At this moment, Aino’s defenses broke; she even felt as if she’d been wrong all along.

Because Alea was special.

Aino had spent many years in this world, but she’d only really communicated with three people—Carter, Molly, and Alea.

From the moment she first laid eyes on Alea, Aino had focused on her, not only because of her appearance but also because she sensed the aura of magic within her.

It was a mysterious, eerie power—faint, yet undeniably there.

Searching her memories, Aino realized this woman was a “witch,” though stripped of her powers.

This was worlds apart from the other women who had been brutalized. Alea’s eyes retained a spark of spirit, and her words revealed a vibrant, cunning mind.

If she were the protagonist in some reincarnation novel, this encounter would be with a pivotal character.

Aino was already speculating about her background, her experiences, and how their relationship might develop.

But Alea’s words struck her like a thunderbolt.

“Could it be? Had this bright, spirited girl before her been violated countless times by goblins, just like the others?”

A sudden sense of unreality washed over Aino.

Wasn’t there supposed to be some invisible hand intervening at the critical moment to save her?

Was this world truly like this?

Alea didn’t seem to care much about modesty; she unabashedly washed herself in the nearby river, her back covered in scars.

Aino was hit with a renewed sense of reality.

“I’ve been wrong all along…” she murmured to herself.

This was a real world.

Every person had their own life, their own thoughts, regardless of rank or strength.

This was a true otherworld, not a game—no one here was an NPC.

Alea was the same as those women treated like swine and insects.

Carter was no different from those adventurers who died by the claws of monsters in the wild.

Molly was like those women abducted and tortured to death by rogue nobles.

The lives that passed as quickly as ants might leave no trace upon the world, yet, to their loved ones, their loss was as abrupt, terrifying, and unbearable as if Carter or Molly had died.

She was never the protagonist of a novel—she was just like Carter, like Alea, like the women in the goblin nests, like anyone lost to history.

Even her former self, the feared Black Dragon King, had perished, and not a soul even knew.

Aino looked down at her own small, booted feet.

This body was powerful, teeming with mana, and, in her true form, nearly indestructible.

But it barely made a ripple in the river of history.

The goblin nest was dark as night, with no way to discern the passage of time. To have a rough measure, I counted by pregnancies.

Although my studies of magic had no relation to goblins, I’d once painstakingly learned every scrap of knowledge to better myself, to retaliate against those depraved nobles who’d wronged me. I pored over every book on magic I could find.

For a human woman, carrying a goblin’s child to term takes about a month. I might be the first witch to be captured by goblins, but in this matter, I’m probably no different from other women.

In total, I birthed seven goblins. My belly would swell, the movement within sickening, and I forced them out as soon as I could, unwilling to bear the revolting sensation.

To any normal person, such a life would surely be called hell.

But unlike many who broke, I held onto a shred of sanity. Maybe it’s because, as a witch, I’ve seen my share of horrors and absurdities, or perhaps my heart had died long ago when my mother and sister were ravaged and killed, and my father beheaded before me.

I wanted to survive—to survive so I could seek vengeance.

If my enemy were a single person in this vast world, I might lack this determination, as the chance would be slim.

But my targets are all those lofty nobles, all those filthy, wretched creatures beneath pigs and dogs.

That makes it simple enough. My hands are already stained with blood; as long as I’m alive, I can fulfill my goal. For that goal can be large or small—a notorious lord terrorizing a region or a random soul I pass on the road.

To live, to kill, to rob others of life—this is my purpose.

But then, when I saw her, my dormant heart fell silent.

Such an evil being, such a savage presence.

Externally, she looked like a young girl, delicate features, pale skin, with uncommon black hair, seemingly innocent to any normal onlooker.

And yet…

A dense aura of malice surrounded her, blood almost seemed to drip from her form.

Even though my powers were stripped and I was as a mere mortal, my ability to sense mana had fused with my very being.

Most people, even those beyond the ordinary, could only see her human “skin,” but as a witch, I could see her “bones.”

How many lives must one take to become such a monster?

What puzzled me was the ordinary human standing beside her. To me, it was strange enough that anyone could survive near her, let alone seem unaffected or unbound.

Like the adventurers who stormed the goblin nest, they searched the lair, rescuing any women who could still be saved.

My power is never wrong—the creature before me, known as “Aino,” had devoured countless souls, even admitting as much.

“Would you remember how many loaves of bread you’ve eaten?”

Terrifying, yet logical. Only such a creature could carry such a palpable aura of death.

I didn’t know what would happen next, but it couldn’t be worse than serving as a goblin broodmare underground.

I don’t fear death, so accepting a creature like her was easy.

The future—a bleak, gray world…

I washed the grime from my body, swept my long hair out of my eyes, and turned, feeling a hint of relief.

And met the eyes of a monster about to cry.

It was an overwhelming sight, for I could see her essence as a witch.

Can you imagine a monster, one that stands atop a mountain of corpses, gazing at you like a troubled young girl with a wounded look?

She quickly turned her head, taking a few steps from the pool to an appropriate distance.

I continued washing.

A strange feeling stirred in both our hearts.