No matter what.”
Last time he’d said she was lucky to be alive. This time it was ‘live.’
“What do you—”
Before Leponya could finish her question, Lydeume turned away. Her hand slipped from his grasp.
“Wait! How am I supposed to—where am I supposed to—”
Leponya called after him, but the boy didn’t stop. He headed toward the open terrace window and, just as before, rode the Silver Wolf into the night sky.
Leponya watched his receding figure and repeated the name to herself.
Lydeume. Lydeume.
‘He certainly doesn’t mean to kill me.’
So who was he, then? It was as if he both knew her and didn’t know her at all.
Why did he keep coming to check on her, offering no real explanation, insisting that she live?
‘He doesn’t seem like a bad child.’
Leponya whispered his name over and over in her mind so she wouldn’t forget it.
‘If he could come openly, he wouldn’t sneak through the terrace window in the dark—he’d visit me in broad daylight.’
It would be best not to mention Lydeume to Craitan or Fellens.
‘Live, he said?’
It was the first time she’d heard such words in her life.
Leponya smiled as if bewildered, and strangely, the tension drained from her body—sleep rushed in to fill the void.
This time, she didn’t think she’d have nightmares.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, it was morning. Leponya blinked, looking around groggily. The first thing she saw was Craitan, bent forward at the waist as he sat beside her bed.
“…Your Grace?”
She’d expected Buddy and Becky to be here, just as they had been during the fire last time. Instead, Craitan appeared before her, and Leponya called out to him in confusion.
The Duke lifted his head at the sound of her voice, drawing his palms away from his eyes.
“Ponya.”
The large man let out a sound like something collapsing and released a sigh. Now that he’d slept deeply, his frame seemed full of strength—so different from how he’d appeared the night before.
Leponya rose slowly from the bed. In the corner lay the Wooden Horse, soaked and salvaged from the Lake.
Was he angry?
Leponya tried to read the Duke’s mood. It was similar to the night of the fire, but this time there was no culprit to blame.
Back then, he’d had people to direct his rage toward—those who’d tried to kill her—and his emotions had found an outlet. But now there was no one who’d tried to take her life.
It was clear that Craitan’s fury stemmed from watching his “false daughter”—the one he’d groomed to fill the void left by his dead child—come so close to death.
Which meant there was only one person he could vent his anger upon.
“…I’m sorry.”
Leponya herself.
She bowed respectfully and apologized. The Duke’s face crumpled in anguish.
Leponya looked down at her own body. Should she offer her hands for a strike? Or would it be better to pull up her skirt and accept a beating across her calves? Or perhaps her back?
Anywhere seemed preferable to being struck in the face by those enormous hands.
After deliberating for some time, Leponya braced her hands on the table and turned her back to him.
“What are you doing?”
The Duke asked in a low voice, his teeth gritted.
Since he was a nobleman’s son, she’d reasoned that he’d dislike visible marks on her hands or calves. The back seemed the safer choice.
“I thought the back would be best. It won’t show once I put clothes on, so there won’t be any marks.”
“What?”
“…Not here? Should I offer somewhere else?”
Leponya grew anxious, studying his expression to see if she’d made the wrong choice.
“Leponya.”
The Duke gritted his jaw and called her by her full name. Not “Ponya,” as he usually did, but “Leponya.”
Leponya flinched. She’d always found the pet name strange, yet now she found herself missing it.
“Come here.”
The Duke called her forward, his voice strained with restraint. Leponya hesitated for a moment, then moved toward him.
“Do you think you deserve to be beaten?”
Why was he asking her this? Leponya nodded.
“Why?”
“Because I made a mistake, and Your Grace is angry with me.”
“Do I look angry to you?”
Leponya lifted her lowered head slightly. His face was terrifying.
“Yes.”
“If I’m angry, why should you be the one to suffer?”
“Because I made a mistake, which is why Your Grace is angry.”
“What did you do wrong?”
He continued his questions as if trapping her with her own words. She wanted to tell him just to strike her already, but his face was too frightening, so Leponya answered earnestly.
“I lost the gift Your Grace gave me, and… and I wasn’t careful.”
“I gave you that Wooden Horse. I should have added better safety measures but didn’t. Is that your fault? Leponya?”
How could it possibly work that way?
“Again. Tell me what else you did wrong.”
“Well… I fell into the water….”
“I gave you the Wooden Horse, so you fell into the water because of it. That too is my responsibility, not yours.”
Leponya bit her lip.
‘Then what’s my mistake?’
She racked her brain. The Duke was certainly angry because Leponya had done something wrong.
It had always been that way—at the Orphanage, at the Poorhouse, and in the dwelling place the Pope had arranged for her.
But every time she’d admitted to a mistake, the Duke claimed it was his fault instead.
So what had she actually done wrong?
Leponya’s fingers fidgeted.
“There. Leponya.”
At Craitan’s call, relief flooded through her. For reasons she couldn’t name, her throat tightened and tears nearly spilled over. She’d forgotten this feeling for so long that she couldn’t even identify what it was anymore.
Leponya clenched her fists and swallowed down the emotion, holding it at bay.
“Whatever you’ve done wrong, that doesn’t give anyone the right to strike you. No one—not even me.”
She didn’t know what to say. She’d never heard words like this before, and she had no idea how to respond.
“If anyone tries to lay hands on you again, don’t just stand there like you did before. Hit them first. It doesn’t matter who. I’ll handle whatever comes after.”
……
“If that’s too difficult, come to me.”
Leponya looked up at him.
“I’ll strike them back tenfold. From now on, don’t just accept it like you did back there.”
“But I… it was my fault—”
“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

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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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