On a rainy day, the familiar scent filled the air. A castle stood in the middle of a city. Its high walls and spiraling tower pierced the clouds, but today was quiet. The clamoring of people was absent in the air—instead, there was a deafening silence that was unusual in the capital of Angspire.
"Isn't this view beautiful?"
A woman in pure white. Every seam of her robe was embroidered with painstaking detail. Her face was hidden under a black veil while white hair peeked through.
Floating high up in the sky, she peered down with eyes hidden under a dark veil.
"Now, let the massacre begin!"
The woman said in a delighted tone, raising both her arms as if she were a conductor in front of an orchestra. Rain fell around her, yet none soaked her clothes.
Raindrops fell from the sky— it rained cats and dogs, but not a single soul was in the streets. The woman's smile deepened, opening her mouth, and a calming and mesmerizing voice left her perfect lips.
"Rain Fall"
The air around her froze. Droplets hung suspended, glinting like scattered diamonds in the dim light. Her slender arms moved with eerie grace, weaving an unseen rhythm as a soft hum escaped her lips. Then—one drop stirred.
It fell.
Faster than sight could follow, it streaked downward, unbound by nature's laws. The raindrop struck a house, piercing clean through the roof and the foundation before burying itself deep into the earth. A thunderous crack split the air as the building erupted, debris hurtling outward, crashing into neighboring homes like shrapnel.
She didn't pause to admire the destruction. Her arms swayed again, a conductor commanding an invisible orchestra. With each lift of her hand, another droplet plummeted, each impact a deafening crescendo of ruin.
The capital of Angspire became a symphony of devastation. Explosions rolled through the streets in waves, reducing grandeur to rubble, splendor to dust. The mighty castle at the city's heart stood no chance—its towers crumbled, its walls collapsed, swallowed whole by the fury of her rain.
At last, she stilled. Her hands drifted to her chest in a mocking bow. No applause answered her—only silence. Below, where a kingdom once thrived, there was nothing. No city. No castle. Just an abyss, gaping and hollow, as if Angspire had never existed at all.
"Thank you for listening to my performance! As I, the Detested Witch, Vainglorbia had made her first debut in this world~"
Nobody listened to her announcement; she only smiled at her destruction, pleased, then everything turned to black.
Vainglorbia blinked.
Dirt beneath her feet. A path stretches ahead. The memory of annihilation still fresh in her mind, yet here she stood—whole, unharmed.
That had been her first appearance—in the novel, Volume 36, Chapter 1. She remembered reading it. Remembered how awe-inspiring, how terrifying, her arrival had been.
But now? She was here. And this time, she was Vainglorbia.
She had tested her abilities earlier, during her encounter with the bandits. The results had shaken her more than she wanted to admit. She walked slowly now, her mind flooded with doubt and unanswered questions
After dispatching the bandit from earlier, she thought about the result of her experiment. Walking aimlessly forward, frustrated, she couldn't dispel her anxiety in her mind. The one that plagued her the most was…
She flexed her fingers, recalling the novel she'd read so long ago. The power she wielded was the same—Glass Ego, Broken Mirror, Vain Eyes—but something gnawed at her. A doubt. A fear.
Looking down at her palm as she walked, recalling the instances in the novel where Vainglorbia used her ability.
No difference there, my ability worked the same as in the novel, thankfully.
Although the scale of her control of the ability wasn't the same, she was confident it would only take a few practices to be able to have the same destructive power as the novel she read. Relaxing her shoulders, her sporadic pace slowed down to normal.
Multiple things occupied her mind: the promise with Maria, the lack of any information, the hunters who would no doubt come for her head, and the thing that was taking up space in her head. My Right of The Weak…
Rubbing the side of her temple, exhaustion tempted her to fall into a deep slumber, her eyelids struggling to stay open. Tch, this sleepiness is annoying, there's only one way to be sure. With my last ability. Vain Eyes
Vainglorbia's eyes brightened even more, she glanced around in the dark path. A boulder jotted out in the dirt trail. Deeming it satisfactory, she stood in front of the boulder while picking up a pebble at the side of the dirt path. Activating Broken Mirror, chucking the small stone in her palm, unsurprisingly, the giant boulder erupted into a firework of small stone shrapnel.
Furrowing her eyebrows, she grimaced while looking to the side.
