Investing in My Yandare Villainess Fiancée:Each Reward Fuels My Growth

Chapter 62: Investment 62: Ashes That Refuse to Settle

"Elliot." Seria’s voice, still weak from exhaustion, carried an edge of alarm sharp enough to cut through the haze of victory settling over the group. "The ashes."

He turned.

What should have been a scattered, inert pile of bone dust was instead trembling, faint wisps of sickly green light threading through it like veins reawakening after a long sleep.

"That’s not possible." Rose’s thorned vines, still coiled protectively around her arms, tensed instinctively. "We destroyed the core. I watched it happen myself."

"Apparently," Leonard said grimly, lightning crackling weakly along his exhausted frame, "watching something happen and it actually staying dead are two very different things."

"Then how do we kill something that doesn’t stay dead?" Deria’s stone-encrusted arms trembled with fatigue, but she planted her feet anyway, refusing to retreat even as exhaustion threatened to buckle her knees. "Because I’d very much like to know before it becomes relevant again."

"One problem at a time," Elliot said, though the same question was already gnawing uncomfortably at the back of his own mind.

The ash began to rise.

Not scatter—rise, coiling upward into the shape of a woman, wine-colored hair and maid’s uniform reforming thread by thread as if being woven back into existence by invisible hands. Entoma’s human form solidified fully, standing amidst the wreckage of her own throne room without a single visible wound.

"My my." She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her sleeve, voice carrying the same infuriating calm it always had. "That was actually quite impressive. I’ll admit, I underestimated the lot of you."

"How." Deria’s voice was flat, disbelieving. "We turned that thing to ash."

"You destroyed a form," Entoma said simply, "not a soul. There’s a difference, little stone-girl, that I imagine none of you are equipped to understand."

Three more shapes coalesced beside her out of drifting motes of dark mist—Ru’s grinning silhouette, Mary’s mushroom-pale hair, Gion straightening the cuffs of his blood-red suit.

"You—" Futaba’s exhausted body tensed instantly, wind mana flaring weakly around her fists. "We killed all three of you."

"You did," Ru agreed cheerfully, wiping nonexistent dust from his shoulder as if their earlier battle had been nothing more than a light jog. "Wonderful work, honestly. Very satisfying way to go, all things considered."

"But death," Mary added, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "is really more of a formality for us. A minor inconvenience. Mother’s gift, you could call it."

"And now," Gion said, cracking his neck with a wet, unsettling sound, "we’re all considerably more annoyed than before. Which, unfortunately for you, also means considerably stronger."

The temperature in the throne room plummeted—not from Seria’s mana this time, but from the sheer, oppressive density of dark energy pouring off all four resurrected figures simultaneously. Cracks spread across the ancient stone floor beneath their feet, bone pillars groaning under the pressure.

"This is bad." Edith’s voice wavered, her vines wilting slightly under the crushing weight of the atmosphere. "We’re already at our limit. Elliot’s Vassal Resonance can’t be reactivated this soon—not without killing half of us."

"Then we fight with what we’ve got left," Leonard said, forcing himself upright despite the visible tremor in his legs.

"With what, exactly?" Rose’s usual composure had finally, fully cracked, replaced by something rawer, more desperate. "We gave everything we had into that last assault."

August and Taumus stumbled through the shattered archway at that exact moment, both of them freezing mid-step as they took in the scene—four resurrected horrors standing amidst the wreckage, and a circle of their exhausted friends barely able to stand.

"Ah." Taumus’s voice cracked with disbelief. "We missed a step somewhere, didn’t we."

"Perfect timing, gentlemen," Entoma said pleasantly, not even bothering to look at the newcomers. "Do come in. There’s plenty of death to go around."

"Charming woman," August muttered, already summoning what little water mana he had left, though his hands shook visibly with exhaustion. "Really. Top marks for hospitality."

"Save your strength," Elliot said quietly, without turning. "There’s nothing left in any of us that can touch her again. Not yet."

"Then what’s the plan?" Deria hissed.

"Survive," Elliot said grimly. "Long enough for one to present itself."

It was not, he privately admitted, much of a plan.

Entoma’s grin widened, savoring their despair like a fine wine.

"Oh, don’t look so glum, children." She spread her arms wide, mocking, triumphant. "I promise this won’t hurt for very long."

Dark energy condensed above her head into a swirling black orb, dense enough to warp the very air around it, growing larger with each passing second.

"Any last words," she purred, "before I finally collect what I came here for?"

Elliot pulled Seria protectively behind him, sword raised despite his own trembling arms, despite the fact that he could feel his own mana reserves scraping dangerously close to empty.

"Yeah, actually." His voice, though hoarse, didn’t waver. "I’ve got one."

"Oh?" Entoma tilted her head, almost amused. "Do enlighten me."

"You should’ve stayed dead."

A voice—calm, almost lazy, utterly unbothered by the mountain of killing intent flooding the room—drifted down from somewhere above them.

Every head snapped upward.

Perched casually on a jagged outcrop of bone near the throne room’s shattered ceiling, one leg crossed over the other, sat a very familiar, very unassuming figure with messy dark green hair and an expression of profound, theatrical boredom.

"Took you all long enough to nearly die," Jin said, examining his own fingernails with exaggerated disinterest. "I was starting to think I’d have to come rescue you before the interesting part even started."

"Jin?" Futaba blinked, utterly baffled. "What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be back with the other students!"

"Yeah, about that." Jin finally looked up, and for the briefest instant, something ancient and terrifyingly patient flickered behind his usually lazy eyes. "Funny story, actually."

Entoma’s growing orb of dark energy faltered, just slightly, as her gaze locked onto the newcomer with something that—for the first time since the fight began—resembled genuine, unfiltered wariness.

"You," she said slowly, voice losing its playful edge entirely. "That signature. That’s not a first-year’s mana."

"Give the lady a prize." Jin hopped down from the outcrop, landing without a sound despite the twenty-foot drop, and cracked his neck lazily to one side. "Honestly, I was really hoping to keep this whole thing under wraps a little longer. But you lot went and made such a mess of the place."

He glanced around at the scattered ash, the cracked pillars, the exhausted students barely standing amidst the wreckage, and let out a small, almost fond sigh.

"Guess it’s about time I stopped pretending to be useless."