“Me, a villain? I am an artist, you know.”

With a sinister smirk, the adventurer hunter drew a dagger from his waistband. His eyes, narrow slits, directed the jade-forged blade towards Hanna and me, reminiscent of some insect.

“Fighting insects is a first for me.”

“I am not a bug charmer. I sculpt people with the beautiful magic created by the gods, an artist.”

“No matter how I look at it, it seems right… Head, chest, abdomen divided, and… ah, not an insect because it’s not six arms?”

The adventurer hunter, squinting his eyes, had seemingly caught on that he was being insulted, and asked me.

“In what way, might I ask?”

The man’s narrowed eyes gazed at me. It was as if at any moment now, if I were to insult him further, he would immediately stab me in the throat.

I just shrugged.

From the way he creeps up, hunched over, to his grip on the two daggers held in reverse, he was the spitting image of a mantis.

I had resolved not to judge people by their looks, but the man’s face before me excessively resembled an insect. Could calling him a person be an insult to humanity itself?

To uphold the dignity of mankind, I conveyed the uncomfortable truth to him.

“I mistook you for an insect because you resemble a praying mantis.”
“What?”
“Looking so frail, it seems like a single punch could kill you, yet oddly, you’re an insect with a nasty temper.”

You.
You’re so ugly.

“You look like a praying mantis.”

Slowly, cracks formed on the man’s face. Could it be the discomfort of being met with the truth? His mother must have always gaslit him by saying he was handsome. I was worried that by speaking the uncomfortable truth, I would become a failure as a son.

But what can you do?

He truly resembles a mantis.

The man gave a bitter smile. Trying not to appear narrow-minded, an awkward chuckle escaped him… and it felt satisfying.

“You think I resemble a mantis?”
“Yes.”
“Ha ha ha… This is driving me crazy. You’re the first person to speak to me this way.”
“You have a really good friend.”
“… Do you want to die?”

The mantis, upon realizing the falsehoods of his mother, did not seem to resonate with my sincerity.

In the novel, I had seen Michail trampled by this guy.

“The archbishop of madness…! Do you know how many innocent people have died by your hands?”
“Kishishit… I have only created artworks. The filth that destroys the world is merely purified by death as an art form.”
“I’ll kill you…”
“You said that last time too, yet you couldn’t kill me, how regretful. Michail, I also wish to turn you into one of my artworks someday.”

That was the true madness, overpowering Michail. This was the man who had overwhelmed the heroine’s party.

But not now.

Now, he was nothing more than a performance artist who looked like an insect.

I told him earnestly.

“It’s a first for me as well.”
“…”
“Meeting someone who looks like a mantis. If I were a grade-schooler, I would have trapped you in an insect collecting jar.”

The adventurer hunter’s smile gradually dried up. Maybe realizing a truth he hadn’t known for decades. If there was a mirror at home, he couldn’t have been ignorant of it.

Perhaps he had never realized he resembled an insect, or maybe he had deluded himself into thinking he was handsome. The novel didn’t have such a setting, so I didn’t know, but I felt incredibly guilty for inadvertently attacking him personally.

“I’m sorry. You do really resemble one so I made a mistake.”
“I…”

Mixed frustration could be heard in the voice of the adventurer hunter.
His voice wavered, perhaps with doubts about the secrets of his birth.

Pity the villains.

It was heartbreaking.

If it were modern times, maybe the power of medicine could have helped, but blame the era for being born a mantis.

“I… ”

Dark energy began to gather in the mantis’ daggers.
A foreboding and chilling energy.
It was black magic.

Flash. The mantis opened his eyes and spoke.

“Do I really resemble that unlovely creature?”

I drew my sword from my waist and said.

“Yes.”

In an instant, the mantis’ body flew towards me. A mirage of black energy swiftly moved to throttle my breath, but…

A soft ‘pop’ sound, and he was just a powerless afterimage that vanished.

[Your ‘Black Magic Resistance’ cancels ‘Pascal’s’ magic.]

I smiled a villainous smile.
A pure white smile that was cruel and could overpower the opponent.

“What was it? Did you just shoot poison darts at me?”

The provocation, more powerful than any mental spell, reached Pascal.

“I thought you were a mantis, but you were a different insect. My apologies for the misunderstanding.”

Following that, Pascal’s reason flew away.

***

“Huff… Huff…”

Rowen ran swiftly.

