Taming The Villainesses

"Your forehead's pretty hot too. Not as bad as my son's, though."

Nymph Trish's hand was cool yet incredibly soft.

Because the sensation was so exactly the same as I remembered, it felt like a hardened lump deep inside me quietly melted away.

Of course, I didn't show it outwardly.

Now was the time to steel my heart.

If I let myself get soft, I wouldn't be able to accomplish anything.

So, before Nymph Trish could turn me into a perfectly boiled egg, I pulled my face away.

Her slender fingers eventually withdrew from me.

Trish spoke.

"You must've gone through a lot."

"How would you know that?"

Even though the words came from my own mouth, the sharp tone startled even me. Was this what kids going through puberty felt like?

It wasn't as if I were hitting a late adolescence. But still, I couldn't help it.

How could everything I had endured until now be so casually brushed aside with a simple, "You must have had it rough"?

You don't even know anything.

Of course, I knew these thoughts were ugly, pathetic.

I tried to pull myself together, but even the greatly swollen Bael—probably exhausted from chasing the locusts earlier—was too tired to devour my tangled emotions.

—Hioooong...

Seems like she's still worn out from the fight. Nothing to be done.

Which meant I had to face and sort through these emotions on my own. What surfaced inside me was a mix of loss, longing, stubborn pride, and biting resentment.

Other emotions too—ones I'd never experienced before—bubbled up from the depths like foam from the bottom of the sea, but I turned my head sharply to ignore them.

It was then Trish said:

"You... you don't have a mother, do you?"

"What, excuse me?"

It felt like my hair was standing on end.

Do people usually ask something like that so bluntly? I didn't know whether to answer yes or no.

Was she trying to insult me?

I spoke even more curtly.

"Who doesn't have a mother? Someone had to give birth to me, or else I wouldn't exist. I don't see why you'd ask such a rude question."

In response, Nymph Trish casually dug into her short, pointy ear with her pinky finger and said nonchalantly:

"Just giving birth doesn't make someone a mother."

"......."

"My mother—she was a giant centipede. Can you believe that? I was raised in the hands of a centipede as big as a tree!"

"A centipede?"

"Yeah, a huge, creepy, many-legged centipede! She was my mother! Of course, if I ever said she was creepy, I'd get scolded big-time. But how could I help it? She really was creepy."

A giant centipede... A memory flickered across my mind. I thought of the giant spirit beast Angala we had met in the Witch's Forest.

Could it be that Nymph Trish was somehow connected to the centipede Angala?

I remembered the old story—how, before Solomon became the Demon King, when he was still known as a great mage, he had once carried the body of a dead nymph to Angala.

But even the sage Angala, revered as an immortal, had been unable to revive the dead.

Solomon, thinking he had been deceived, had attacked Angala and fled after inflicting a grave wound.

And now Trish—Beatrice—was claiming that that very Angala had been her mother.

What in the world was going on?

I had countless questions, but before I could ask anything, Trish continued chatting away, offering up unsolicited stories.

"But you know," she said, "I'm a nymph, right? And my mom was a giant centipede. No matter how I looked at it, it just didn't add up. I mean, she couldn't have been my real mom."

Naturally. I wanted to say that, but held my tongue.

Maybe she wasn't even looking for a response, because she just kept talking.

"So I turned out kind of twisted. I convinced myself that somewhere out there—beyond the big, scary centipede—my real mother must exist. When I think back to how I was then..."

Her blue eyes gazed into the air.

It was easy to tell she was recalling her past somewhere within that blank space.

"I acted just like you. Picky about everything I saw, starting fights over nothing. No mom, no dad. Believing the only person I could trust was myself."

***

Nymph Trish quickly realized she was different from others.

Because she looked nothing like her mother Angala. And being a naturally sensitive nymph, Trish kept going astray.

—I'm going to find my real mother...!

After uttering those harsh words, Trish chose to live alone. Of course, it was difficult, exhausting, and filled with moments when she wanted to give up and return.

But she hardened her heart. Until she found her true mother, she would not return.

She spent days, months, even years wandering outside.

Even though she knew her foster mother Angala was searching for her—still, she couldn't bring herself to go back. She didn't know what face she would wear if they met again.

Because she had been away for so long, the emotions she once had for her mother had faded into awkward distance. Maybe that's why, even as her life gradually improved, she felt hollow inside.

Somewhere deep in her heart, there was always a space she couldn't fill. No matter how many magnificent waterfalls she saw, how many spring flowers she watched bloom, or how many autumn fruits she plucked—

even after many winters passed and springs returned, the emptiness wouldn't go away.

