A Villainess pulled out the Sword instead of the Hero.

 

Most of his mercenary work, hiding his swordsmanship, was more of a chore.

 

The lack of money forced him to work harder and work longer.

 

He said to Arthur all the time.

 “Arthur. You are the last hope of the Pendragon family.” 

He was like a parent who passed on all his skills and raised him, sometimes sternly, sometimes lovingly.

 

But when Arthur grew strong and took up the sword.

 “It’s already too late to do anything about it.” 

He was irreparably injured.

 “Is there no way to save him?” 

Blinded by Arthur’s question, the priest shook his head silently.

 “We may be able to delay it with a steady infusion of divine power, but I don’t think we can cure him.” 

Even the priest couldn’t call him by his proper name, lest anyone recognize him as a knight of House Pendragon.

 

Most priests who could infuse divine power were very expensive.

 

It might be cheaper if they weren’t designated, but Sir Ector was adamant.

 “You must be careful, even if it means dying. You don’t know Arthur, but there may be someone out there who knows my face.” 

So he had to pay double the usual price for the blind priest.

 

A commoner could not afford this amount of money, especially not from a noble family.

 

But Arthur could not leave Sir Ector, who had raised him all his life, alone. He set out on a raid, and all the money went to Sir Ector’s medical expenses.

 

He hoped it would keep the old, sick man by his side longer, even in his current state.

 

But recently, a rumor reached his ears that he could not believe. He had just returned from a raid, slaying monsters.

 

The conversation of some of the mercenaries I’d been with caught my ear.

 “I heard that some artisan dagger is up for auction.” “Huh? Is it any good?” “Not really. The blade is wavy, but it’s unique. They say it’s studded with rubies.” “Another nobleman’s ornament.” 

The words were in passing, but Arthur recognized them at once.

 

‘The last thing my father gave me. Carnwennan.’

 

The only surviving possession of his mother. When Arthur went to check it out, he found it at the auction house, worn and dull and useless.

 

But he was reunited with the Carnwennan, a scarred blade that had endured the test of time.

 

The starting bid wasn’t much.

 

Arthur could have afforded to buy it for the amount of money he usually earned. 

 

However…

 “Number 17. 100 gold.” 

If he spent more than that, how much would Sir Ector’s treatment cost?

 

Hesitantly. No matter how much more he could bid, the dagger was nothing but the remnants of the dead.

 

‘A part of me understands that I must hold on for the sake of Sir Ector’s future.’

 

But there’s a lingering regret.

 

Arthur clutches the numbered tag helplessly.

 

He could still see the back of his mother’s head as she left Sir Ector for him, incapable of anything.

 

The fact that they hadn’t even been able to find the body, let alone give her a proper funeral and grave, made it all the more regrettable.

 

Arthur stared at the dagger for a long time, waiting for someone to bid on it, not knowing how it had made its way to the auction house.

 

Then a familiar voice called out the bid.

 “Lot 28, 1,000 gold.” 

Turning his head, he saw the figure of the woman who had come to the mercenary group in the daytime, asking for an escort instead of a maid.

 

Bright silver hair and purple eyes glinted in the darkness.

 

A determination to win the dagger seemed to shine through the dim lights of the auction house.

 

She said she wanted an escort.

 

‘In exchange for an escort…’

 

A sudden thought dominated his mind.

 

The image of the sickly Sir Ector nagged at the back of his mind. He knew it was greedy, but he wanted to save his life and get his hands on the dagger.

 

‘An escort, perhaps.’

 

Mercenaries who could slay monsters were in high demand, especially those who could do so quickly and easily.

 

If Arthur was unlucky enough to encounter a swarm of monsters, he would pay with his life.

 

Indeed, he had a proven track record of carrying off swarms of demons without injury.

 

Most of the scars on his body were from those encounters.

 

As such, Arthur was often hired by noble families to travel out of Britain on diplomatic business, or to guard a single expensive object.

 

If I sacrifice a little more sleep, if I suffer a little more. I could save Sir Ector’s life, and maybe even get my mother’s dagger.

 

With that thought, Arthur bowed to Morgana, who had come to the mercenary group as soon as the day dawned.

 

But then, now. The woman with the dagger asks him.

 “Don’t you think you’re pushing yourself too hard?” 

Her innocent eyes stared at him as if she knew nothing.

 

Unable to mention the name Pendragon or speak of his mother, Arthur could only hope that she would have mercy on him.

 

Arthur looked at the wooden planks of the second floor of the old tavern and opened his mouth.

 “There’s a sick man at home. The treatment is quite expensive, and to pay for it, I have to go out to work in the daytime.” 

Morgana ran a hand through her smooth platinum hair and feigned indifference.

 

‘Was the dagger really that important?’

 

So important that he would torture himself over a sick family member?

 

Morgana felt a little sorry for him, seeing him clinging to it so desperately, knowing that she had only bid on it to make herself look good.

 

She asked cautiously, “Is there a reason why you have to sacrifice my body to get the dagger?”

 “…” 

But Arthur remained silent. She knew it.

 

‘Because someone is sick…’

 

Somehow. He was being paid a lot of money, but he hesitated at 100 gold.

 

Perhaps it was worse than I thought.

 

‘If it’s Arthur’s family, I thought they were all dead…’

 

Everyone associated with House Pendragon was killed in the purge of the rebels.

 

So Arthur had family?

 

There was no such thing in the original story, which began with him pulling out the sword.

 

‘He was alone from the beginning.’

 

Perhaps because they died long before the original, Arthur’s character hasn’t spoken about them.

 

‘Legend has it that Sir Ector raised him…’

 

Probably because he couldn’t say his last name, Pendragon, he referred to them as family.

 

It wasn’t exactly wrong if it felt like family. I thought he was being blunt, but he was much more reserved than I thought.

 

If we keep this up, it won’t be about looking good, but Arthur falling apart.

 

Morgana once worked day and night.

 

There weren’t enough hours in the day to send money to my mom and pay for my own living expenses.

 

At some point, I realized that this wasn’t living.

 

I felt like I was working half-heartedly, half-dragging myself to work when my family was in the hospital.

 

As Morgana pondered, a thought flashed through her mind.

 

‘Shouldn’t I be the one to heal him?’

 

She needed to look good for him anyway.

 

What better way to score points than with a family member who cares enough to step up to help?

 

Morgana had nothing to lose.

 

‘It’ll mean less bloodshed, and the welfare of the escorts will be top-notch!’

 

Of course, it’s impossible to show off my healing powers in public.

 

The only person on the continent with non-divine healing powers was Duke Fay.

 

In the foreign and hostile land of Britain, nothing good would come from revealing that she was the illegitimate daughter of an Avalonian, the Duke of Fay.

 

‘Then I’ll just pretend it’s not a healing power.’

 

Morgana had sold herbs in Britain before. It hadn’t been a successful business.

 

If she could find a connection to someone who had lived in the slums, including Lennon, she had plenty of people who could attest to this.

 

‘What if I pretend to give him herbs?’

 

People would be suspicious if he suddenly got better all at once, so she’d just have to make them take the herbs and secretly heal them over time.

 

Morgana grabbed him by the shoulders, his head still down and not lifting.

 “Arthur, you said there was a sick man, didn’t you?” “Yes. I’m so sorry. They’re my only family, and I can’t give them up.” 

He bowed his head even deeper. It was as if he hoped she would allow it.

 “Raise your head, Arthur.” 

Morgana spoke softly, but firmly.