Why Am I The Villain?! Reincarnated in My Favorite Novel-Chapter 47: Welcome to the Puppeteer’s Pocket

With that, Nereva let her mind drift for a moment, carried away by a distant memory.

She saw herself again, pushing open the door to a vast, silent hall, lit only by a few lanterns hanging from the stone walls.

At the far end, seated behind a massive desk of dark wood, a man was writing slowly, precisely, a goblet of wine balanced effortlessly in his other hand.

His hair was short and silver.

Nereva stood in the doorway, frozen like a statue, silently watching him work.

Minutes dragged on, long and heavy. She didn’t move, patient despite the slow rise of irritation within her.

The only sound breaking the stillness was the scratch of his pen across the pages.

An entire hour slipped by.

An hour spent watching that unmoving figure, utterly absorbed, seemingly unaware of her presence.

At last, unable to contain herself, Nereva let a comment slip, her voice teetering between irony and insolence:

"Did you summon me here just so I could admire you, master?"

Her voice echoed faintly through the empty hall.

The man stopped writing. He set the pen down calmly, then slowly lifted his head toward her.

His eyes, blood-red, locked onto hers.

A shiver ran up Nereva’s spine despite herself.

She swallowed hard, clenching her hands behind her back to avoid betraying any sign of weakness.

The man stood up.

He crossed the room slowly and stopped right in front of her.

Deliberately, he reached out and brushed her chin lightly with his fingertips.

"Are you bored in my company, Nereva?" he asked, his voice soft yet carrying a crushing authority.

She didn’t reply.

Holding her breath, she met his gaze head-on, acutely aware of the trap that even a single word could trigger.

The man leaned in, his lips nearing hers, closing the distance between them.

"An answer, my dear," he whispered.

Nereva’s heart hammered against her ribs.

But she forced herself to meet his gaze, emotionless, and answered in a steady voice:

"I am at your service, master."

A slow smile spread across the man’s lips.

A short, almost amused laugh echoed through the hall.

He stepped away and perched casually on the edge of his desk, eyes never leaving her.

"There’s no one here to watch how you behave," he said, his tone mockingly light. "You’re free to be... yourself."

At his words, Nereva’s eyes narrowed, darkened by barely restrained hostility.

A cold smile twisted her lips.

"Very well," she murmured, her voice low and cutting. "In that case, what do you want from me, master?"

The man chuckled again, absently rubbing his chin before gesturing toward a chair with a casual flick of his hand.

Nereva didn’t move.

He shrugged, unbothered, and continued:

"You’ll be leaving for Joranis."

Nereva blinked, caught off guard despite herself.

"Me?" she said, a faint note of amusement in her voice. "And you’re seriously planning to conquer one of the five great nations?"

The master gave her a look, the smile never leaving his face.

"Does my ambition strike you as absurd?" he asked, almost curious.

Nereva shrugged, feigning indifference.

"I have nothing to say." She took a step forward, her eyes gleaming with a dull light. "But I doubt you’re sending me just to support your precious ministers. You don’t waste your aces unless you have a reason."

A heavy silence settled, broken only by the old wood creaking under the master’s weight.

He placed both hands flat on the desk, leaning forward slightly.

"You’re going to find the Prophet," he said, his voice sharp as a blade. "Knowing you, you’ve already heard of him, haven’t you?"

Nereva remained still.

"The Prophet," she repeated slowly, tasting each syllable. "I see you’ve done your homework before diving in."

The master smiled faintly. "No matter. I intend to make him a key piece in my conquest of Joranis. Too dangerous to leave roaming free. Too valuable to simply eliminate."

He crossed his arms, his gaze sharpening even more.

"Only you can find him. Only you can tame him."

Nereva let out a short, joyless laugh. "You flatter me, master."

She paused.

The Prophet.

The man rumored to wield forces that even the five great nations feared to approach.

And now she was tasked to get close to him. To observe him. Maybe even to break him.

"And if I refuse?" she dared ask, a flash of defiance in her eyes.

The master watched her for a moment, then smiled softly.

"Are you planning to refuse?"

He straightened and returned to his seat behind the desk.

"You’re too curious to say no."

He paused, looking at her briefly.

"And Nereva..." he added, his voice softer, almost conspiratorial, "you have full freedom... up to level three."

