The Abandoned Villainess Decides to Take It All Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“This makes no sense…”

A power going out of control and getting imprinted were two different things.

And Lillian Tillard looked completely fine.

What is this?

Wait—then right now…

Am I the only one who got imprinted?

“Water.”

Lillian’s lips moved.

“Water… I’m… thirsty…”

Ebren forced himself to pull his hand out of their interlaced grip.

His hand moved on its own toward the water bottle on the small bedside table.

Ah—damn it.

He almost laughed.

Ebren Tarandia, who never laughed—

for the first time in his life.

“If you’re awake, sit up.”

“Why would I…?”

“You have to drink.”

This was absurd.

She was the one who’d said she wanted water.

The room, tense with a kind of pressure, filled with fussy little sounds.

Before he knew it, Lillian had drained the water and lay her head back down on the pillow.

But she kept staring at him.

Ebren spoke first.

“I got imprinted on you, my lady. So what do we do now?”

There was no answer.

And in truth, Lillian Tillard looked too dazed to have one.

“What are you thinking right now?”

From the moment they’d met on that mountain path, she’d been impossible to predict.

Lillian whispered so quietly he might’ve missed it if he wasn’t focused.

“…That you’re pretty late.”

“Late? I’m the one who got imprinted, Tillard. Late to what, exactly?”

“Hmph… after how annoyingly you kept clinging to me.”

“…Me?”

When?

Lillian gave him an openly disgusted look, eyes narrowing to slits.

“Why are you playing hard to get?”

“…I am?”

“You’re really going to keep talking nonsense just because you’re pretty?”

“…I am?”

“Yes.”

Ebren faintly furrowed only his left brow.

…Who was she confusing him with?

Surely not her trash fiancé, Karkin Favil?

“Hah.”

Ebren clicked his tongue.

I’ve never felt like this before.

If he had to describe it, it felt like drinking monster blood.

Monster blood tasted like water wrung from a rotten rag.

He couldn’t understand it.

Was it really possible—
to love someone enough to miss them even in your dreams?

Was that what “normal” people were like?

While Ebren frowned, Lillian closed her eyes again.

“I kept my promise… with this.”

“…Promise? What promise?”

“Ugh. Don’t talk to me. Business hours are over…”

“A noble lady—what business could you possibly be running?”

“I’m going to sleep…”

She answered his questions with bold indifference, then fell asleep again.

What an unbelievable woman.

“Hm.”

Ebren rubbed the back of his neck.

What was he supposed to do with this?

His power’s “true nature” was being unbearably noisy.

It kept pounding through his whole body—how sweet the salvation was, how much it liked it, how badly it wanted to destroy it.

At this point, wouldn’t it be easier if Lillian Tillard simply didn’t exist?

“Just wait until you wake up.”

Because he had to decide what to do.

The next day, Lillian was at least upright—human-shaped again.

Her limbs were weak, like anyone who’d burned through a fever, but her mind was working.

And she almost wished she’d died of the fever instead.

Creator God…

Why are you doing this to me?

Everything had been going fine.
She got her engagement annulled.
She leaked the story anonymously to the papers.
She escaped the capital.
She even got sweet revenge on Ramio.

But just like when she was ten, the god gave no answer.

“Can’t we go to the temple and pray together? If I become a good child, maybe I’ll get an ability!”

Back then, she’d begged her parents to take her.

If she’d known they’d be murdered by bandits, she wouldn’t have said the word “prayer” ever again.

Even now, this situation had no answer.

Even the kindly-looking physician congratulating her brought no joy.

“Congratulations on your awakening, my lady!”

Awakening fever? At this age?

And she was compatible with every female esper here?

How is that even possible?

In this world, getting compatibility over sixty was absurdly difficult.

That was exactly why people relied on control artifacts.

Because they couldn’t find a controller who matched.

And I’m stopping the villain’s rampage? No way.

He was S-rank. He probably overcame it himself.

Male leads always did.

He’d finally learned how to save himself.

Congratulations to him.

Of course, Lillian knew reality.

But with asylum right in front of her, how could she abandon hope now?

So until the moment she went to meet the villain, she clung to one last sweet delusion.