"Sigh* as I feared, Vainglorbia's abilities had an unknown side effect."
Looking down her body, she saw a fog squirming inside her chest. Its color was a pure white; it looked ethereal and was transparent. It was her ego, now it was smaller. And fainter.
Vainglorbia observed herself, a downcast expression was present on her face. My ego right now is smaller than when I checked earlier, so that explains my exhaustion…
Vainglorbia's last ability, Vain Eyes, allows her to see the ego of herself and others. The ability isn't limited only to her sight, but she can sense the egos of others even with her eyes closed.
The reason for her tiredness was evident after checking herself with Vain Eyes. The small and translucent fog that flickers was small and looked fragile.
Snuffing it out would only take a gust of wind to extinguish it. The ego is something tangible and isn't a concept; it's one of the three that make up a person's soul, so it didn't surprise Vainglorbia that she felt exhausted.
Broken Mirror and Glass Ego—they consumed her ego. She looked down at her chest, at the fragile fog inside her. It barely pulsed now. Vainglorbia's third ability, Vain Eyes, allowed her to see the ego of herself and others. In the novel, it had been described in detail, and it had seemed harmless.
But this was no story.
Her ego—her very soul—was the fuel. And it burned away, bit by bit, with each use of power.
"Well, at least one of my hypotheses is proven, not only Broken Mirror but also Glass Ego as well needs my ego to power them… so if I'm not careful, I'll quite literally suck my soul out… Yikes, these abilities are more dangerous than I thought, even Vainglorbia would be in danger just by using it."
And if she kept using them without restraint, she wouldn't just die. She'd cease. A hollow shell, void of ego.
She stood motionless, breathing shallowly. The illusion of invincibility was gone. The Vainglorbia of the novel had seemed untouchable—but she now saw the cracks. Her power came at a cost that the original story had never explored.
A cold dread bloomed inside her—death's breath whispering against her neck for the very first time. The only reason she hadn't collapsed under the weight of that terror was Vainglorbia's body, its emotions dulled, its pride an anchor holding her steady.
Yet her thoughts spiraled. She had moved through this unknown world with such certainty, armored by Vainglorbia's near-limitless power. Now, realizing this near omnipotent ability has a heavy price to pay. All she could do was stand frozen, gaze darting across the darkness. For the first time, she truly felt it—the crushing loneliness, the gnawing fear.
Turning, she flinched at every distant silhouette, at the shadows lurking along the edges of the barren field. Her body was still, but her mind raced. Vainglorbia had always felt invincible—until now. That certainty crumbled like a sandcastle beneath a merciless tide. "As long as I don't meet anyone stronger, I'll be fine." The thought flickered through her, feeble against the crushing truth: she wasn't all-powerful.
The urge to flee coiled in her chest. The world around her seemed to expand, looming monstrously large, as if she were nothing more than a helpless rat dragged into some vast, unknown place
Vainglorbia was powerless; that truth was too painful to accept. She would struggle in front of death, knowing her power used her ego as fuel, it would only be inevitable for her to run out of her ego, as it slowly regenerates and replenishes itself back to its original volume.
Witch hunters and knights would constantly tail her. If they were small in numbers, then she could defeat them, but if they came in waves. It would only be a matter of time before she would run out of stamina and be burned at the stake.
Vainglorbia is still a human, she needs to sleep and rest, even needing food and water. So she couldn't be on the run forever; she needed to find a shelter and recoup.
Adding more fuel to the fire, she thought about the surviving villagers. Vainglorbia was shouldered with an unimaginable burden. Clutching her stomach, the building stress was piling up. Shouldn't I just abandon them?
These thoughts ran through her mind. Vainglorbia seriously thought about this, looking back at the path, she remembered the face of those villagers she saved. She was a stranger. They distrusted her. She could walk away. The nobles would surely send aid. Maybe they'd be better off without her.
Remembering the faces of the villagers in the village center.
Hostile, yes. Suspicious. But also frightened. Hopeful. The right thing to do was to leave. The easy thing to do was to leave. Vainglorbia being involved would only complicate things. The best thing I can do is not to be involved; that would be the best for everyone…
She took a steadying breath and gazed once more at the path ahead—dim, shadowed, revealing only a few meters at a time. Yet Maria's promise echoed in her mind, inexplicably filling her with courage, as if the girl had lent her some of her own.