It was at the peak of that restlessness that she met him.

—Hey, you there.

At first, she thought she was hearing things. That anyone would casually speak to her—the nymph who ruled over this forest filled with monsters, giant spiders, centipedes, ogres, wolves—

was unthinkable.

—Me? You're talking to me?

—Yeah, you. You, the nymph sitting up in that tree. I didn't expect to see a nymph in a place like this—it's amazing. So, there's something I want to ask you.

—You want to ask me something?

—I'm a traveler. How do I get to the city of Gargarta?

The guy was a man. His age... she wasn't sure.

Trish, who had survived among countless monstrous beasts, found him very unfamiliar.

He was human.

The humans she had seen before had been scraggly-bearded, filthy, beast-like things—exiles or fugitives.

But this man was different. He was tall, with a handsome face.

And above all, he looked strong. Strong enough that Trish thought he'd be good company to shake off her loneliness.

So, as usual, she decided to mess with him.

—City of Gargarta? Sure, I'll tell you—if you beat me! Nymph's Rule of the Wild!

—What the...!?

Yep, anyone who crossed the great barrier was bound to be clueless. With a guy like this, she figured she could kill at least an hour of boredom.

But Trish's expectations were quickly ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) shattered.

The battle with the man stretched from one hour to two, from half a day to a full day, from a day to two days—even after a week, neither of them could claim victory.

Her punches, strong enough to smash rocks.

Her kicks, strong enough to climb waterfalls.

None of it worked. The man was sturdier than expected, and he used strange "magic" to dodge her attacks.

In the end—it was a draw.

—If I had just used my martial arts, you'd have been no match for me...!

Trish collapsed from exhaustion, shouting. The man simply asked calmly:

—Then why didn't you use it?

Trish stubbornly snapped:

—None of your business!

She had refused to use the techniques Angala taught her, out of stubborn pride and rebellion.

There was no need to explain that to him.

'Those were good days...'

Trish pulled herself out of her memories.

It had been a long-forgotten recollection.

Several years had passed since that man left.

And recalling those days always brought back a sudden yearning for the happiest time of her life—which was why she had buried those memories deep inside.

Why were those days resurfacing now? Trish asked herself.

The answer was clear.

Because someone had called her name.

Beatrice.

The real name she had only ever revealed to one person.

When that half-fairy called her by that name—Nymph Trish was forced to confront the aching longing she had sealed away.

'What is this boy? How does he know my name?'

It felt like... she had known him for a very long time. Teo Gospel. A name she had never heard before, yet his face seemed strangely familiar.

'He really resembles that man. Could it be that he had a lover beyond the barrier? And told her about me?'

No... The man she had known wasn't the type to do that.

At the same time, Teo reminded her painfully of herself when she had fought with Angala and run away.

Maybe that's why she kept saying unnecessary things to him.

Maybe it was because they shared the same fairy blood.

Or maybe because he was a half-fairy—like her own son.

"Eeek!"

It was then that a high-pitched scream pierced the air.

Turning her head, she saw her son, trembling and surrounded by the noble ladies. Something had happened. Thinking she needed to hurry over, she started to turn.

"Hey."

***

"Eeek!"

The familiar cry of the small half-fairy rang out.

Right after that, an angry shout from Mirna followed:

"Lady of Leones! How could you pinch a sleeping child's cheek like that!"

"I didn't mean to—it's just a habit..."

Had Elga pinched the half-fairy's cheek? Maybe it was just my imagination, but my own cheeks started to tingle in sympathy.

Hearing the boy's shriek, Nymph Trish whipped her head around.

She must have been about to run to her son.

"Hey."

At that moment, my mouth opened and spoke without thinking.

I had wanted to say something—anything—to her. And somehow, words just tumbled out on their own, even surprising me.

I didn't expect Trish to stop just because I called out. But unexpectedly, she paused and turned to look at me.

"......."

She didn't say anything, but her attitude clearly said: If you have something to say, hurry up.

A brief opportunity to say anything I needed to.

I opened my mouth slowly.

"If it were you, what would you do?"

"Me?"

"If—to save that child—many other people might have to be sacrificed. What would you do?"

"If it were me, I'd do it. Other people don't matter. The feeling of having to just stand there, unable to do anything, while a sick child suffers—it's unbearable."

"......."

"But the man I knew... he wouldn't do it. He was unexpectedly old-fashioned like that."

With those words, Trish turned and went to her son.

I watched her back as she walked away, falling into thought.

And then—after a short but seemingly eternal time spent agonizing over it, I finally made a decision.

"Everyone! I'd like you to listen to my proposal."