When the villain came to meet her, his outfit was—as always—shamefully loose.

His long silver hair was tied roughly at the nape of his neck.

Ugh. Buttons not even done up to his throat. How indecent.

He was tall, broad, muscles clearly defined—and combined with that lazy way of dressing, he gave off a strangely decadent air.

The complete opposite of Prince Kyle, the upright model citizen.

No wonder people avoided the villain in this suffocating empire…

At least he looks healthier.

Only then did she realize:

Maybe he truly had been on the edge of danger—and hadn’t even known it.

“First—congratulations on your awakening, Lillian Tillard.”

“I’m honored, Your Highness.”

“But… we’ve got a rather big problem.”

“Oh—because of the rampage—”

Oh my, there must be some misunderstanding.

Lillian was already preparing to put on her polite face—

when the villain tugged his collar even farther aside.

Unlike his beautiful face, his neck was strong-lined, his throat and collarbone exposed.

What is this, showing off a tattoo?

Had he added something beyond the mark beneath his eye?

A chain pattern—faintly glowing gold, then fading away.

Surely not—

Why was he showing something so ugly to Lillian, who only wanted to live quietly and safely?

“…No way.”

She said it out loud.

“The exact ‘no way,’ Lady Tillard.”

The villain smiled beautifully.

And the red spiderweb mark flickered faintly beneath his eye.

He looked furious—like he wanted to kill something.

“I got imprinted on you.”

“D-damn—my god.”

“So what do we do now?”

“…Wait. That sounds familiar. I swear I’ve heard you say that before.”

And how was this Lillian’s fault?

She was grateful he’d saved her from Ramio.

Grateful he’d cared for her while she burned with fever.

But honestly—she’d just been lying there.

To use an example: she was a carriage parked quietly at the palace’s back gate.

Then the villain crashed into her, destroyed his own driver’s seat, and now asked what she planned to do about it.

Still, she wasn’t socially inept enough to argue at a moment like this.

Lillian rubbed her face dry, while the villain folded his arms.

“My lady. You understand this is an extremely troublesome situation.”

“Of course.”

Imprinting—romantic, irresistible, a genre staple.

But in modern-day Perniès?

It was practically a death sentence.

It was like ripping out your heart and letting it walk around outside your body.

If your imprint partner gets attacked, you take damage too.

In a world overflowing with political fights and monster hunts, it was essentially suicide.

But… I don’t feel anything.

Normally, imprinting left a matching mark on both parties. She’d heard there was also a burning sensation.

But nothing appeared on Lillian.

Which meant—

“…Your Highness… are you the only one who got imprinted?”

“Yes. How does it feel, holding my leash?”

“I will do my best to find a way to return it.”

No thanks. Not buying. Not taking.

But when she said she’d return it, the mark beneath the villain’s eye deepened.

What kind of character is this—feeling destructive toward the controller he imprinted on?

He smiled and stepped closer.

The scent—the cursed phytoncide that ruined her life—hit her hard.

“That was a little too quick. I’m hurt, my lady.”

Did he even have a heart to be hurt?

He was the one whose heart had basically been ripped out.

The villain looked down at her with a slight tilt, eyes narrowing.

“My lady. I never keep a dedicated controller. I’ve got control stones and monster cores—what would I need a person for?”

Yes, yes, of course.

A rock was easier than someone whose emotions you’d have to care about.

“So I had no intention of taking you as my controller. But imprinting happened.”

“It’s the great blessing of Your Highness’s contribution to my awakening.”

She stabbed back—politely: this is your fault.

“And since it turned out like this… shouldn’t you be fair, and imprint on me too?”

So that’s how he says Do you want to be imprisoned? in fancy language.

At this point, Lillian abandoned her original plan completely.

She’d lived a life where failing to adapt fast meant getting crushed.

Think. Move, brain. Roll again.

This man would start a war four years from now.

If they imprinted on each other here, Lillian would be dragged into the center of that bloodbath.

There’s only one way.

“Your Highness. I know how to undo the imprint—on the day the imprint turns one year old.”

That took her 0.3 seconds to come up with.