A Villain's Way of Taming Heroines

Though momentarily dazed, Cliff's words did not shake Marlina.

She knew well that the visions she had witnessed were beyond this old man's comprehension.

Without Ansel's guidance, she would never have glimpsed the twisted truth of this world.

The empire, a fragile plaything in the empress's grasp, was an absurd society that should not exist. Yet without the empire's imposed order, mortals would suffer dominion and torment far crueler than class oppression.

Ansel harbored a desire to change all this but had no means to start; thus, it was her duty to aid him at all costs.

This old man, living in the lower district, lacked the perspective to see the grand and radiant vision. Hence, his resentment and anger towards her actions were understandable, but Marlina needed neither his understanding nor approval.

After a brief silence, Marlina softly said, "So, Mr. Cliff, you only wish to condemn me."

"I just want to know why… you are doing this," Cliff asked, frowning. "If you don't care about us, why incite this rebellion? Have you not considered… how to face Miss Fenrir's wrath once this upheaval ends? Will you rely on Lord Faust's protection?"

As expected, he simply couldn't understand... Even if given the answer, he likely wouldn't accept it.

Marlina gently shook her head. "That is not your concern, Mr. Cliff. If there's nothing else, please go back. The riot will last for half a day to a day. Don't wander around; I can't guarantee your safety outside the compound."

"...Do you think an old man like me came here just to exchange idle words?"

Cliff strained to straighten his aged, hunched back, as if mustering his faith and courage. Facing this serene and gentle yet eerily demonic girl, he spoke deliberately:

"Even though Miss Fenrir trusts you implicitly, handing over everything to you, and you've used that trust to control the majority… I have still gathered a group of people. They are willing to give their lives to uphold Miss Fenrir's beliefs."

The old man shakily drew a dagger from his robe, pointing the blade at his own heart.

"They have already mingled with the unrebellious crowd, striving to spread the truth of your instigation in the lower district. Moreover, we will not let you conceal the truth of this revolt, nor deceive Miss Fenrir any longer..."

"If all of us perish, you won't be able to hide it."

"So, if you do not wish to see this happen, then halt this riot immediately; there is still time."
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Marlina fell silent, gazing at Cliff's increasingly resolute eyes, and sighed softly.

"Is it worth it?" the girl asked gently. "You yourself have admitted that Miss Fenrir's pursuit is childish."

She lightly stroked the armrest, her tone softening considerably:

"If you and those brave souls and righteous men wish to follow someone truly determined to change this world, I can offer you a better candidate."

"A better candidate?" Cliff's face twisted into a mocking smile. "Though I do not understand what you mean by that, Miss Margarete... if by 'better candidate' you mean someone like you… who has the power to improve everything but instead pushes us poor souls into hell, you scroundrel—"

Cliff's words abruptly ceased.

The old man, who had been steadfast from the beginning, found his pupils involuntarily contracting.

He had assumed Marlina was a mere human like himself, otherwise, he wouldn't have engaged in such a lengthy conversation with her.

But at that moment, when he uttered the word "scoundrel," Cliff felt she was nothing less than... a monster in human skin!

The chilling, dark aura she exuded was something no human could produce!

Yet in the next second, Cliff realized… it was merely his own illusion, caused by the unfathomable resentment and fury emanating from this Margarete Gretchen Muller.

"Mr. Cliff."

The girl slowly rose from her chair, placing her hand into the pocket of her rough adventurer's trousers.

Her deep, shadowy eyes fixed upon the old man, who instinctively stepped back.

"What did you, just say?"

The six words she softly uttered were like a siren's whisper from the reefs of a dead sea, radiating a spine-chilling aura.

But she was entirely human. She truly possessed no special abilities. Could such palpable malevolence be conjured… merely by the word "scoundrel"?

Click.

Margarete drew a firearm from her pocket, leveling its dark barrel at Cliff. She slowly, deliberately repeated:

"What did you just say?"

Cliff's bony fingers clutched the dagger tightly. He cast aside the fear that had gripped him moments before, his voice hoarse as he answered, "If that person is a scoundrel like you—"

Bang!

In the burst of fire and the deafening roar of the gunshot, the old man's entire arm was shattered, the dagger falling to the ground along with half of his limb.

The frail old man groaned as he collapsed, struggling to prop himself up with his remaining hand. When he looked up at Margarete, the cold barrel of her gun was already pressed against his forehead.

"What makes you think, Mr. Cliff, that I am unaware of your actions?"

Her ghostly voice reached Cliff's ears. "What makes you think that mere belief and bravery can defeat me?"

Her words caused Cliff's body to tremble, his anxiety and fear surpassing even the physical pain he felt.

"How could you... It's impossible—"

"The warriors you mentioned, willing to sacrifice for Miss Fenrir's ideals, total twenty-three. It took you seventeen minutes to find me, and the remaining twenty-two set off just six minutes ago."

Margarete stared down at the increasingly pale Cliff with an expressionless face, her finger still on the trigger.

"Do you think the one who rules the lower district is me? Is it Miss Fenrir?"

No one is. The true rulers of the lower district, of countless mortal lives, are the extraordinary beings who transcend the ordinary.

To these extraordinary beings, the clumsy plans of mortals are nothing more than child's play.

"Impossible..." Cliff's lips trembled as he struggled to accept the truth. "How could you possibly command other extraordinaries so easily? Even if you could... Even if you could, how could you know my plan? I made sure—"

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