Step by step, she moved forward, head held high despite the darkness. It was absurd, really—that the vow of a child could propel her forward. The thought almost made her laugh. If anyone knew how fragile her resolve truly was, how easily swayed by something so small, they'd surely look at her with disbelief.
She walked with heavy footsteps, carrying on until a small light was in view in the distance. It was different from the bandit earlier; The smell of death and blood swirled in the distance, like the smell was condensed into one point. Vainglorbia took a deep breath, even if her heart didn't move, her mind was still the same Naako that would look away from the sight of blood. Stepping up to fulfill her promise with Maria, she took a step while surmising that this was the group the bandits had killed earlier. At the same time, she saw the first corpses on the ground and the outline of the village gate came into view.
The gate was made out of stone, she could tell how old it was with a quick glance. As she expected, a sea of blood and bodies was present at the foot of the gate. What surprised her the most was that the bodies of bandits were mixed with theirs. Weapons and farming tools mingle together, their hilts and handles still being clutched by their deceased owner.
Using Vain Eyes, she observed her surroundings. No sight of life, I hope the other group is still alive…
Just in case— she turned her head to double-check if she missed any villagers who were fortunate enough to survive.
The limp bodies were the only ones present at the quiet stone gate. Further down the path, through the stone gate, she saw the faint glow of an oil lamp on the ground. The fire inside danced in the wind, a gem slotted at the place where the burner is usually, emitting an ember radiance and waves of heat. Cracks and fractures ran through the delicate surface of the glass.
For the third time, she checked for survivors—nothing. With a steadying breath, she moved forward, but not before scooping up the lamp oil. Her fingers twisted the wheel at its base, and the flame roared brighter, casting an eerie blue glow across the green landscape. The deep cerulean light soothed her, stretching her vision beyond five meters, pushing back the oppressive dark.
But as she stepped onto the dirt path, a voice cut through the silence.
A low raspy voice called in the dark night. alarmed bells ringing in Vainglorbia's head, she quickly turned toward the source of the voice, with a vigilant eye. Searching with Vain Eyes, a small fog quiver in the dark. Away from the dirt path, a quiet wheezing echoed through the flat field.
The voice's owner was barely clinging to life, his ember colored ego flickering in the wind. If the worst happens, she can escape. That much she wanted to believe. Stepping closer to the voice, the oil lamp in her hand illuminated the person in front.
Vainglorbia doubted her eyes, but Vain Eyes told her the reality of the life that clung to the ghostly body. The soft light of the blue flame landed on the pale skin of an old man, marked with grievous wounds. The pair of blue overalls was stained with blood— whether from his wounds or the dead around him, she couldn't tell.
"My—my, those apes are merciless to the young and old, aren't they? Although I don't know who's a real victim here, Morri Orwell."
The eyes of the old man turned into saucers, he peered at her sitting limply on the ground. Digging through her skin with his stare, Vainglorbia ignored his glare before continuing.
"Too bad, it looks like I was a bit late. If I just had the spell Waterfall, or had the light attribute, I could save you."
The old man's eye widened more, his mouth agape. His gaze looked far away, pondering something in his head. Taking in a sharp breath, he opened his mouth filled with his blood.
"How— how did you know… who I was… did Maria tell you— or did you…"
Disguising her snickering with a tilt of her head. Yet at the end of her mouth twisted before being covered by the shadows cast by the oil lamp.
His eyebrow knotted after hearing her scoff, he tensed his body after gazing at her appearance. The smell of blood exposed to the air stung his nose. The sharp pings of pain reminded him of the danger confronting him.
"There's no need for it to be said, I can tell both inside and out that you're connected to her. You have the same light in your eyes and ego. Do you think my Vain Eyes wouldn't notice it?"
She placed the lamp oil on the ground beside her, pointing her index finger at his chest. A storm of foreign words entered one ear and went out the other.
"… Well, yes, it's true that I'm Maria's grandfather, but—"
Vainglorbia guessed what he was about to say next, raising a hand before he could finish his sentence.
"Maria requested that I save the remaining villagers. Of course, for a price."
