Too Many Villains Besides Me chapter 18

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Zavad, who he thought would be curled up tightly inside as usual, wasn’t there.

His green eyes darted around in confusion, eventually landing on the bed.

The covers were oddly lumpy.

‘No way…’

Zavad, sleeping in the bed.

Well, that was the normal thing, actually.

Tilting his head, Ranshel quietly approached and gently pulled back the blanket.

Sweat dampened the boy’s forehead.

His brows were tightly furrowed, eyes squeezed shut.

From between parted lips, hot, ragged breaths escaped.

Ranshel’s fingers touched Zavad’s flushed cheek.

The heat made his fingertips instinctively recoil.

‘Why does he have a fever?’

Wasn’t the physician just here, literally moments ago?

He’d been called to treat the boy, but somehow the seemingly healthy Zavad ended up like this.

Ranshel cautiously pulled the blanket down further and examined the injured hand.

The clumsy bandage Ranshel had wrapped was gone.

The wound left by the glass shard had also completely disappeared without a trace.

“……”

Ranshel stared at the unblemished palm, not even a scar remaining, and slowly pulled the blanket back up.

His movements were sluggish, but his mind was a storm of thoughts crashing in and out.

A fever so high it reddened the skin.

A wound that vanished as if it had never existed.

Ranshel knew what kind of situation caused those two symptoms to appear together.

Nameless used this method often.

The way the attendant had behaved—like he was dealing with someone of higher rank—wasn’t because the physician was just some noble.

The man who visited today was no ordinary physician.

‘A Priest of the Holy Temple.’

Skin so pristine it looked like there had never been an injury—that meant complete regeneration.

Something the average human body was incapable of.

For this to happen, either a Priest blessed by the temple had to use the Purification skill, or the power of the chosen Saintess had to be invoked.

And since there was only one Saintess in the Empire, it had to be the former.

But for Purification to be used—something dirty had to come first.

The skill only activated after a person had been tainted by a corrupted monster.

You couldn’t use it on a healthy human body just like that.

‘You’d have to insert a monster’s blood into the wound.’

And that’s why there was a fever.

You put some other creature’s bodily fluid into a human body—of course it would react.

In Nameless, this method was used when assassins were injured mid-mission and had to avoid being tracked.

But why would a boy who lived in a tower, who wasn’t even injured on the face but on some obscure part of the body, go to such lengths?

If something went wrong, the monster’s poison could scramble his brain for good.

Ranshel’s eyes moved slowly.

With all the clues in place, it wasn’t hard to turn suspicion into certainty.

Why did the maid always leave when the physician visited?

Why did the man show up every week, like clockwork?

It wasn’t for health checkups.

It was the same reason the attendant had looked so satisfied when inspecting the freshly cleaned room.

Whether Zavad ate properly or slept in the cabinet didn’t matter to them.

What mattered was something else entirely.

Keeping Zavad in the most “clean” state possible.

Pristine. Unblemished.

Perfectly presentable on the outside.

Like a delicate glass ornament placed in a display case.

‘These bastards…’

A curse surged up to his throat but sank back down before reaching his tongue.

He wasn’t in a position to curse them.

In the end, he wasn’t any different.

This wasn’t the time for anger.

There was no reason to be angry.

‘I’m not Zavad’s guardian.’

The person he had to protect was someone else.

He must not forget his original purpose.

Ranshel loosened the tie that felt like it was choking him.

His chest was tight, and it was getting hard to breathe.

Think. He had to figure out why they were doing this.

And decide what course of action would benefit him the most.

Why would they go so far to keep even the smallest blemish off Zavad’s body?

‘Because he carries the Emperor’s blood?’

Ranshel had already suspected that the Imperial family was keeping an eye on Zavad.

Well, the in-game Zavad had said as much.

—I was nothing more than a stud horse to them. They were always worried I’d spill the Imperial blood in some filthy barn, so they kept watch over me day and night.

The imperial family, wanting no more illegitimate children with Imperial blood, had openly assigned people to monitor him once he came of age.

He’d said it to the female protagonist, Frey, so it couldn’t have been a lie.

Whether inside the palace or out, there was clearly a faction dedicated to making sure Zavad’s body remained unscathed.

If he were to be used one day in a way that most benefitted the Empire, his value had to be preserved.

There were many ways to use him.

As a hostage in diplomatic talks, or through marriage.

Even though Zavad had a foot in the Pomel family, he was clearly the Empire’s property.

Something stored outside the palace, ready to be disposed of when no longer needed.

‘…Still, no matter how you look at it, doing this to a kid barely in his early teens?’

Isn’t that just too much? Huh?

Ranshel irritably ran his hands through his hair, mussing it up.

Then, suddenly, his gaze dropped, and he yanked the tie off his shirt completely.

Holding the end of the tie, he gently wiped away the sweat beading on Zavad’s forehead.

The flushed face radiated heat.

Underneath the messy bangs, Ranshel slowly blinked his green eyes.

What was certain was this: someone from the imperial family’s shadow network might be hiding within this very castle.

And with high probability, they too were a villain targeting Zavad.

Because—

[Contribution has changed.]
[Event Contribution]
[The Soul Breaker = 2% ▶ 3%]

The system window had been blinking annoyingly before his eyes for a while now.

The gardener’s title was ‘He Who Keeps Others Awake’.

In other words, the one triggering the new notification—was another villain.

‘Great. I just finished dealing with one…’

And now he had no clue how his contribution had gone up this time. It was driving him out of his mind.

What he did know, with absolute clarity, was that he was surrounded by enemies.

He couldn’t trust anyone. Not a single soul.

“You’re the same, aren’t you?”

Ranshel whispered down to Zavad, who was sweating so profusely his tie had gone damp.

Someone had to be on his side.

‘That someone probably isn’t me.’

No—at the very least, it shouldn’t be him.

Ranshel shoved the wet tie roughly into a pocket and briefly left the room before returning.

He quietly settled onto the floor beside the bed, clutching things he’d brought in stealthily.

As he wrung out a towel soaked in cold water, a thin stream trickled into the bowl beneath it.

Soon, the thoroughly dampened towel was laid across Zavad’s burning forehead.

His temperature was so high the towel warmed up in no time, so Ranshel dipped it in water again, wrung it out, and replaced it—over and over.

He touched the boy’s cheek, now slightly cooler, and slowly closed his eyes.

Tending to a feverish child—this, he was familiar with.

—Oppa, don’t you have work today?
—Our Eunhye is sick. Where would I go, huh?
—But still…
—It’s fine. I’ll just get scolded. It’s not like they can fire me anyway. You know I’m good at my job, right?
—Mhm. Oppa’s good at everything.
—Exactly. Know why?
—Because when I have you, Eunhye, I can do anything.

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