Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant-Chapter 69: Rescued [2]

At that moment, Julies’ face flashed through her mind.

Her chest tightened.

His voice echoed faintly in her memory, gentle but firm.

"—Go and take care of yourself."

Alice’s breath caught.

Something inside her cracked, and a painful surge of emotion welled up in her chest—grief, guilt, and something else... something warmer.

He saved me.

Because of him—because he had used the return stone on her at the last possible second—she was still alive. Battered, broken, humiliated, yes... but alive.

She hadn’t even seen his expression in those final moments.

There had been no time.

One second she was facing down death, and the next—she was here.

Safe.

Because he made the choice.

He could have left her.

He could have used the stone for himself and escaped alone. That would’ve been the rational thing to do. The smart thing.

But Julies wasn’t like that.

He never had been.

The thought of him still out there—fighting, hiding, maybe bleeding out in some dark corner of that battlefield—struck her like a knife to the gut.

No... please.

He had always followed her orders.

Alice bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

No. I can’t cry. Not now.

The tears prickling at the edges of her eyes weren’t from pain. They came from the helplessness, the gnawing guilt twisting in her chest like a dagger.

Julies was her first and maybe last personal attendant. He was an outsider who has nothing to do with north. He’s unique way of talking with her somthing she didn’t expected from a servent.

Yet she didn’t hate it. It was new feeling that she felt.

They bearly know each other and yet in that moment of desperation, he hadn’t hesitated.

He had used the return stone on her.

Not himself.

The weight of that choice crushed her like a landslide. Her pride had already been shattered by the battle—but this... this was different.

This was personal.

"Julies..." she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, barely audible over the still air in the room.

The maid holding her hand perked up. "Did she say something? Lady Alice?"

The senior maid beside her leaned closer. "My lady, you’re safe now. Please rest—"

"No..." Alice forced her voice out, every syllable scraping past her raw throat. "Julies... find him."

Her request was fragile, almost incoherent, but the conviction behind it was undeniable.

The maids exchanged looks. Even in her weakened state, Lady Alice’s will was unwavering.

"Yes, my lady," the senior maid replied quickly. "We’ll send a search party right away."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she stood and gave instructions to one of the guards waiting at the door. The man saluted and rushed off without hesitation.

Alice let her eyes close again, but this time, it wasn’t to drift into unconsciousness. She was listening—to her breath, to her heartbeat, to the mana gently mending her torn muscles and bones.

The pain remained, but her will was sharpening beneath it like a sword being reforged.

She had been defeated.

Crushed.

Humiliated.

But she wasn’t dead.

And that meant she had another chance.

Not just to survive.

But to return.

To get stronger.

To never feel this powerless again.

Her hand curled slightly over the bedsheet, nails digging into the blood-soaked fabric. She didn’t even notice.

A storm was building in her chest—not just of magic, but of something far more dangerous.

Resolve.

The shame she carried wouldn’t be buried.

It would be kindling.

Because next time...

She wouldn’t run.

She wouldn’t lose.

And she damn well wouldn’t need saving.

----

Julies Evans POV

"Ugh... my head."

It felt like the worst hangover I’d ever had—like the aftermath of drinking myself half to death and waking up to regret every life decision. A low groan slipped from my lips as I pressed a hand to my pounding forehead.

Still... pain was good.

It meant I was alive.

"It seems... I was rescued."

The last thing I remembered was collapsing inside that cave—blood everywhere, the weight of exhaustion anchoring my body like iron. And yet now, I was in a warm, soft bed. Clean sheets. A faint scent of lavender in the air. Quiet.

A long, shaky breath escaped me.

Whoever found me, they hadn’t left me to rot.

–Ding.

A familiar sound rang sharply in my ears, and then—like an avalanche—lines of glowing text filled my vision.

[You have saved ’Alice Draken’, the noble whom you serve.]

[Your unwavering loyalty has been recognized.]

[Julies Evans reputation increases.]

[Fame +150]

[Affinity with Alice Draken has increased significantly.]

[Title acquired: "Loyal Servant"]

[Change in perception by the Draken Ducal family]

[Neutral -> Trust]

It was a message about changes in reputation, something commonly seen in games.

"It’s a bit meager for almost dying."

Reputation meant influence.

It also meant that my standing in the Draken household had changed—for better or worse, depending on how one looked at it. But from the way the system phrased it... Trust.

That was no small thing.

Especially coming from people like the Draken family—cold-blooded aristocrats with centuries of pride carved into their bones. Gaining their trust wasn’t just about doing your job. You had to bleed for it.

And apparently, I had.

A hollow laugh escaped me. "Loyal Servant, huh?"

I glanced at my hands.

They were bandaged. Clean. Whoever had patched me up knew what they were doing. No sign of infection, no tightness in my chest—healing potion, maybe. A few high-grade ones. That wasn’t cheap.

Someone had gone out of their way to keep me alive.

I frowned and sat up slowly.

The pain was dull now. Bearable. My limbs still felt like lead, but at least they moved.

The room I was in looked modest—nothing extravagant, but well-kept. A small window with sunlight streaming through linen curtains.

A wooden chair. A table with a tray of untouched food.

I reached for the cup of water beside the bed and took a careful sip.

Cool. Refreshing. Real.

No illusion.

So I hadn’t died.

Yet.

"Are you awake?"

The door creaked open while I was still lost in thought.

A middle-aged man stepped in, dressed in a simple yet refined outfit. There wasn’t a hint of excess or flash, but the way he carried himself made it clear—this was someone important.

His quiet presence filled the room with authority. Dignity, calm and effortless, clung to him like a second skin.

The moment I recognized who it was, I jolted upright and scrambled out of bed.

This wasn’t just any visitor.

This was someone I couldn’t afford to be casual around.

I quickly bowed my head.

"I greet you, Duke Draken."

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