Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant-Chapter 95: Before the Mask Fades [1]

The butchering room of Bjron the Butcher was silent.

Inside, everything was broken.

The wooden worktable, once stained with years of blood and routine, was split down the middle like it had been struck by a massive axe. But there was no axe in sight—only deep, unnatural claw marks trailing across the walls and floor, as if something had rampaged through with no regard for what stood in its way.

Rusty hooks dangled loosely from the ceiling, some twisted into unrecognizable shapes.

Others still held what remained of meat—if it could even be called that anymore. Chunks of flesh, torn and shredded, dripped sluggishly onto the cracked stone floor.

The scent in the room was unbearable.

Not the usual stench of dried blood and animal fat—but something fouler, more rotten. Like whatever had passed through this place hadn’t just killed... it had corrupted.

A butcher’s knife lay on the floor, its handle still slick with sweat. Bjron had put up a fight.

But now he was dead, killed by Eren—Julies—a few moments ago.

His throat was opened as blood kept coming out of it.

On the ceiling of the room, a large bat was watching the dead body of Bjron.

It flipped its wings and descended towards the dead body.

The large bat landed silently beside Bjron’s corpse, its wings folding in with eerie precision. For a moment, it remained still—its glossy, obsidian eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight that barely reached into the ruined room.

Then, its body began to shift.

Bones cracked.

Flesh twisted.

A grotesque sound, like wet parchment being torn apart, echoed softly as the bat’s form unraveled into something humanoid.

Within seconds, where the bat had once perched now stood a tall woman clad in a long, tattered cloak of night-colored leather.

She was Velra, the fallen noble Vampir of the Drazroth Empire. The one who taught blood magic to Julies Evans.

She crouched beside Bjron’s body, studying it—not with sorrow or disgust, but with fascination. Her fingers, long and thin like a spider’s legs, traced the jagged edge of the butcher’s torn throat.

"Parasite really managed to kill him... huh."

She muttered under her breath as she glanced at the dead body.

Now, this body’s blood belonged to her.

She had been watching the fight between Julies the parasite demon and Bjron the butcher, and she had to say—he really used the blood magic to the best of its potential.

Only a Vampir demon had that much control over blood at the start.

It wasn’t perfect yet, but she knew as time passed, the parasite would have better control than now.

Velra’s eyes gleamed as she stood fully upright, her bare feet soundless against the blood-slick floor.

Her pupils narrowed into slits, gleaming crimson in the dim light as her tongue briefly darted out to lick a speck of blood from her fingertip.

"Imperfect technique..." she murmured, almost wistfully. "But the instincts were exquisite."

She turned her gaze toward the far wall—where claw marks had carved through the stone like soft clay—and let out a faint, amused breath.

Julies... no, that thing inside him. The parasite. It had evolved faster than she expected.

Velra’s hand hovered over Bjron’s corpse.

With a flick of her fingers, the blood that had pooled around the body trembled—then began slithering upwards, tendrils weaving into the air like serpents. The crimson liquid spiraled around her hand, responding to her will, before forming a shimmering sphere that pulsed faintly like a living heart.

"It’s fresh," she whispered, voice low and reverent. "Fear. Rage. Survival. All of it is still here..."

She inhaled deeply, letting the essence of the memory-laced blood flow through her like perfume.

A low chuckle rumbled in her throat, not unlike the purring of a beast. "You surprise me, little parasite."

The blood orb throbbed faintly in her palm before vanishing, absorbed into her skin.

Velra closed her eyes, tasting the last flicker of Bjron’s life—his fear, the exact moment his throat was torn open, the desperate gasp that never became a scream.

And beneath it all...

A glimpse.

A vision of Julies, wreathed in shifting shadow, eyes glowing faintly with unholy crimson. Not entirely demon. Not entirely human.

Becoming.

That’s what excited her most.

The parasite wasn’t merely mimicking blood magic. It was evolving through it. Making it its own.

Velra stepped away from the corpse, her boots forming from the shadows as she walked, her cloak trailing like liquid night behind her. She didn’t look back.

Bjron’s body twitched—just once—before lying still again. Empty. Drained.

Julies Evans’ POV:

The abandoned mine was quiet—way too quiet after the recent chaos.

...And I liked it just like that.

My body wasn’t fully healed, considering the small amount of mid-grade healing potion I drank, but it was fine for now.

Lila’s ragged breathing was the only sound I could hear.

I walked forward with Lila still clinging to my back.

Considering what she had gone through, it was more likely that she would have PTSD, but I only hoped that she could sleep.

At least for now.

I felt her fingers tighten slightly around my neck, her breathing uneven, shallow. She wasn’t asleep yet—not fully. Just slipping in and out of it, like her body wanted rest but her mind wouldn’t let her have it.

Her cheek rested against my shoulder—burning hot.

Fever.

I could smell the dried blood on her—some of it hers, some of it not—and I didn’t have the strength or the materials to clean her up properly.

But I kept walking.

"E-Eren..."

At that moment, Lila opened her mouth and trembled as she called out the fake name of my fake face.

I slightly turned my back and was only a few inches away from Lila’s face. Her golden eyes met the forest green eyes of mine.

I gulped quite a bit of saliva as I was stunned for a moment by seeing a woman’s face this close to me, but I quickly snapped out of it.

"What is it...?"

Her hazy gaze met mine, and she didn’t say anything for a moment—just stared at me.

"..."

Just as I was about to call out to her again, she opened her mouth and whispered.

"Will you come with me?"

"I am going with you."

I replied instantly the next moment.

She didn’t say anything for a while.

Her voice trembled—not just from weakness or fever, but from something deeper. A quiet plea wrapped in exhaustion and the ache of too many broken things.

"Not like this. Will you come with me? Away from the north? For forever?"

Her words hung heavy in the air, like ash that refused to settle.