The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 83: A Bloodbath

Well, that was awkward...

Penelope thought briefly about the young lady she had almost bumped into, but decided not to ponder on it too much. In the lady’s defense, the imperial palace was absolutely gigantic, and it was easy to see how a guest could take a wrong turn.

Besides, Penelope was far too exhausted to play detective. Her legs were already aching from the sheer distance it took just to reach their assigned wing.

Still following the maid, Penelope noticed two fully armored imperial guards standing at attention outside a set of heavy, mahogany double doors. Upon seeing the maid and the noble lady, the guards instantly struck the ground with the butts of their spears in a synchronized salute, turning smoothly to pull the heavy doors open.

"Your quarters, Marchioness," the maid said, stepping aside and bowing deeply to let Penelope pass through first.

As Penelope stepped inside, she was immediately greeted by an incredibly spacious, multi-room suite. A grand sitting room featured plush velvet sofas arranged around a carved marble fireplace, while large glass doors opened up to a private balcony overlooking the capital’s sprawling skyline.

Drawn by the view, Penelope walked over to the glass. The sight from up here was truly breathtaking, the bustling city laid out beneath her like a map of gold and stone. For the first time all day, a genuine smile touched her lips, and she quietly praised herself for agreeing to accompany Vincent on this journey.

If she hadn’t, she would have missed so many beautiful things.

Through an arched doorway to the right, she could catch a glimpse of the massive canopy bed piled high with silk sheets. It was a luxurious sanctuary, entirely cut off from the chaotic energy of the rest of the palace.

Standing there, a small wave of nostalgia hit her. She truly wished Martha was here to see this.

"I have already instructed the attendants to bring up fresh hot water for your bath, My Lady," the maid added, stepping inside to quietly close the doors behind them. "Is there anything else you require immediately to help you rest?"

Penelope tore her gaze away from the balcony view and turned to the maid with a grateful smile.

"No, thank you," she replied, her shoulders finally dropping as the exhaustion of the road caught up to her. "The hot bath sounds absolutely perfect right now. That will be all."

"Very well, My Lady. I shall be just outside if you need anything at all," the maid said, bowing gracefully before slipping out of the room to let Penelope enjoy her hard-earned peace.

Once the maid was gone, Penelope plopped down on the bed. She smiled as the mattress gave way beneath her, molding perfectly to her shape. She just happened to have found a comfortable position, and the fatigue of the long journey hit her all at once. Closing her eyes in hopes of getting just a few minutes of rest before her bath, she succumbed to the heavy weight of exhaustion.

**********

"...Where... where am I?"

Penelope blinked her eyes open, only to find herself standing in the middle of a completely deserted settlement.

The heat here was suffocating, thick and scorching. She had to raise a hand to shield her face from the blinding sun as she looked around.

There was nothing familiar about this place.

How did she get here?

Penelope was beyond confused. If she remembered correctly, she was supposed to be in bed at the imperial palace. So where... what was this place?

Hoping to find some answers or see someone nearby, Penelope began to walk down the dusty street. There was absolutely no sign of life around her. Even the houses looked completely emptied, and not just emptied, but like they had been abandoned in a blind rush. Scattered belongings broke the barren landscape, left behind in panic.

The sight made the hairs on her skin stand on edge, but she forced herself to keep moving, to find a way out of this settlement.

As she continued to press forward, the air grew inexplicably heavier, pressing down on her chest. The ground beneath her feet seamlessly shifted, and then all of a sudden, the dirt that had been dry and deserted was now completely bathed in a deep, viscous blood.

The sight startled her so badly she flinched back, her breath catching in her throat, only to realize the entire horizon was drowning in it. The blood pooled around her shoes, staining the air with a metallic, terrifying stench.

"What the—"

Her eyes widened in sheer horror. She stumbled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs as the nightmare twisted around her, locking her into a vision she couldn’t escape. The heaviness she once felt suddenly evaporated, and Penelope began to walk faster, desperately trying to get away from the devastating bloodshed.

But the nightmare only deepened, and the settlement was gone.

What followed next were bodies— dozens upon dozens of fallen soldiers. These were the owners of the very blood that had stained the ground, piling so high that the path became a treacherous maze. Distracted by the sheer terror of it all, and her haste to escape to this madness, her footing faltered. She caught her toe on a piece of armor and collapsed forward with a sharp cry.

Her palms met the ground first, catching her fall, but instead of solid earth, her hands plunged directly into a thick, warm pool of blood.

Penelope froze. She lifted her hands, watching in paralyzed horror as the dark fluid dripped from her fingertips.

"...No."

She scrambled backward, her gaze darting across the grisly landscape. The sheer scale of the devastation defied comprehension. What manner of tragedy has befallen this place? What is this endless tide of blood?

Was she losing her mind?

What was going on?

In the haze of her mounting hysteria, a figure suddenly materialized in the distance, silhouetted against the sulfurous, dim horizon. He stood with his back to her, an imposing frame amidst the ruin. Even from this distance, the carriage of his shoulders was unmistakable.

"Vincent!"

She called his name, her voice echoing unnaturally in the desolate space. She forced her leaden limbs to move, staggering toward him. But he remained motionless, deaf to her pleas. With agonizing slowness, his hand rose to his face. She watched as he removed the mask he wore– a stark, chilling artifact that she knew all too well from his armory.

"Vincent, answer me!"

As Penelope closed the distance, the truth of the scene shattered her composure, and she halted. Vincent’s fine, dark attire was saturated with gore, heavy and ruined. He stood as still as a statue, eyes fixed upon the mask in his hand, utterly indifferent to her presence.

"...Vince?"

She took a single, cautious step forward.

Why did he not turn around? Why was he acting so cold, so distant?

Her heart hammered against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. She watched, breath held in her throat, as his fingers uncurled.

The mask hit the blood-slicked ground with a hollow, final thud.

Penelope gasped, a cold dread seizing her chest. Knowing how much Vincent valued that mask, and the heavy, secret symbolism it held for him, he would never cast it aside so carelessly.

Something was deeply, terribly wrong. The unease only intensified when he suddenly began to walk away, his long, deliberate strides widening the gap between them.

Where was he going?

"Vincent!" she cried out, her voice cracking under the weight of her rising panic.

She forced her legs to move, pouring every ounce of her strength into pursuing him, to reach out to him. Yet, a sickening sensation gripped her. She was running, her heart hammering and her breath burning in her lungs, but she was making no progress at all. The distance between them refused to close, stretching out like an endless, nightmarish horizon, and the realization made her sick. She was trapped in place, moving yet frozen.

"Vincent! Please, look at me!"

Terror consumed her, and the worst part was how achingly familiar it felt. Yet the one person who could offer her sanctuary was treating her as though she were a ghost, completely invisible to his eyes. Can he not hear her?

Desperate for any connection to him, Penelope reached the spot where the mask had been abandoned. She dropped to her knees, her skirts soaking in the dark crimson pool, and snatched the matte artifact from the mire. With trembling fingers, she frantically began to wipe the thick gore from its surface, using the clean hem of her sleeve.

This was one of his prized possessions, his mask. How dare he treat it with such reckless disregard? How dare he leave it behind in the dark? Why did he take it off?

Clutching the mask tightly against her chest, Penelope snapped her head up, ready to shout his name again, to force him to turn around and take it back.

But the dusty, blood-soaked path ahead was entirely empty. He was gone.