I Was the Hero, But She Turned Me Into the Villain

Chapter 33 - 32: The Marquis’s Summons

The first rays of sunlight reached my room, but I was no longer there. The marquis had sent for me directly to his bedroom.

I didn’t exchange glances with anyone in the hallway and walked forward with steady steps, ignoring everything around me.

I didn’t care about last night’s disaster in the slightest, but it was clear that the servants didn’t feel the same way.

From the moment I left my bedroom, the mansion was enveloped in a different atmosphere: the corridors, normally silent, were filled with muffled murmurs and footsteps moving from one side to the other.

As I turned into one of the main corridors, I heard the sound of distant voices, whispers that died down every time someone noticed my presence.

You didn’t need perfect pitch to guess what they were talking about.

After all, rumours in this house always spread faster than candlelight.

—Haah... —I exhaled softly, letting my breath vanish into the cold air of the corridors.

In the end, I decided not to give it any more thought.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done this, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Let them talk. Let them invent whatever they wanted. In the end, everything would resolve one way or another.

I focused on my own pace, listening to the echo of my boots against the polished floor.

With each step, my mind replayed the scene from last night:

Shattered glasses.

Blood dripping on the white tablecloth.

The pale faces of my uncles.

"It was... refreshing," I muttered to myself.

A fleeting smile threatened to appear on my lips, but I erased it immediately.

Now wasn’t the time.

Soon, I reached the large door that led to the marquis’s chambers.

My reflection wavered across the polished metal of the handles.

I took a breath and prepared to enter.

I wasn’t nervous; I had a fairly clear idea of why he had summoned me.

Knock, knock.

—"Come in." —His deep voice resonated from inside, firm, without a trace of emotion.

I turned the handle and slowly pushed the door open, letting the low creak of the hinges announce my arrival.

The air inside was always different from the rest of the mansion.

Heavier.

More suffocating.

Perhaps it was because of his presence, but the atmosphere always felt weighed down, saturated with authority.

The scent of aged wood and dry ink lingered in the air, blending with the faint spring fragrance drifting in from the garden.

The morning light filtered diagonally through the curtains, making the dust hang motionless, as if even time itself didn’t dare move too close to him.

The marquis was seated behind a massive desk, surrounded by documents and open books.

His fingers turned a page with calm precision, as if the outside world didn’t exist for him.

The only sounds were the soft rustle of paper and the faint flap of the curtains.

Only when the door closed behind me did the silence become absolute... and then he looked up.

His cold eyes met mine, and I felt nothing.

It had been a long time since I expected even the faintest warmth from that empty gaze.

—"Marquis... you called for me," I said, keeping my voice low, but not reverent.

He set a document aside with a precise, almost calculated motion.

His fingers tapped the desk lightly, the hollow sound echoing in the room.

—"You know the admission date for the Academy is in two weeks," he said at last.

His tone was deep, slow, as if each word were a verdict.

—"When do you plan to leave?"

The question hung in the air.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It wasn’t concern.

It was an order, thinly veiled as interest—though clearly, he had something else in mind.

I met his gaze directly, and for a moment, the silence between us felt endless.

Finally, I gave my answer.

—"Today," I replied with indifference, letting my voice carry the same coldness with which he always treated me.

The marquis held my eyes for a few seconds, as if to confirm I wouldn’t retract my decision.

Then, without a word, he stood with elegant, measured movements and went to a dark wooden cabinet, its doors secured by an iron lock.

He opened it slowly.

The metallic creak filled the room, and for an instant, the air felt colder.

From within, he took out a long case and placed it carefully on the desk.

The dry sound of wood against the surface resounded sharply in the silent room.

When he opened it, the filtered light from the windows reflected on a sheathed sword.

The metal’s gleam seemed to drink in the light, its blade perfectly polished.

—"This sword belonged to your mother," the marquis said at last, his voice devoid of emotion, as if speaking of any other object.

"If you’re leaving today, take it with you."

I extended my hand slowly, my fingers gliding over the hilt.

The leather was firm yet soft, fitting into my palm as if it had been made for me.

A strange pulse ran through my fingers—a tingling that had nothing to do with mana, but with my own desire for the weapon.

I stepped back from the desk, my boots marking a steady rhythm on the marble floor.

With a slow motion, I drew the sword.

«Shhhk.

The metallic sound spread through the room, filling every corner with a crisp, almost solemn note.

The blade emerged like a shard of pure light, briefly reflecting my face.

It was light in my hand, yet its weight spoke of the strength and care it had endured over time.

I drew in a slow breath.

Then, I slashed downward.

«Fshhh.

The air split without resistance, whistling along the edge.

My arms barely vibrated from the impact against nothing, and for a moment, I felt a satisfaction I hadn’t known in a long time.

It was a warm, almost welcoming sensation... and dangerous if left unchecked.

—"What a fine sword..." I murmured, barely audible, my gaze fixed on the blade.

The marquis watched in silence from his desk, his cold eyes analyzing each of my movements.

He said nothing, but I could feel it in his gaze.