Betrayed, I Met The Demon Lord

Chapter 78 - Twilight

Van reached the guild, noting the lights still spilling from the hall into the empty streets. For a moment, he'd felt eyes on him, a faint presence trailing him, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

He paused outside, standing in silence as he stared at the building. Amoria's last words echoed in his mind.

'I don't have time for this right now.'

He shook his head, brushing away the thought and the unwelcome emotions it stirred, before stepping through the doors.

Inside, he spotted Marcy, leaning against a chair behind the counter, eyes closed, her expression stoic—a stark contrast to her vulnerable demeanor from an hour before.

The guild was silent, save for the creak of wood beneath his boots as he approached the counter.

"Marcy," he called flatly. "I need the—"

"Contract. Yeah, I know." She cut him off, retrieving the paper from a shelf behind her and slapping it onto the counter with a firm hand. "You can go. I don't need you sticking around anymore."

She met his gaze, her tone blunt, eyes hard.

Van looked at her, his expression blank, though his thoughts remained tangled in disarray. A weariness seeped into his face—a heaviness he hadn't felt since first arriving in Varolon. He reached for the paper, took it, and turned to leave, the sound of creaking wood following him as he moved toward the door.

"Also," Marcy's voice cut through the silence, stopping him mid-step.

"Don't misinterpret what happened." Her tone was sharp, almost bitter. "I thought about it and came to a conclusion." She spat the words, her gaze unwavering.

"The only reason I threw myself at you like... like some wounded bitch was because I missed him. I don't feel anything for you—no attraction, no allure... The only man who ever earned that was Magus." Her gaze fell, her voice softening. "And now that I know that, I'll never make that mistake again. Whether you've changed your mind or not... you're not him. And you never will be."

She took a deep breath, her eyes momentarily flickering away from his. "For now... Call me Marcilla. I don't feel like being that familiar with you..." She hesitated, her tone wavering. "Just... just for now... until I get my shit sorted." Her voice stuttered, the words feeling hollow, as if they hadn't fully reached her own ears.

She clenched her fist, her brow furrowing in frustration.

"...I see," Van replied, his tone flat, as he resumed his exit.

But as he moved, a sensation like blood dripping from an untreated wound began to rise within him, seeping through the cracks in his armor. Words bubbled to his lips, unbidden, laced with a venom he hadn't realized he'd been holding...

"The only reason I ever enjoyed drinking with you... Marcilla," he began, his voice unsteady, his breath ragged. The way he spoke was foreign, his tone colder. Marcy snapped her head upward as she sensed the shift,

"... was because I wanted to fuck you, and I hoped you'd let it happen in your drunkard state." His words dripped with bitterness, his tone cutting and cold.

A soft gasp escaped Marcy, her eyes widening in shock.

"And the reason I walked away an hour ago... was because I realized just how unworthy you are of me... You—" His voice faltered as a memory blazed through his mind—of that retired royal guard with rotten teeth and a leering grin, who had once tried to charm Amoria.

"...are just some used hero's goods." His words came out cold and mechanical, echoing bitterly; as he repeated the words of that former Royal Guard. "I don't need, nor do I want to be alluring for a wounded, used bitch like you."