Her expression softened, but it had the opposite effect she was hoping for. The balding old man dug his nail into the ground. Rearing back as far as he could. Hey now, I'm not a carnivore, why is he acting this way…
With deliberate slowness, she stepped back, palms raised in mock surrender. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, though his breath remained ragged. Vainglorbia fought the absurd urge to smirk—this wasn't amusing. It was inconvenient.
"I'm sorry for my rudeness, it may seem like I frightened you a bit. Pardon my impoliteness, I should introduce myself first."
Vainglorbia performed a curtsy, her arms mechanically pinched the edge of her dirty dress with precision. Bowing deeply, the angle of her spine was measured perfectly, rehearsed to the point it was like clockwork to her.
"My name is Vainglorbia. Just Vainglorbia is fine."
A groan escaped in the dark air, tightening her face, or else her icy appearance would crack. Straightening her back, she locked eyes with the milky whites of the old man, his eyes burning with clarity. Her ribs feel tight. She wondered why this was. Is it guilt? Empathy? Of course, she wasn't oblivious to the people she killed, nor did she feel anything about them. Perhaps it was the remnants of the body's original owner, some lingering shred of conscience. Or maybe—just maybe—it was her. Naako, buried deep beneath the Witch's cold exterior, stirred at the sight of an old man's fear.
The thought was more disturbing than she cared to admit.
.
Dwelling inside a body so numb to the deaths she'd caused, it felt strange—almost foreign—to feel anything at all for an old man she had never met.
But then, his voice broke through her thoughts, low and strained, pulling her back to the present.
"You 're—you're scared…?"
Scared? Did I look scared? Because of what? Of him? No, that doesn't sound right to me… could he have been mistaken? Is he just projecting his emotions onto me? Misread me? I don't get it…
Vainglorbia blinked multiple times, her perfect poker face was completely ruined. Perplexed, she froze still, intensely staring at the old man.
Gathering what little amount of courage he has left under her intense glare. He opened his trembling mouth.
"No—no, I didn't mean like that. I meant you're eyes. I'm quite confident in seeing people's emotions, so I saw the fear in your eyes, not a warrior's fear, but the kind that comes before a first kill. You can control your muscles, your face, but your eyes, they'll betray you…"
The realization struck like a physical blow, sending an electric jolt through her body. Vainglorbia's breath caught as the pieces suddenly clicked together with terrifying clarity. A dry, mirthless smile twisted her lips.
All this time—every careful step, every calculated decision—she'd been playing at being Vainglorbia while still thinking like Naako. That initial thrill of transmigration, the giddy excitement of entering a world straight from her favorite novel—it had all been a comforting illusion. She'd told herself she was being cautious, strategic, even smart about her new reality.
But the truth was far more damning. Some protective mechanism in her mind had prevented her from truly grasping the gravity of her situation. Like a child playing dress-up in a warrior's armor, she'd been pretending at power without understanding its weight. The realization settled in her stomach like lead—she hadn't been preparing herself at all. She'd been lying to herself.
The novel hadn't prepared her for this. The old man's ragged breathing, the way life clung to him even as it slipped away - this was real. Brutally, terrifyingly real.
She was Naako—a reader who had despised the villainess from the safety of pages, never imagining what it would be like to bleed, to tire, to die.
This isn't a novel. The old man's near-death state was proof that life can be easily snuffed out, and she was no different. She didn't miss the irony. After taking the lives of two people, and not to mention the caretakers and the orphan, she now clung to her own like she was any different. What kind of person am I?
A hypocrite, anyone would say so.
Even after resolving himself to return home, she felt like it wasn't enough. Now karma came collecting, tearing away his delusions. A painful lesson from reality: she never fully prepared herself. Never truly prepared for this world's brutal reality. Not really. Not in the ways that mattered.
"…Vainglorbia was it? I'm sorry if my comment offended you in any way… but"
His voice dragged Vainglorbia out of her sea of thoughts, the dying stranger had somehow become her anchor.
"If—if you know Maria, does that mean that she's still alive?"
His question was posed hesitantly. The momentarily paused wasn't used to thinking, but to gather her scattered thoughts.
"…Yes, I also saved the lives of the others as well as the remaining ones in the village."
"Is—is that so!.."
A shuddering breath. A wet, broken sound that might've been a laugh or a sob, disguised with a cough. While gathering himself, his expression turned back.
yet with Vain Eyes, she saw his ego slowly dissipating. A part that can be called the soul was disappearing. Ah! It's too late…
"I also promised Maria to help the other villagers left further in the path, so be at ease, Sir Morri."
