Volume 1 Chapter 14: Do You Have Any Idea How Much Effort It Took to Win Her Over?! I’ll Kill You!

“Long time no see! You suddenly disappeared from my sight, and I was worried about you.”

“…………”

He approaches with an incredibly delighted smile.

For a lord’s son to speak like this is a good sign if you plan to survive in these lands.

Being taken under someone’s protection isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

That is, as long as the one showing favor isn’t irredeemably evil.

Ashvin fixes her gaze on Marcel.

There’s simply no way she can look away.

Her very reason for living is to kill this man.

Yet when that target approaches so casually and unguardedly, her body tenses up and she freezes.

She doesn’t know why.

Could it be that her body is so aroused by the perfect opportunity that she’s immobilized? Or… is it that she’s so frightened of him that she can’t move?

“I was worried about you… I never thought I’d see you walking with this man.”

Marcel glares at Barol.

The smile he had been wearing for Ashvin is completely gone.

All that remains is pure hostility and hatred.

It’s far too severe to be aimed at family.

“I made sure to warn you, didn’t I? To be wary of this monster.”

“……This man is in no way a monster.”

Surely, you must be glaring—how can one speak so ill of one’s own siblings? Ashvin could never understand.

“He’s a monster! You just don’t know it—there’s no doubt this man is a monster!”

“(Capturing someone as handsome and decent as me—and calling me a monster? Have you lost your mind?)”

Barol seethes inwardly. His overwhelming confidence is unmistakable.

“I didn’t want to see you in person, Barol. I was in such a good mood—and now it’s ruined.”

“My apologies. I’m delighted to see you, Marcel.”

Marcel’s hateful words clash with Barol’s conciliatory smile. Watching from the sidelines, one would naturally choose the latter.

They’re in the middle of town.

Barol, fully aware of the townspeople’s eyes, further boosts his own standing with his performance.

Meanwhile, Marcel’s reputation continues to plummet. That, too, is rather naive.

“I’m getting nauseous. Won’t you please stop?”

“(Kyaaaah！！)”

That said, it doesn’t mean he isn’t completely angry about the constant criticism. Barol, in a perpetual state of near-madness, hides it perfectly.

“Alright, let’s go.”

“……Huh?”

His arm is swiftly seized. A shiver runs down his spine, and something utterly baffling is happening, leaving him unable to react in time.

Perhaps conveniently interpreting the situation, Marcel smiles.

“What are you staring at blankly for? Who was it that rescued you? Surely you haven’t forgotten that favor, have you?”

“A favor?! I may harbor hatred for you, but I don’t have an ounce of gratitude left!”

Ashvin’s eyes widen in astonishment. What on earth is this man saying?

I just can’t fathom how he can spout such words. He hardly seems human.

Even if he belongs to a different people, still— To massacre one’s own brother for sport, and then speak of a favor to his sister—no ordinary person could ever do that.

But this man… Marcel will do it.

“Haa… Are foreigners nothing but ungrateful brats? Even after we took in that filthy pair of siblings and raised them as humans. Honestly… unbelievable.”

Marcel shows obvious irritation that Ashvin isn’t acting as he wishes.
Balor, who is internally screaming and rolling on the floor, shows nothing on his face.

It’s the class divide.

“Come on, get over here.”
“Kyaa!?”

Her arm is yanked forcefully.
She stumbles right into his trap.

“Entertain me more. That time was so much fun. I want to experience that again. To do that, I have to hurt and wound you!”
“Hii…！”

Marcel, wearing a broad smile, displays an unbelievably twisted desire.
Ashvin’s terror far outweighs her vengeful anger.

What cannot be understood is frightening.
Ashvin simply can’t comprehend this man, Marcel.
Cowering, she looks not like a vengeful demon but like an ordinary girl her age.

“Come on, let’s go. Not with this monster, but with me… Ah, I’m starting to have fun.”
“N-no, I don’t want to.”

Marcel drools as he wears an ecstatic smile—a man who derives intense pleasure from tormenting others.
If you show despair or fear, nothing pleases him more.
He’ll drag you into his room again and thoroughly break you.

Ah, how wonderful that must feel.
Marcel is just a child,
with no means to control his twisted desire.

“Marcel—”

To control that desire, external force is needed.
A low voice reaches Marcel.

It is Balor.

“Hmm? Don’t get in my way when I’m feeling good. Tell Father, and you could be wiped out anytime. After all, you are――――――”

From the mocking look on his face, it is clear that Marcel won’t say anything decent.
And Balor judges that this is extremely inconvenient for him.
It takes only 0.03 seconds to decide, and in the blink of an eye, he acts.

“Bugee!?”

A pitiful, orc-like scream rings out—bursting from Marcel’s mouth as Balor’s hard fist slams into his cheek.
Balor beats Marcel up.

Looking down at Marcel, who rolls about on the ground in disgrace, Balor coldly declares,
“This one is mine. Don’t go getting involved on your own (do you have any idea how much effort it took to win her over?! I’ll kill you!)”
“B-Balor-sama…”

Ashvin, who can’t hear his inner thoughts, lets out a sound of admiration.
At first, she ignores him.
Later, she uses him for her own revenge.
And yet, Balor—thinking only of himself—ends up beating Marcel up.
Even though they are both lords’ sons, such behavior should normally be avoided.
The problem is obvious.

Balor, whom Ashvin considers intelligent, obviously understands.
And yet, even so.

“Y-You! You hit me, didn’t you?! Do you really think you can get away with this?!”
“It might not be forgiven.”

With a nosebleed, Marcel glares at Balor.
Had his eyes not been filled with fear and confusion, he might have looked a bit dignified.
But he doesn’t—it sounds nothing more than the whimper of a defeated dog.
Still, when Balor accepts it so casually, Marcel smirks.

“T-Then, get on your knees and apologize…！”

Dripping sweat yet still convinced he’s superior, he grins.

“Get on your knees and apologize to me! You monster!”
“You…！”

Still bleeding from his nose, Marcel berates Balor.
Unable to stand it, Ashvin, who can’t bear to see this, tries to retort in place of the silent Balor…

“It might not be forgiven, but…”

Balor steps forward smoothly, looking down at Marcel coldly.

“I will never forgive you for debasing her (and above all, for making a fool of me)!!”
“Pugyaa!?”

Again, a powerful fist slams into Marcel’s face.
He screams and, this time, collapses to the ground, unable to move.
Tears stream down his face as his pitiful form is exposed.
For Balor, less than 10% is for Ashvin and over 90% is for himself—he grins with genuine satisfaction.
But the words he speaks are only for Ashvin’s sake…

“Balor-sama…”

Ashvin’s passionate gaze is complete.
This incident is what makes her blindly worship Balor.