Chương 12: I Needed to Trust in Love

I had been awkward from the second she stepped into the clearing. It had gone fine back in the villages. I had played the proper Dark Lord then; the voice, the menace, the whole act. But she had seen straight through it a few minutes ago, and trying to keep it up after that felt about as convincing as a cardboard sword. Then the whole thing turned into an interrogation, and somewhere in the middle of it I started wondering whether agreeing to talk had been a mistake. Probably.

I was likely just too desperate for an actual conversation with a pretty girl to say no. And maybe that was the same reason I had answered most of her questions honestly, right up until I let slip that being a Dark Lord wasn't my choice. That one, I could not finish. Explaining it meant explaining the Afterport, and I had read enough isekai to know no protagonist spills their origin that easily.

If the Hero heard about the Afterport, she'd think I was lying, or insane, and if she somehow believed it, Greg would lose his mind, or the Order would notice their system had sprung a leak and wipe Lycora off the board entirely. So when she asked what I planned to do next, I almost laughed. Plan? I had been stumbling through this one step at a time. Even the village destruction had been Nyx's idea, not mine. I was halfway through some non-answer when I heard the door open behind me. Nyx stepped out.

Her hair was damp, a towel slung over one shoulder. Some traitorous corner of my brain had half-expected her to come out wrapped in nothing but a towel, like the obligatory fan-service scene in a bad romcom — but no, she had dressed. Of course she had. She looked furious. Standard. She leveled a finger at the Hero. Faint threads of purple lightning crackled around her hand, and before I could say a word, the Hero let out a sharp gasp and dropped to her knees. Then Nyx turned on me.

She crossed the distance in a blink, seized me by the front of my collar, hauled me into the hut, flung me onto the floorboards, and slammed the door behind us.

"Milo Miles." She stood over me, arms crossed, glaring down.

"Mind telling me what, exactly, you were doing out there?" I felt like a kid who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I scrambled backward on the floor, one palm raised.

"I can explain. Just—listen to me!" She didn't move.

"Let me guess. The Hero showed up, said she wanted to talk, and you spilled your guts like a lonely, lovestruck virgin who had just spoken to a girl for the first time in his life."

"Okay, you really didn't have to phrase it like that." I pushed myself up off the floor, brushing the dust from my robe.

"I told her some things. Not everything."

"What things?" So I told her. That the Hero now knew I hadn't killed anyone, that I had no plans to, and that somehow, becoming the Dark Lord hadn't been my choice. Nyx's expression darkened with every word. She stepped closer, lowering her voice into something tight and serious.

"Listen to me, pig-brain. You never tell anyone about the Afterport. Not a soul. If a single Lycora native learns the truth, you risk mass hysteria." She held up a hand before I could interrupt.

"These people have worshipped their god since who knows how long. You tell them there's some bureaucratic waystation sorting souls into worlds, that their entire faith is just… paperwork, they'll come apart at the seams."

"I doubt they'd believe it that easily, though."

"We don't risk it." Her jaw tightened.

"And if the Order catches wind that the secret's out, we're finished. Maybe Lycora along with us."

"Okay, okay." I raised both hands.

"But I didn't tell her any of that. So we're… fine? Probably?"

"No." She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly.

"Because now the Hero knows you hesitate. That you've been pretending. Think about what happens when she rides back to the Church and tells them their new Dark Lord is a coward who won't take a single life. What do you think they'll do then?"

"Uhh..."

"Right now, they're being careful with you." She started to pace, the light from the window catching the sharp gold of her eyes.

"The last Dark Lord nearly bled them dry. Most of their veterans are dead or crippled. They couldn't afford more losses, so they sent exactly two people—the Hero and her little mage friend. A measured response." She stopped, and looked at me.

"But the moment they learn the risk of casualties is low? They'll stop being careful. They'll send everything they have left and erase this entire place." The pacing, the certainty in her voice, it was the first time she'd sounded genuinely worried, not just annoyed.

"So," I said slowly.

"What do I do?" She held up two fingers.

"Option one, you start killing. Quickly. Get the Terror Level up high enough that they can't touch you." A second finger.

"Option two, we don't let the Hero leave." Both were villain moves, through and through. Then again, I was the villain here. After a brief back-and-forth, I decided to talk with the Hero a little more to figure out how I was supposed to play this. I had promised Nyx I would make sure the Church didn't send an army, or whatever overpowered talents they had in reserve, to wipe us off the map tomorrow. But before I headed out, I told Nyx to let me handle it alone.

With her hovering and glaring over my shoulder, I wouldn't be able to think straight.

"By think straight, you mean blurt out all the wrong things again, like you did five minutes ago?" I apologized again, but promised her it would be different this time.

"Just trust me. Once." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. She huffed, arms folding.

"Screw this up and I'll never trust you again. Not that there'll be a next time to trust you in." She fixed me with a flat look.

"Get this wrong, and you die tomorrow anyways." We stepped outside together. The Hero was where we'd left her; on her knees in the grass, faint sparks still flickering around her frame. Immobilized. Nyx snapped her fingers. The sparks died, and the Hero pitched forward as the spell let go, catching herself on her hands.

"There. Go do your thing." Nyx turned back toward the hut.

"And if I get fired over this, I'll drag you from Hell and have you take responsibility." The door shut behind her. I stood there a second, genuinely unsure whether she meant an actual Hell or whether that was just a figure of speech. With Nyx, it was honestly a coin flip. The Hero was already pushing herself to her feet. No time to figure it out. I walked over.

"Hey. Uh…Hero. Sorry about that." I rubbed the back of my neck.