"T—there's no need for you to be so formal, after all, you're the one who saved them, as the village chief, you still saved who you could. That's more than I managed."
Shaking his head, he pushed himself on his trembling limbs, getting up on all fours, he bowed deeply to Vainglorbia. She wanted him to stop, but it was too late as his forehead already kissed the ground.
"I—I see… there's no need for you to do such a thing… and don't get your hopes high, I saved them at the last minute, so many of the villagers are either dead and deeply injured—"
"Even then! I cannot thank you enough for saving them…"
Vainglorbia wanted to brush his overzealous thank you, but she was interrupted by his overly energetic response. Wondering if he is really close to death with how lively his response is.
"… Well done, you're appreciation is quite satisfactory, so please, stop with the needless flattering. Instead, shouldn't you focus on yourself?"
Putting a stop to his overbearing show of gratitude. Forcing it directly, she changed the topic before another headache assailed her.
"My condition… I think it's too late for me to save. Just as you say…"
Saying in a matter-of-fact tone that didn't leave any room for debate. Sitting back again, but after Vainglorbia insisted on letting him sit as he tried and struggled to stand for respect to her.
"Well, if it's your choice, I can't argue with that, but aren't you worried about your granddaughter? She might be sad if she heard you had died."
Also sitting down on the grassy fields, yet she didn't feel the blade of grass poking her rear nor her calves. but she sat like in the past, Morri gave this odd posture of her a side eye, but sealed his lips together.
"… Well, it's undeniable that Maria would cry, but I trust my son to make it through my death; his always been the stubborn type."
A smile plastered on his face, looking to the side. Illuminating his profile, the blue flames between Vainglorbia and Morri danced. Casting a ghostly light on his face that seemed to age even more at the start, when she first conversed with him.
"…Is that so, even though you're going to die, you still looked so relieved. Don't you fear your own death?"
Vainglorbia couldn't help to blurt her thoughts at his unfazed demeanor when his end was near. She couldn't wrap her head around his eerie calmness. Seconds ago, her mind was in turmoil just thinking about the potential of her end, she couldn't imagine being quite literally at death's door.
"It's—it's not like I'm not scared of death, it's like I'm satisfied after doing what I can do… I'm still scared of death, but at least I won't regret anything before my death. That's all— sorry, if this old man said anything weird… "
Morri's face went a shade paler, his wound finally catching up to his body. The only reason he could talk to her despite being lethally injured was the help of the magic circulating in his body, but that now slowed down. Labored breathing filled the air, his vision blurred into an incomprehensible mess. He didn't know when, but as his vision cleared, the two red moons were in view.
"—What a nice view, I swear I've seen this before…"
A memory resurfaces in his mind, and he couldn't remember when it happened. Must be old age, he thought. Something moved in the corner of his eye, it was Vainglorbia.
Sitting down beside him, she placed the oil lamp beside her. A blank expression was present.
"I don't get it… I don't understand what you're talking about…"
She sat closer now, the oil lamp casting long shadows. Her face was blank, but her fingers curled tightly around her knees.
"B—before I go, I have something that I need to tell you…"
Morri said through painful coughs, producing a gemstone. Its glistening ember color shines even under the blue light. Vainglorbia went wide-eyed after realizing what he was holding.
"That—that's a contract… are you really going to transfer the ownership of the village to me?"
"Aha, looks like I didn't need to explain it to you… It may sound unreasonable, but please— protect the village."
Before Vainglorbia could protest, his ego, his soul, and the fire that clung to his broken body were snuffed out. Like turning off a switch. No fanfare. No final words, not even dying being surrounded by his loved ones. She couldn't possibly substitute for one, she could never dare to entertain that idea. The man who once was Morri Orwell died this day. Yet no one mourned beside him.
Closing his ember opals shut. She rested him, putting the lamp oil beside him. His blood leaked out of his body and soaked the grass below. They need to bury it before it attracts any unwanted attention from any Witch Familiars. But that can wait until the next day, she mused.
Taking the gemstone in his hands, she imbued some of her ego into it. Thus, completing the ritual for exchanging a contract. Something bitter clung to her heart and mouth, so she decided to swallow it down. Rescuing the other villagers is the priority.