* * *
The path to survival was something Zavad had to forge for himself.
He had to think, judge, and decide on his own.
Life belonged to him and no one else.
Zavad’s eyes blinked slowly.
The self-loathing in his crimson gaze was gradually replaced by resolve and yearning.
“…Yeah. Begging doesn’t suit me.”
The once-dull, gemlike eyes flared back to life like fire.
In the sharp gleam of his eyes and the tight line of his lips, Ranshel saw a glimpse of a grown-up Zavad.
No matter how many times he broke or fell apart, the one who survives to the end is the true victor.
And Zavad had never once lost a game.
‘Yup. That’s Zavad Pomel, the most popular character for you.’
He looked a hundred times better like this than when he was wallowing in despair.
Ranshel, without meaning to, relaxed and smiled faintly.
Zavad’s eyes widened slightly, as if surprised.
His gaze trembled as he looked at Ranshel, then hesitantly opened his mouth.
“…Still, it doesn’t feel like it’s just about the money. Is there something else you want from me?”
“Nope. Just pay me, that’s all.”
Ranshel rested his chin on his hand, elbow propped on his knee.
His tone was as breezy and casual as ever.
Zavad glanced down at the book he held in his arms—it was the collection of his mother’s poems, the one Ranshel had slipped under his pillow.
“Or… did my mother send you to me?”
“…What?”
Wait, what? His dead mother?
Ranshel’s hand slipped under his chin from the shock.
Zavad suddenly grabbed his arm with a strange look on his face.
“Even a blind man could tell you’re not just some regular servant. If your employer is my mother, then…”
“No, no. What kind of nonsense is that?”
“You gave me the book. You said you threw it away, but then you gave it back. There must be a reason.”
“No, I didn’t give it to you. Someone must’ve picked it up from the trash and put it back. Petro, maybe?”
“And you expect me to believe that? Why are you working so hard to be difficult? Just tell me. What are you hiding?”
Why was he suddenly veering into the high-affection route?
Like things weren’t already messy enough.
Ranshel swatted his hand away.
His fingernail accidentally caught on something beneath Zavad’s glove.
“Ugh…!”
A sharp pain, like someone digging under his nail with a needle, made his face twist up.
“…All I want is to leech off you and get rich, okay? Don’t make it weird with these strange misunderstandings. It’s exhausting for both of us.”
The effort to hold back the pain had made his voice tight and strained.
Startled, Zavad backed off, his ears turning pink beneath his dark hair.
“…You don’t have to hate the idea that much.”
It seemed like Zavad misunderstood something again, but if Ranshel cleared that up, he wouldn’t be the villain anymore.
He exhaled a long sigh.
“There’s no reason to like it, either. It’s not like we’ve built some deep emotional bond. Why are you acting like this?”
“…”
“I’m just doing my job. I’d appreciate it if you treated me that way too.”
Zavad bit his lip hard enough that it turned pale.
Then he snapped his eyes open with a sharp glare.
“…Right. I shouldn’t have said that. I nearly insulted my mother. There’s no way she’d entrust someone like you with me.”
“Of course. Lady Charlotte deserves better.”
“…What do you even know? How dare you speak her name?”
“You’re the one who brought her up first, remember?”
“Don’t get cocky. I’ve got limits to how much I’ll tolerate.”
Silence fell between them.
A transparent window popped up in front of Ranshel’s eyes.
[Event Contribution Rate has changed.]
[Event Contribution Rate
The Most Villainous One: 3% → 5% ]
As expected. Ranshel felt like he was starting to understand what caused the contribution meter to rise.
It probably had something to do with what made it easy for Petro to raise his own numbers.
After all, just being nasty wouldn’t be enough to raise the points—not in an event targeting the villain.
The main story, Bottomless Swamp, is about Zavad’s revenge against the Pomel family.
And for revenge to exist, there must first be resentment.
Ranshel recalled one of Zavad’s lines and figured it must have stemmed from hatred toward those who ruined his childhood.
But humans are complex, delicate creatures.
Toward someone they truly feel nothing for, they respond not with hatred, but with indifference.
At the very least, there has to be some level of interest.
The closer the relationship, the deeper the wound.
Love and hate are just two sides of the same coin—close enough to flip at any moment.
So then, what did it mean that Ranshel’s contribution level had gone up?
“It means Zavad’s finally started to care about me.”
And that’s why he kept getting his hopes up, only to end up disappointed.
People’s hearts are like boats floating on still water—they seem calm until a storm hits, and suddenly they’re tossed around by the waves.
Just being mean wasn’t enough to boost contribution levels.
Ranshel had to stay by Zavad’s side, help him sincerely… and then deliver a brutal betrayal.
At the moment he trusted him the most.
At the closest possible distance.
He felt sick. Ranshel lowered his head, pressing a hand to his forehead.
Silence filled the empty room.
It was Zavad who broke it first.
He seemed to have regained his composure by now.
“So… what exactly is Petro doing in my room?”
“Oh, nothing big. Just setting it on fire a little.”
“…What?”
“Well, you won’t be able to do anything unless you get out of that room first.”
Ranshel raised his head and looked at Zavad straight on.
“All you need to do is act like you’re trying to escape. Once the smoke starts to spread, make your move and call for help. You’ll need to time it right though—can’t let the fire get out of hand.”
“Hold on. Isn’t it going to be obvious Petro started it? No way someone sets fire to a duke’s estate and gets away with it.”
“Ah, well, the arsonist won’t be Lord Petro. It’s going to be the physician. I’ll make sure he’s the one who lights the fire. Not of his own free will, of course—but if he’s caught on the spot, there’ll be no saving him.”
“…How? How are you going to control the physician like that?”
Right.
Up until now, that’s how you were being controlled.
But Ranshel, instead of answering honestly, passed the buck.
“I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to ask Lord Petro yourself.”
“…”
Zavad dropped his gaze in silence, clearly deep in thought.
Ranshel clapped his hands together sharply, cutting him off before he could realize too much.
“Anyway, congratulations. Looks like you’ll finally be able to stay in one of the rooms downstairs.”
There was no part of this tower higher than where they were now.
At last, Ranshel could be freed from the endless hell of stairs.
He felt like crying—sentimentally, and completely out of place.
The thought of those days full of muscle aches made his nose sting.
“I won’t be moving to another room.”
“…What?”
The tears dried up instantly. Ranshel couldn’t believe his ears.
“What, you’re planning to stay in that scorched room?”
“…What?”
* * *