"My assistant gets a little… overprotective sometimes."

"I want to say it's fine." She straightened, brushing the dirt from her knees.

"But that would be a strange thing to say." She looked up at me, and there was no hostility in it — just something tired and searching.

"So just… what are you?" What was I? The simple answer was the Dark Lord. The honest version was a broke college dropout who never had a girlfriend, got flattened by a truck, and woke up drafted into this job. There was a third version too, the cosmic one: the villain who's supposed to manufacture fear so the Hero can give people hope, so the whole world doesn't get erased for being out of balance. None of them were answers I could hand her.

"… Just someone trying to survive," I said, and tipped my head back to look at the clouds. And if I was going to keep this from falling apart, I would have to bet on the only two things I had. The first was everything I had absorbed from a lifetime of isekai stories—the patterns, common developments, for whatever that was worth. The second, and the one I was really staking it all on, was the feeling I thought she might have for me. Love. However faint, however fragile, I needed it to be real.

I needed the Eye of Love to have worked that day, cracked as it was. It was a gamble. But it was the only hand I had.

"It's Milo, by the way."

"Sorry?" I turned to face her.

"My name. Milo Miles." I held out my hand.

"What's yours?" She looked at the hand. Then at my face. Then back at the hand. Right, I thought. Of course the Hero doesn't want to shake hands with a Dark Lord. I started to draw it back— —and she caught it. With both of hers. Which was strange, because as far as I knew, handshakes only needed one hand. At least, I was pretty sure that was the rule for a first-time introduction. And if this was what I thought it was, then it was a good sign. When I looked up, I could've sworn there was color rising in her cheeks.

"E-Evelisse." So that was her name. It suited her—graceful, a little grand. The kind of name a Hero ought to have.

"Okay. Evelisse." I tested the shape of it.

"Can I ask you something?" She released my hand.

"Yes?"

"Are you tired?" Her eyes went wide, as if the question had never once been put to her, by anyone.

"I… don't know," she said finally, dropping her gaze to her feet.

"I am. Honestly." I let out a breath.

"Doing things I never wanted to do, with no way out of them." She didn't answer. She just stood there, somewhere far inside her own head.

"I was handed a purpose the moment I got here," I went on.

"I even know exactly what I'm supposed to do to fulfill it. The trouble is, it was never a purpose I asked for. It's been two days, and I already want to drop all of it and run." A short, dry laugh.

"Not that there's anywhere to run to." I glanced at her. One of her hands had curled into a fist against her chest, pressed there like she was holding something in. Her face had gone tight—jaw set, eyes too bright, the careful composure of someone refusing to let something show.

"Evelisse." She flinched, surfacing, and looked at me.

"Do you actually want to be the Hero?" Silence stretched between us for a few seconds. There was only the rustle of leaves, and the faint growl of Luke.

"I…" She faltered, as if the words wouldn't come. Seemed like my guess was correct. I cut in before she could struggle any further.

"Sorry. That was a strange thing to ask." I rubbed the back of my neck.

"I just wondered whether you actually want to carry all of it. The purpose, the responsibility, whatever you call it." She said nothing.

"What you do is noble. It's the right thing. Fighting monsters, giving people hope. It matters." I paused.

"When there's a need for it."

"And you're saying there's no need now?"

"Not exactly. I'm saying you could afford to ease off a little. With me, at least." Her brow furrowed.

"I told you already. All I want is to survive. I didn't choose to become the Dark Lord. But since I'm stuck with it, I'd rather gather fear the one way that doesn't cost anyone their life."

"So you're asking me to let you live." Her voice cooled.

"To let you spread fear and chaos across Lycora, as you please?" Her expression hardened as she said it. Okay. Maybe I had misstepped there.

"Yes, but hear me out. I need fear to survive; I don't have a choice in that. But I do have a choice in how. I know it sounds insane, a Hero standing by while a Dark Lord does his work, but you'd know exactly what I was going to do. No surprises. No massacres. You could carry a little less." She drew a slow breath, like she was steadying herself against the words.

"And if you want a reason," I pressed, "think about this. The last Dark Lord died, and now you've got a new one telling you to his face that he won't kill. If you cut me down here, another one takes my place. Maybe in a year, maybe in a week. No way to know. And there's no guarantee the next one will be anything like me. He could be worse than the one you already buried." She looked down at the grass.

"I know it's a gamble. But what are the odds the next Dark Lord refuses to kill?" I let that sit.

"I won't force you. Do what you believe is right. If you decide the answer is to run me through with that holy sword of yours, then go ahead. I won't stop you." She turned. And walked toward the sword. … Did I just screw up again? She bent, lifted the sheath from the grass, and fastened it back at her hip. I stayed where I was. Begging for mercy now would only make me look pathetic — a Dark Lord on his knees, pleading. No. I had made my case. The rest was hers. So I trusted myself.

And more than that, I trusted her. I spread my arms, closed my eyes, and let her see I meant it. Whatever she chose, I wouldn't fight it. A few seconds passed. Nothing came, though I did hear something like a stomach growling. It certainly was not mine. In fact, it sounded like it came from Evelisse's direction.

"Tomorrow." My eyes opened before I could process the small growl further.

"…What?"

"Tomorrow, the Church comes for you. I can't stop that." She wasn't looking at me; her gaze was fixed somewhere past my shoulder, on the hut, or the trees, or nothing at all.

"If you truly want to live, then move your kingdom. Tonight, if you can." Then she turned and walked back into the forest. I almost called out to stop her. But if the Church already had something in motion, what was there left to say? I watched the trees swallow her, the purple of the sigil fading from sight. So, what now?