Chapter 41 : The Road to the Kingdom (3)

The Villainess Returns

“The villainess you exiled has returned. This time, I shall bring ruin to the Kingdom!”

No, that wasn’t right. Wolfgang shook her head, pulling herself out of the vengeful reverie. 

This was no time to let her mind wander. 

She took a deep breath and suppressed the rising tide of emotions.

Her carriage was completely surrounded by knights clad in gleaming white armor. 

It was no surprise, given that a traitor to the Kingdom, Theodore, and the Empire’s war hero, Wolfgang Leonhart, were inside.

Even if a spy had been onboard, they wouldn’t have warranted such intense vigilance. 

The pride of the Kingdom’s knights was as notorious as their skill—they rarely acknowledged outsiders, least of all those from the Empire, their sworn rival.

Yet, even the haughty knights of Mines Kingdom begrudgingly acknowledged Wolfgang Leonhart as a peer.

• “The Empire’s war hero, huh? I’d like to test her strength.”
• “An enemy, but an undeniable hero. Credit must be given where it’s due.”
• “She may not rival the Kingdom’s elite, but she’s clearly formidable.”

Ironically, this respect among warriors only deepened their suspicion. 

In a world without widespread media, it was astounding how every royal guard could precisely recall Wolfgang’s face, as if burned into their memories.

This was no ordinary contingent.

The Royal Guard of Mines Kingdom was its pinnacle of martial prowess, second only to the elite Vendetta Legion in the Empire. 

Each guard had endured a grueling selection process known as the “Golden Trial,” which accepted only one candidate per year.

Seventeen guards now bore this esteemed title.

Wolfgang clicked her tongue as she surveyed the scene, considering Jackal’s earlier comment. “So, that’s why he said they’d taste good.”

Despite his peculiar diet, Jackal was surprisingly selective. 

While he could consume any flesh, even that of criminals, he often compared it to eating spoiled food. 

Yet he had described these knights as “delicious.”

“If even Jackal calls them tasty, then they must be strong,” Wolfgang mused.

Strength, however, was relative. 

She had no doubt the Vendetta Legion could dispatch the Royal Guard with ease. 

The trials of the Winter War had tempered her comrades in ways that no ordinary battlefield ever could.

“Some say, ‘How could you push yourself so far?’ That’s the wrong question. It’s not about how—we simply had no choice.”

With that, Wolfgang stepped out of the carriage, her posture betraying no hesitation. 

She quickly assessed the situation. 

Twenty knights blocked the road, two of whom radiated a distinct aura of superiority. 

Royal Guards, no doubt.

One of them, a red-haired youth who seemed no older than fifteen, stepped forward with a dignified stride that belied his age.

“Are you Sir Leonhart?” he asked.

“And you are?” Wolfgang replied.

“My apologies for the delay in introductions. 

I am Allen, a member of the Royal Guard. 

It’s an honor.”

Allen’s smile was calm, his demeanor relaxed. 

Yet Wolfgang had never heard of him before. 

She was about to inquire further when—

“You’re too close. Back off immediately,” a voice interjected coldly.

“…?”

“Jackal.”

In a flash, Jackal appeared between Wolfgang and Allen, his lavender hair framing eyes that, for once, weren’t smiling.

Jackal wasn’t human, at least not entirely. 

Once a victim of a deranged cult that sought to embrace fear by becoming fear, he had been transformed into something closer to a Wendigo—a creature of insatiable hunger.

His origins were as tragic as they were monstrous. 

The memory of his parents, who had abandoned him to this fate, was so deeply repressed that he couldn’t even recall their faces.

His hunger had first repulsed him, but as starvation gnawed at his sanity, he succumbed. 

From that moment, only human flesh could sustain him.

Even the Imperial soldiers who rescued him viewed him as a threat.

• “We have to kill him now. He’s too dangerous.”
• “He’s practically a Wendigo already.”
• “It’s a pity, but it’s for the greater good.”

Only one person opposed his execution: Wolfgang.

“Rather than discard his strength, we should use it,” she had argued, standing firm against all opposition.

For Jackal, her intervention wasn’t just salvation; it was the first act of kindness he’d ever received. 

From that moment, he swore to devote his life to her cause, no matter how fleeting his usefulness might be.

Now, Jackal stood as an irreplaceable member of the Vendetta Legion.

While he typically stayed out of the fierce competition for Wolfgang’s attention, he had one inviolable rule: no harm must ever come to her.

To Jackal, Wolfgang wasn’t merely a leader—she was his goddess, the lone savior in a life of torment.

“Your proximity to her is unacceptable,” he repeated, his voice low and menacing.

Even as he stood his ground, the unfamiliar emotion simmering in his chest wasn’t jealousy.

Or so he told himself.