Repeat Vice - The Villainous Noble Doesn't Want to Die, So He Swore to Not Die As One of The Four Heavenly Kings - Chapter 64.3: The Red-Haired Girl

Chapter 63.3: The Red-Haired Girl

Since childhood, she possessed unparalleled talent with the sword.

She had never lost to anyone her age and often matched or surpassed adults in skill.

She didn’t remember the first time she held a sword.

By the time she was aware, she was already wielding one.

She never understood why she wielded a sword.

She didn’t particularly like the sword.

For her, wielding a sword was as natural as breathing, eating, and sleeping.

Something so natural didn’t require a like or dislike.

However, she was praised by her father whenever she won with the sword.

For her young self, that was reason enough to hone her sword skills.

After she turned ten, the way people looked at her changed.

The pure admiration turned into jealous gazes.

Sometimes, malicious words were thrown at her.

But it didn’t bother her much.

To her, it sounded like the weaklings’ prattle, the sore losers’ complaints.

Neither malice nor praise could move her heart.

Except for one phrase.

“As expected of the granddaughter of the former sword saint.”

She often heard this phrase, and it always irked her.

It felt as though all the skills she had honed were being attributed solely to her grandfather, the former sword saint, which she found deeply unsettling.

Her grandfather, once a sword saint, had devoted himself to serving the Lightless family.

Despite being blood-related as grandfather and granddaughter, they had no deeper connection.

Her grandfather served the Lightless family tirelessly, and she, his granddaughter, had no memory of meeting him directly, only having seen him from a distance.

Yet, she had admired her grandfather during her childhood.

Her grandfather was revered as the strongest swordsman of the Lightless family, and she was raised hearing that.

To her, wielding a sword, he was a figure above the clouds.

Therefore, no matter what anyone else said, she never let go of her sword.

She believed that if she honed her skills, her grandfather would eventually notice her, so she continued to wield her sword.

That’s why she aimed to become what her grandfather was—the leader of the Dark Knights.

She ignored the opposition from her father and mother.

Possessing exceptional sword talent, she never neglected her efforts to improve.

By the time she reached adulthood, she had gained skills far surpassing those of even seasoned knights.

It didn’t take long for her to become a Dark Knight.

And then, she had the long-awaited encounter with her grandfather.

At that time, her grandfather was the foremost among the Dark Knights, reigning as the strongest knight.

Their first conversation was disappointingly bland.

“Oh, so you’re the one. I’ve heard your sword skills are excellent. Continue to strive for the Lightless family.”

Her grandfather simply said that after a glance.

He didn’t even call her by her name.

At that moment, she felt something inside her end.

She began to hate the sword that had always been close to her.

From then on, she threw herself into dangerous missions as if she had gone mad.

She placed herself in deadly situations, honing her sword skills.

She hurt the body and techniques she had trained for the sword.

It was all to someday defeat her grandfather with her sword and make him bow down.

Shortly after that encounter, her grandfather stepped down from his position as the head.

He passed on the position to Alba, who was second in command among the Dark Knights, and moved to a separate residence, becoming the exclusive butler of the Lightless’s heir, Rofus.

She hated the sword.

She hated her grandfather.

She also slightly hated the Lightless family, to which her grandfather had devoted his life.

The red-haired girl—her name was Carla.

Her full name was Caldera Idea Coldvark.

She was one of the named Dark Knights, allowed to bear her name due to her exceptional skills, and the granddaughter of Carlos.

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Several years later.

Her despised grandfather visited Caldera’s room in the Dark Knights’ dormitory.

He brought with him a seemingly trivial mission to guard a commoner girl.

The duration was unspecified.

Her grandfather Carlos begged her on his knees.

The head of the family, Rudens, had already given his approval; it was now up to her to accept or decline.

Seeing her once-respected, now despised, grandfather on his knees filled Caldera with an intense irritation and disgust. Driven by her emotions, she shouted at him, insulted him, and drove him away.

All this time, he hadn’t contacted her at all.

He had served Rofus, the Lightless Heir, and ignored her, his own granddaughter.

Angry, Caldera kicked out the pleading Carlos.

Refusing a mission was not uncommon for the Dark Knights, who often took on dangerous tasks.

Unless it was a direct order from the head of the family, each Dark Knight had the discretion to accept or decline any mission.

Therefore, refusing this mission was not a problem.

However, even though she had refused, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Carlos, who had never acknowledged her, had begged her on his knees for this mission.

A strange request to protect a commoner girl with magical powers as she explored uncharted waters.

“You are the only one I can trust with this,” Carlos had said.

It wasn’t his words that moved her, but Caldera eventually decided to investigate the matter on her own.

She discovered a certain romance novel.

Published under her grandfather’s name and marketed as non-fiction, Caldera eyed it with disgust.

What kind of childish fantasy was the old man writing at his age?

Having lived a life far removed from girlish things despite being a woman, she felt something akin to contempt.

The Lightless family crest printed on the cover confirmed it was an official publication, but what was a noble family doing publishing a romance novel?

Annoyed, she skimmed through it.

Although it claimed to be non-fiction, she assumed it was an overly glorified depiction of Rofus aimed at appealing to commoners.

By the time she finished reading it—

She had become a passionate fan, rooting for the sailor girl’s love story.

“Grandpa. About that thing, I’ll take it.”

She went to tell him this immediately after finishing the book.

And without realizing it, she called him “grandpa” for the first time.

“What? Uh… okay?”

The bewildered and surprised look on her grandfather’s face, like a bird hit by a pea shooter, was something she would never forget.

Feeling a slight sense of satisfaction as if she had gotten back at him, Caldera’s heart felt lighter.

But now, more than that, she wanted to meet Falatiana.

Not just through the words, but in person.

And if possible, she wanted to witness the moment this love blossomed.

Not as a reader of the sequel, but as a character in the story.

Surely, it would be the best front-row seat.

Caldera thought.

She definitely wanted to go on a pilgrimage.

But where would this pilgrimage be?

The fishing village of Rougvelt? The sea of monsters? The cave on the deserted island where the two stayed together? Or the hill where Faratiana confessed her love?

None of these felt right.

Although they all seemed worthy of a visit, calling any of them a sacred place felt grandiose.

Because the love between the two hadn’t yet fully blossomed.

That love, still in its budding stage, would only create a true sacred place once it fully bloomed.

So, for now, there was no sacred place.

Caldera was certain.

All the sword training she had done was for this moment.

She pledged in her heart, and to her sword.

If their love hasn’t yet been realized, I will make it happen.

If there is no sacred place, I will create one.

For the love that will soon be fulfilled—the sacred place.