Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant-Chapter 310: Dark District [5]

Soon enough, despair spread across their faces.

They were afraid.

I couldn't really blame them.

Honestly, I understood that feeling better than anyone. The first time I met Velra, my legs nearly gave out on the spot.

Still… that was ancient history now.

I wasn't afraid of her anymore.

Really. I wasn't.

…Probably.

Ahem.

Anyway—if I didn't step in here, everyone in this room was going to die. And that would make things extremely inconvenient for me later.

Standing beside Velra, I casually stepped forward and tossed a lifeline toward the thieves' guild members who were frozen in place.

"It seems you've tested us enough," I said calmly. "We've proven we're not some amateur nobles playing dress-up, so let's move on and actually do business."

A few of them flinched at my tone.

"Stop running around between the assassin guild and the mercenary guild," I continued. "It's inefficient, and frankly, unnecessary. Let's just take what we both want."

I reached into my coat and threw a pouch forward.

—Clink.

The bag hit the floor and split slightly, spilling a glimmer of yellow across the worn wood.

Gold.

A lot of it.

The sound alone was enough to snap them out of their panic.

"…Wait," someone muttered.

"Is that… gold?"

"That's not a small pouch either…"

"…This is a huge catch."

Whispers rippled through the room. Greed crept in, slowly pushing fear aside.

The payment was more than generous—well beyond the standard information fee for the thieves' guild. Enough to count as a bribe. Enough to be tempting.

Finally, one of them stepped forward.

A middle-aged man with a deep scar running straight across his right eye. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was sharp—the kind that had survived back alleys and betrayal alike.

At a glance, he was clearly the most senior among them.

"…What is your request?" he asked.

Good. Someone sensible.

"Looks like someone who can actually hold a conversation," I said. "In that case, I'd like to speak directly with your chief. The details aren't something I intend to share with underlings."

His brow furrowed.

"You want to meet the chief?" He gave a short laugh. "If it's a common request, you can leave it to us. No need to trouble—"

He didn't get it.

I sighed internally.

—Whoosh.

I raised my hand slightly.

Beside me, Velra mirrored the motion without a word.

—Boom!

The floor next to the man's foot exploded.

Old floorboards shattered into splinters as invisible force crushed downward, leaving a deep, spiderwebbed crater inches from his boot.

The room went dead silent.

The scarred man stumbled back a step, sweat breaking out across his temple.

"…Tch."

Velra tilted her head, smiling faintly. "Do be careful. My control is not perfect when I am irritated."

That was a lie.

Her control was flawless.

Which somehow made it worse.

I looked back at the man. "This isn't a 'common request.' And we're not clients you can afford to misunderstand."

Several guild members subtly reached for hidden blades—then froze when Velra's crimson eyes flicked their way.

I continued, voice steady. "You can take the gold, bring us to your chief, and walk away richer than you were this morning."

A pause.

"Or," I added, "you can keep testing your luck and see how much of this building is left standing."

The scarred man swallowed.

His gaze flickered—from the cracked stone floor, to the pouch of gold lying beside my boot, and then, very carefully, to Velra standing behind me.

He lingered on her just a second too long.

I could practically hear his thoughts screaming don't look, don't provoke, don't die.

Honestly, even I was starting to get irritated.

"Quickly," I said, tapping the pouch lightly with my foot. "The ladies behind you are getting bored. Aren't you worried about that?"

Velra smiled.

It was the kind of smile that didn't need teeth to threaten someone.

The man squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenched so hard I thought his molars might crack.

"I apologize," he said through gritted teeth. "But it is impossible to arrange a meeting with the chief."

That tone—

fanatical loyalty.

The kind you only see in organizations that don't survive on ideals, but on fear, respect, and absolute competence.

I clicked my tongue softly.

'Figures. Even in the game, the Central Thieves Guild's chief was untouchable.'

Bribes didn't work.

Threats didn't work.

Not unless you knew exactly where to cut.

The middle-aged man—clearly an aide, maybe even the chief's personal shadow—kept his head lowered, posture rigid. Sweat ran down his temple, but he didn't move.

Fine.

I smiled and nodded, stepping back half a pace.

"There's no helping it, then."

The man exhaled, relief spilling out before he could stop it.

"Thank you for your understanding—"

"I'll take my business elsewhere," I continued calmly. "It's a shame, really. I even brought a cure for Hanhyeol Disease."

Silence.

The air froze.

The scarred man's eyes snapped open.

"…What did you say?"

"Hanhyeol Disease," I repeated casually. "The one that disrupts mana circulation. Gradual numbness, loss of control, eventual total stagnation of internal flow."

I tilted my head, pretending to think.

"In martial terms… ah, yes. Blocked meridians. Permanent ones."

His breath hitched.

Hanhyeol Disease wasn't common.

But among those who lived by mana—thieves included—it was a death sentence worse than execution.

Rare.

Incurable.

Hopeless.

Mostly useless information.

Mostly.

"Wait," he said sharply. "Please—wait a moment!"

I stopped.

"Hm?" I looked back over my shoulder. "Did you change your mind?"

His lips trembled.

That was the reaction I wanted.

"The… the chief," he said carefully, every word weighed. "She… may be willing to meet you. Please, follow me."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh? I thought it was impossible."

He bowed deeply, so fast it was almost desperate.

"It seems," he said hoarsely, "that I was mistaken."

Velra leaned in slightly, her voice brushing my ear.

"…You truly are despicable when you negotiate."

"Thank you," I whispered back. "I learned from the best."

The scarred man turned sharply and gestured down a narrow corridor hidden behind a false wall. The stone slid aside with a low grind, revealing stairs spiraling downward into darkness.

They should've done this from the beginning.

As we followed him, torches igniting one by one as if sensing our presence, something clicked in my mind.

'Right. That woman…'

Even back then.

Even through a screen.

She had been absurdly popular.

Top five in every popularity poll.

Elegant. Ruthless. Untouchable.

Long black hair like ink spilled over silk.

They called her—

The Black Pearl.

I exhaled slowly.

'Didn't she even have a fan club in real life?'

It felt strange.

Meeting a character I once only knew through dialogue boxes and cutscenes.

—Step. Step.

The building looked wrong from the outside.

Old bricks stacked unevenly, walls warped by time and neglect, windows placed without any sense of symmetry. If not for the faint signs etched near the entrance, it would have been easy to mistake it for an abandoned warehouse—or worse, a ruin waiting to collapse.

Yet the moment they crossed the threshold, that impression shattered.

The air changed.

Clean. Still. Almost… refined.

Dust vanished beneath their boots, replaced by polished wooden floors that reflected the dim lantern light. The further they walked inside, the more immaculate everything became, as if the filth of the outer city had been peeled away layer by layer.