There Is No Hidden Villain in This Novel Chapter 105

While gathering their forces and conducting the Q&A, Cassis de Mill-ang, as was his habit, seemed to be thinking in a light, almost cheerful manner, but the reality that had befallen them was no joke. Everyone was exhausted, their morale was broken, and they were covered in blood. And it wasn’t just the people who had faced the boss mob constructed from a massive trauma.

One hunter, who had come face-to-face with his own trauma, had frozen up, trembling and unable to move, and had his leg cut off. It was a good thing his colleague next to him had dragged him away while he was frozen and unable to even scream; otherwise, he could have died right there. Fortunately, his trauma was not humanoid but rather a form close to mist, so they were able to retrieve his leg as well.

The sensation of the moment it was severed still lingered vividly in the crudely reattached leg. He knew it was phantom pain. But he was so scared he felt like he was going mad.

That hunter’s trauma was nothing special. In fact, he had spent his entire life brainwashing himself into thinking it was nothing special. Because he felt he would go insane otherwise. It was that kind of trauma. A trauma of assault, of domestic violence, the image of his drunken father. He thought he had escaped it now. But the moment his father, holding a liquor bottle, faintly revealed his face in the mist, he felt like he would go crazy and couldn’t move a single finger.

He still hadn’t overcome his own trauma. Even though he knew that as a hunter, he should be thoroughly prepared to meet a mind-type named entity, he was now paying the price for a lifetime of avoiding a proper life by drinking himself into a stupor and hanging out with lowlifes.

He hadn’t even intended to enter the dungeon in the first place; he had planned to just make an appearance and then slip out, feigning an upset stomach.

‘How did I end up actually coming into the dungeon.’

He had experienced too many terrible things. It wasn’t just his trauma that was visible. Everyone harbored their own pain, and how they dealt with it was what determined their rank when facing a mind-type named entity. Even if a person normally had a title, and a humble one at that, if they displayed a performance like a brilliant divinity in the face of trauma, their future might blossom brightly afterward. That is, if they survived.

‘If only I can get out of here alive…’

The hunter glanced around with skeptical eyes. Everyone who had come as a hunter was sitting slumped or collapsed like a flagpole with a broken banner, letting out exhausted breaths. None of them were in their right mind. They looked like they wanted to sleep from sheer exhaustion but were forcing their eyes open. The soldiers? Were they any different?

They were different. It was clear they had experienced this kind of thing quite a few times. However, the modern military, to begin with, was generally a system that trained humans with no talent for supernatural abilities, gave them supernatural weapons, and told them to fight. In other words, even if their minds were trained, they lacked the ability to fight. And so, looking at their comrades with severed limbs, they were grinding their teeth as if they found it all the more miserable and unbearable.

It was unlikely that a precious, expensive, and valuable commodity like potions would be generously supplied to a military unit. Of course, the hunters might be able to share their potions. But, why? Why should they? I don’t even have enough potions for myself. Why should I give the potion, which might be my last piece of luck that I can use right before I die, to those strangers I don’t even know? The hunters turned their backs, lowered their gazes, and deliberately put on cold, sullen expressions, just in case the soldiers came begging for potions. And Ivan Karpin was stopping the soldiers who, having read the atmosphere, were getting worked up and trying to start a fight. As he stopped them, he took a needle and thread from his own military pack and tried his best to somehow stitch them back together. Seeing this, a few hunters let out a hollow laugh. Perhaps because they knew it would be futile, or perhaps they just wanted to scoff.

It was impossible to know, and it was at that very moment, when a certain soldier was thinking he wanted to kill them, that it happened.

“Here.”

Someone threw something, and he caught it on reflex, finding his hands full with a large bottle. It looked like glass, but it was actually made of a material synthesized with various metals, so it would never break from a normal impact. Inside the bottle, a purple liquid shimmered and sparkled.

“Use it.”

The soldier who realized it was a potion couldn’t just stand there and shot to his feet. He intended to bow his head no matter what. Whoever it was, even if it were his mortal enemy of a thousand years, if it was someone who gave him a chance to save his comrade, it wouldn’t be a waste to prostrate himself in a deep bow. So he raised his eyes, and in that moment, his breath caught. The moment the eyes, reminiscent of the purple liquid he had just received, looked at him, even that fleeting, passing glance made him flustered and apologetic.

The soldier knew. Our world is a de facto class society. In it, there are none who reign higher than the de Millangs. Of course, not every de Millang earns respect, but if there was one among them who earned the most respect, if the one with the most renowned name was still alive to this day, it could only be Cassis de Millang.

As a soldier, he couldn’t even understand why he had come to this land. Was it to needlessly hasten the succession ceremony that would take place in due time anyway, since the family head was old? He remembered laughing with his comrades, wondering what the reason was for someone to crawl into a land where they could actually die just to build up their reputation.

Surely, it must be that the young greenhorn was looking down on raids, he remembered saying that…

However, Cassis de Millang was now maintaining a more ordinary and calm demeanor than anyone else in this place, and so all his past remarks were transformed into a shameful past.

And just look inside Cassis de Millang’s embrace.

