The Unlikely Imprint of the Villainess and the Male Lead - Chapter 68
Chapter 68
Translator: Yonnee
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“……”
Just as that chatty mouth had disappeared, everything fell silent, the space around Richt becoming void of sound in an instant.
Had one person’s warmth ever felt so palpable?
For some reason, Richt, feeling uneasy, lowered his gaze, exhausted all of a sudden.
In fact, ever since he had wiped away Luciana’s blood, his mind had been in disarray.
Having moved to sit in front of the fireplace, Richt leaned back against the chair and sank into long, wandering thoughts.
He continued to fiddle with the handkerchief he still stubbornly held.
Looking at that object, messily stained with red, he couldn’t help but recall the woman who had bled defenselessly before him.
“Damn it.”
Richt’s brow creased noticeably.
The moment he saw the blood spurting out, his mind went blank, and in the end, his body took over.
At that time, he was so preoccupied with stemming the bleeding that he didn’t even notice the oddity of his own actions.
He could have simply handed over the handkerchief—yet, once again, his instincts had overtaken him, compelling him to do what need not have been done.
However, despite the desperate contortions on his face, his aimless hand merely continued to fuss with the pitifully wet handkerchief.
Richt found that about himself rather amusing.
Even as he reproached himself for being utterly pathetic, he couldn’t help but repeatedly recall the warmth that had clung to his fingertips.
“…I am no different, after all.”
An old wound, confined in an abyss devoid of any light, subtly rose through the surface. It was as if that ugly scar left in his mind was mocking him, urging him into self-deprecation.
“I mean, Your Grace and I only got tied together because of an accident, after all…”
That infallible remark—utterly without a single false word—seemed like a curse steeped in malice, making it utterly unbearable to hear.
“You don’t have to worry. I still remember your warning not to misunderstand.”
Whenever that gentle voice recounted his past self, he was overwhelmed by a desire to annihilate the very person who had uttered those words.
The irony was, he no longer felt any disappointment toward that very self.
―How utterly pathetic. Do you, too, desire to live a wretched life like ‘that’?
‘No. Never.’
Even as a scornful voice, dredging up those deeply entrenched memories, was heard, the nature that had stubbornly taken root gradually began to overtake Richt.
―But you’ve already fallen for her. You’re too wretched to even discard a mere handkerchief over a that flickering hearth.
Objects bearing even the slightest trace of that woman—you would have thrown them away long ago.
But now, look at yourself.
No matter how much you try to shut your eyes and ears and resist, you too are one of their descendants.
Isn’t it? Huh?
Somewhere, a satisfied laugh could be heard.
The sly, base instincts that were gradually overtaking Richt sneered at him, as if foretelling its own victory.
“…Luciana.”
Amidst the intense disarray, Richt called out her name as if it were his only escape.
What exactly is it that I desire?
He questioned his inner self, but no response came from anywhere.
* * *
Time passed without fail, and before he knew it, the winter that had once seemed eternal had faded, and a gentle east wind began to blow.
As the snow melted and new buds emerged on the branches, Luciana’s research—though slow—was gradually advancing.
They continued to live each day, still marked by the imprint upon each other, yet everything was fine.
At least, on the surface.
“……”
Richt, who had come out into the streets without his retinue, once again prepared to head back, thinking of Luciana who habitually occupied his thoughts.
The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ might not exactly apply here, but it seemed he had grown somewhat accustomed to the daily torment brought on by his pair.
He was still uneasy, yet there was a hint of resignation.
As if offering him some trivial comfort, a faint breeze brushed past his ears.
I wonder what that woman is up to. I’ll probably see her tomorrow.
It was at that moment, as Richt walked while ignoring the cascade of thoughts in his mind, that—
“Duke!”
He paused.
Suddenly, a cheery voice calling him from close by broke his train of thought.
With a vexed look on his face, Richt turned to look at the uninvited guest.
“It’s been a while!”
Beneath the shining, lustrous blond hair, shone vivid, striking amethyst eyes.
The instant Richt recognized Deborah, his angry gaze slowly narrowed.
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