Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant-Chapter 296: Schemer [1]

Velra kept her gaze locked on the enemy, her body taut, every muscle ready to react.

Where eyes should have been, pale green flames flickered faintly within the lich’s hollow sockets, swaying as if stirred by unseen currents.

’...?’

Something felt off.

She sharpened her senses, tuning in to the exchange unfolding nearby—and what she heard made her pause.

"It was a royal command."

"Of course. I’m well aware of your obsession with immortality," Faceless Imposter replied coolly. "But you failed. And when you did, the royal family discarded you."

"No!" The lich’s voice cracked, echoing unnaturally through the cavern. "The royal family still awaits the results of my research! They promised—!"

"You know better than anyone," Faceless Imposter cut in, his tone almost gentle, "that it’s nothing more than a hollow promise."

Velra clicked her tongue softly.

’Now he’s dragging the dead into politics too.’

The lich’s flames wavered violently.

Centuries of loyalty.

Centuries of work.

All reduced to that single sentence.

With no defenses left—his phylactery exposed, his spells unraveled—Faceless Imposter stepped closer and leaned toward the lich’s skull, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him.

"The empire abandoned you long ago," he said. "So tell me—why continue suffering under an order that no longer exists?"

The lich fell silent.

"...What are you trying to say?" he rasped at last.

Faceless Imposter straightened, a faint, unsettling smile curving his lips. From his palm, he produced a mana stone, its surface pulsing with dense, unfamiliar energy. He placed it gently into the lich’s bony hand.

"I think I can help you," he said. "There’s someone in a predicament similar to yours—but burdened with a far stronger curse."

Velra’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"And if he is freed," Faceless Imposter continued, "then so are you."

The lich’s flames flared.

"Nirvana," Faceless Imposter added casually. "Release from decay. From obsession. From this half-existence."

The word struck like a hammer.

Nirvana.

The very ideal the lich had chased for centuries—through corpses, experiments, and betrayal.

His voice trembled. "You... you know of such a method?"

"I know of someone searching for it," Faceless Imposter replied. "And I know how to connect you."

The cavern fell silent.

Then—

The lich’s flames steadied.

Slowly.

Carefully.

"...If this is a lie," the lich said, voice hollow yet sharp, "I will curse you beyond death."

Faceless Imposter shrugged. "Fair enough. But if it’s true?"

The lich closed his fingers around the mana stone.

"...Then I will follow."

The flames dimmed—and vanished.

The ancient throne stood empty.

The oppressive aura that had filled the cavern dissipated like mist under sunlight.

Velra exhaled softly, tension finally draining from her shoulders.

"Such rhetoric," she murmured. "Tempt the desire. Offer salvation. Corner the opponent until choosing you feels inevitable."

She glanced at Faceless Imposter, mild amusement in her eyes.

"A crude method," she added. "But effective."

He laughed lightly as he stepped toward the now-abandoned throne.

"Hey, I’ve always said boss fights are easiest once you survive the opening act," he said, already prying loose ancient panels and examining carved runes. "Lady Velra, come here. Let’s see if our skeletal friend left anything useful behind."

She sniffed. "Impatient as always."

Still, she walked over, her boots echoing softly against the stone.

Together, they searched the cavern—cracked tomes, sealed drawers, relics humming faintly with residual magic. As Faceless Imposter rummaged through the remnants of the lich’s obsession, Velra watched him from the corner of her eye.

A faint smile curved her lips.

’He really is dangerous,’ she thought. ’Not because of power... but because of understanding.’

Power could be resisted.

Force could be countered.

But words?

Words that struck at the core of desire were far harder to defend against.

The throne room lay empty now.

But whatever had begun here—

Velra was certain—

would not end quietly.

----

Boss.

In any game, that word carried weight.

It meant the strongest enemy of a dungeon, the embodiment of a faction’s will, and the final obstacle standing between the player and progress. A being designed not just to test strength, but to punish complacency.

The ruler of the Immortal Research Lab—

Court Magician Ken—was exactly that kind of existence.

No, worse.

[Intruders detected.]

[Trespassers will be judged in the name of the Empire.]

His voice echoed through the vast laboratory, reverberating off crystal vats and ancient stone pillars. Mana surged like a storm gathering overhead, thick enough to prickle the skin.

True to his status as the hidden dungeon’s boss, the battle was absurdly difficult.

Wide-area spells layered on top of one another—circles of annihilation, cascading curses, temporal distortions that warped movement itself. And as if that weren’t enough, the ground split open again and again, skeletal hands clawing upward as Dullahans rose endlessly from summoning arrays etched deep into the floor.

Delay even for a moment, and the room would drown in enemies.

Numbers.

Pressure.

Attrition.

A textbook scenario designed to grind challengers into dust.

’Of course,’ I thought calmly, watching another wave crawl out of the floor,

’that’s only if you fight him the normal way.’

Bosses didn’t exist without reason.

And gimmick bosses—

especially ones tied to lore-heavy hidden dungeons—always had a trick.

Ken was no exception.

At first glance, he appeared monstrous: a lich-like figure wrapped in imperial robes, his skeletal face half-hidden behind floating sigils of authority. But beneath the spells, beneath the relentless summons, something else was woven into his existence.

A curse.

No—

a command.

The royal decree that bound him to this place.

Research immortality. No matter the cost. No matter the time.

A duty engraved so deeply into his soul that even death hadn’t freed him from it.

Centuries had passed since that order was issued. Empires rose and fell, kings died and were forgotten, yet Ken remained—working, refining, failing, repeating. Over and over. An immortal scholar trapped in an immortal prison.

And somewhere along the way...

His will had eroded.

Not shattered—

worn thin.

That’s why he abandoned his duty when he heard that he could achieve nirvana.

After all he wanted nirvana more than anything.