In the early stages, when they were gathering the surviving forces, Cassis de Millang had responded to the hunters’ aggressive questions about why he wasn’t conducting the raid with a boss monster in his arms with a very light and fresh smile, saying this.

‘Do you want to shed blood right now?’

Of course, the hunters had flinched, but they weren’t completely convinced. However, they had no choice but to accept the logic that followed. Cassis de Millang, for some reason at that time, had put forth the bold and bizarre idea that since this thing was docile to him for now, he would keep it alive and, in a moment of crisis, make the bosses fight each other.

That was the kind of person he was. Cassis de Millang.

Even if he hadn’t bestowed this potion, we should have followed him from the start. Cassis de Millang is a being like a guiding light that must be followed unconditionally in a combat situation. But for him to so casually bestow a life-saving elixir that could save himself in a moment of crisis and then remain indifferent, that back view of his, not only was it somehow empty, but it was as if he didn’t even expect the obvious gratitude.

It made him want to call out and stop him.

“Sir, Sir Cassis de Millang!”

The gaze that turned back was still cold, but it seemed to demand that he continue his words. When the color purple burns brightly, it becomes such a vivid hue, a sharp and sweet color like pink paint lightly watercolor-washed over a bright purple.

He felt that he would be happy if he could add even a little bit of surprising happiness on top of that. To show that the life that the young man, who truly seemed to have no expectations whatsoever, had offered so casually could hold great meaning for someone.

“Thank you! I think my friend will be able to live thanks to you! You saved him! You saved his life!”

“…”

“Thank you! Thank you for saving him. For saving his life… thank you so much…”

“That’s enough. I heard you.”

Still a dry voice.

“If anything were to happen to the Young Master, I! I will give my life to save you. I will never forget this debt!”

Only at those words did Cassis de Millang turn completely around to look at the soldier. The soldier gulped, and Cassis de Millang thought. An unknown face. An extra who didn’t even appear as a supporting character, who never had a single line.

A pledge of allegiance from such a person. It’s funny.

“Your life has no value to me.”

First of all, he’s a soldier. What is a person who must serve his country talking about. Second, I need strong people, not weaklings. Third…

“So you survive. You.”

Cassis de Millang had no desire to carry the burden of another’s life. Live your own life on your own.

Although he himself was mooching off Ryuseong a bit.

‘That’s that.’

Anyway, he didn’t give a damn about the lives of weaklings. Cassis de Millang turned his body to distribute more C and D-rank potions that he had brought with the intention of giving them out to other weaklings and gave a half-hearted wave of his hand, and at that, the bastard shouted.

“My name is Kirill! It’s Kirill! Please remember it!”

“The quality of my memory space is high, so I can’t remember someone like you.”

“That’s fine! I will tell you every day! It’s Kirill!”

Ugh, what an idiot. Cassis de Millang shook his head indifferently and put his hand into his subspace to distribute potions to other injured people, specifically the shabby-looking ones who didn’t seem to have any. But some son of a bitch tried to grab his wrist. Cassis de Millang stepped back, making him grab at empty air. Then he gave a light push to the shoulder of the Rewersa Vice-Captain, who was in a posture that had almost collapsed awkwardly. The Vice-Captain, whose posture was already broken, fell flat on his butt, and his face turned bright red.

“What are you…!”

“Did you dare ask me what I’m doing?”

From the next moment, the Vice-Captain began to speak telepathically.

[…That’s not it, I am telling you not to, if you are going to distribute more potions.]

And Cassis de Millang said out loud.

“Who are you to tell me.”

[…At least this time, it is loyal advice. If you are going to share potions, you should at least use them on Rewersa. Why to a mere grunt like that…]

Cassis de Millang looked pathetically at the Vice-Captain who was sending him telepathic messages with an aggrieved look while sitting on his butt.

[The Captain, too, must have died so tragically because he had no potions, so why…!]

‘Haha, that’s funny.’

Cassis de Millang’s lips curled up.

When the corpse of that bastard, the one who tried to strangle the jazz-listening Cassis de Millang to death, was discovered, the members of Rewersa went absolutely crazy. How could the Captain die, they said. And when it was revealed that he had no potions on him, their eyes flipped and they cried their hearts out.

‘In fact, I was the one who took them all.’

If I hadn’t told them I’d leave them behind if they didn’t follow, they might have been there recovering the body forever. Although, from the way the other people were murmuring as they watched Rewersa send hateful glares toward Cassis de Millang, it seems some of the quick-witted ones had noticed something suspicious.

“Oh dear.”

Cassis de Millang really liked the reputation of this name. A scoundrel. Human trash. A schemer. The true mastermind of this era, who sits quietly in a dark secret room, moving pieces to annihilate families and bring down the signs of martial arts clans.

In reality, it wasn’t different. If Jeong Ian hadn’t transmigrated, Cassis de Millang would still be living like that.

So he had no hesitation in using that reputation.

“Where is a son of a bitch barking, you fucker. I’ll grind your mouth to dust.”

…Although the tone of voice seems a little different.

Just let this much slide. Hmm?