His destination was the site of the loud noise coming from the top of the mountain. A malevolent aura and a rich scent of blood rode the wind towards him.

Strangely, impatience took hold of his heart.

Though he thought such a thing couldn’t happen, the sinister thoughts showed no signs of abating.

Over and over, the image of his youngest daughter dying played in his mind. Her piteous figure searching for him emerged, along with a vision of himself embracing her cold, lifeless body.

“Damn it…”

On the way here, he pondered various things.

“Did I do something wrong?”
“If my youngest dies, could I cope?”
“Do I have the confidence to live without regrets?”

What was sure was this.

If his daughter were found as a cold corpse, Rowen knew he wouldn’t be able to think reasonably anymore.

If any of his countless fears materialized,
If such a scene unfolded before his eyes, Rowen knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his sanity.

He would either wipe out every orc tribe in the Hamel Mountains or possibly drive the orcs to extinction in the empire.

He’d find some excuse for it.

He was convinced that had there been no orcs, his daughter would not have died, and he would not have looked back at himself as the source of the excuse.

Rowen knew best that he was pedantic, stubborn, and a perfectionist who couldn’t easily admit fault.

‘Foolish man.’

Bit by bit, the source of the sound began to become visible.

Through the trees, he could see bodies, unmistakably victims of orcs, and some charred human bodies.

Rowen gripped his sword tightly.

He was anxious.

The sight of the corpses overlaid with the image of his daughter, causing the firmness in his heart to waver like reeds.

He had thought himself numb to death after crafting and witnessing it across numerous battlefields.

But now, he was more frightened than any war before.

A familiar sight caught his eye.

“Father…”

In the hallucination, he started to see the orc habitat where his daughter had been dying.

Rowen stomped the ground. He had to check for himself, convinced his daughter would be there. But contrary to his wishes, a thick cloud of dust obscured the area.

Nothing was visible.

“Damn it.”

He had an intuition. He was already too late.

In the hallucination, his daughter’s last sighting was the end of a thick cloud of dust. Her breathing ceased in the dust cloud where not an inch ahead could be seen.

As he walked aimlessly, losing his senses to the dust cloud…

Clang.

A familiar sword struck his foot. A flashy golden handle with a gold-ruby encrusted in the center, and the family’s coat of arms etched on the blade.

A long memory from when Hanna was first introduced to the world, he had given her this sword so she could later grow to spread the name of Histania.

He had no idea she still had this sword.

Its edge was completely worn. The handle bore fingerprints, a testament to its long use.

Among the numerous swords he had bought for his other children, this was the one he had only bought once for Hanna, and it hit him like a nail in the heart.

More than anything, it was sharp. It cut deeper than any sword and left a wound graver than any swordsmanship.

The sword he had bought her lay mercilessly on the ground.

“…”

The ground was soaked with blood.

Mostly it was the green blood of orcs, but there was also a significant amount of red human blood mixed in, forming a murky color.

Rowen, as if entranced, said…

“… No.”

A voice of denial escaped him.

Unbelievable.
It must not be believed.

His father was a sword master.
He himself was the sword of the empire.
He couldn’t bear to witness such a loss of life.

What was the purpose of wielding a sword?
Why had he been harsh to his daughter, whom he so wanted to be acknowledged?

Rowen’s mind couldn’t find the answer.

Only now did Rowen remember a line written on the blue message.

‘Sinner’

That’s right.
He himself was a sinner.

For the first time in a while, Rowen tried to call an awkward name.

“Hanna, where are you?”

Towards the billowing cloud, he spoke in a voice burning out.

“We’re supposed to spar. You promised…”

Although she did not respond, he deeply regretted how cruelly he had ignored her on her birthday.

What tragedy would greet him when the smoke cleared? Would that nightmare he saw in the hallucination replay?

Rowen was scared.

“Daddy is…”

Now, he seemed to be ready to admit.

“Daddy is sorry…”

That was when it happened.

Thud…!

“Hanna, Miss, you’re not supposed to hit there. You have to hit the armored areas to avoid leaving marks.”

“Ahah…! Would that be a perfect crime?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

Through the dissipating dust cloud, he could see his daughter, laughing alongside a man as they beat someone.

“Heeheehee…”

Hanna’s expression as she thumped someone with a scabbard looked the happiest he’d ever seen her.