Back in the present, in the ravaged clearing, Nereva smiled.

The taste of blood filled her mouth, pain lanced through her muscles, but she felt more alive than ever.

"Level three, huh..." she murmured to herself, her eyes gleaming dangerously as she stared at Constantin.

She rose slowly, her tentacles regenerating with a sickly, wet sound.

"You really drew the short straw facing me, Prophet," she whispered, wiping a trickle of blood from her lip. "That man... he’s interested in you. And trust me, that’s no compliment."

Constantin didn’t answer.

His aura, thick and crimson, pulsed around him like a star on the verge of collapse. The containers nearby had already started melting under the sheer energy he radiated.

But before he could strike, the ground beneath him cracked open.

A monstrous maw, as wide as a truck, burst from the earth.

Translucent fangs, streaked with black veins, snapped shut inches from his chest.

Constantin dodged with a lateral leap, but the creature—an amalgam of reptilian flesh and twisted metal—lunged again.

Its jaws clashed together with a sonic boom that rattled the air.

With a sharp motion, Constantin unleashed a blade of energy that cleanly severed the beast’s skull.

The huge head exploded into a rain of viscous fluids and organic fragments.

Nereva snickered.

Two more creatures sprang from the shadows—hybrids of scorpions and wild beasts, their tails bristling with purple-glowing spikes.

They pounced in perfect sync, aiming to tear through Constantin’s energy barrier.

He raised his hands, unleashing a seismic wave that reduced the monsters to a spray of charred bones and scorched flesh.

But as he caught his breath, the remnants of the tentacles around his arms suddenly came alive.

The black tendrils morphed into thorny vines, their barbs piercing into his palms.

Constantin grimaced as blood ran down his forearms.

The thorns dug deeper, injecting a black venom that even made his superhuman aura falter.

"Pathetic," Nereva whispered, a cruel gleam in her eyes.

She took a few lazy steps, hands clasped behind her back, as if strolling through a garden.

"We both know you’re holding back."

She stopped just at the edge of his aura, her hair tousled by the residual energy.

"You could wipe us all out—me, this clearing, this entire city—if you just let go."

She crouched slightly, her face level with his despite the distance, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

"But you can’t, can you?" she continued, her voice softening to almost a purr. "Because of those pathetic kids over there.

Sheltered behind walls of steel that wouldn’t last a second against you... but enough to tame you."

Constantin, his features twisted in rage and pain, let out a trembling breath.

Yet when he spoke, his voice was strangely calm:

"What... do you want?"

Nereva laughed lightly, shaking her head.

"Me? Nothing, dear."

She shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance.

"I’m just... the messenger."

As she spoke, she reached into the inner pocket of her jacket—miraculously intact—and pulled out a black, battered phone.

The cracked screen glowed faintly.

With almost theatrical flair, she dialed a number.

The phone rang.

After a few moments, the line connected.

Nereva brought the phone to her mouth and spoke in a soft, sing-song voice:

"I found him."

She then extended the phone toward Constantin.

He frowned, confused.

"He wants to speak with you."

With a brutal jerk, Constantin tore free of the thorns piercing his arms.

His aura pulsed, shattering the tendrils like glass under enormous pressure.

He grabbed the phone, glared briefly at Nereva, and held it to his ear.

Silence fell.

Then, after only a few seconds, Constantin’s expression shifted.

His rage, his fury, his fierce determination—all of it vanished, swept away by an invisible storm.

His face closed off.

His eyes, once burning with power, clouded over with infinite sorrow and muted confusion.

He stood frozen, phone to his ear, as if paralyzed by the voice he was hearing.

Then the call ended.

Without a word, he handed the phone back to Nereva.

His shoulders, once rigid and tense, slumped slightly.

He looked more human, more vulnerable... almost broken.

Nereva watched him closely, truly intrigued.

In a hoarse, almost inaudible voice, Constantin said:

"I’ll follow you."

A long silence stretched between them.

Nereva blinked, genuinely taken aback.

She blinked again, as if making sure she hadn’t imagined it.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across her lips, growing into a burst of sharp amusement.

She let out a short, breathless laugh.

"That man..." she muttered, shaking her head, still slightly stunned.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and gave Constantin a teasing, almost affectionate look.

"Welcome to the puppeteer’s pocket, Prophet."