The Villainous Me Turned the Losers into Blackened Bosses-Chapter 5 - Nightmare

It was late at night, and the hallway was silent. Eir stood there holding a lantern, her figure small and drowsy in the dim light.

As a wolf-girl, her canine instincts gave her a healthy routine of early to bed and early to rise. She was already dressed in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes sleepily, her voice soft and delicate.

“Eir just finished copying the book… came out to use the bathroom… and saw that Young Master’s room… yawn… still had the light on…”

“Ah, I’ll finish reading this letter and head to bed.”

“Last time, Young Master… yawn… said the same thing… but in the morning, you were asleep at the desk. Don’t stay up too late… Eir gets worried.”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’m still young; I won’t die from staying up late.”

Will thought to himself that in his past life, he’d pulled all-nighters well into his thirties. Now, with a teenage body, he could surely push himself harder.

“Mm… that doesn’t sound quite right. Well then, Young Master… good~night~!”

Eir said softly, closing the door gently, though her expression hinted at some lingering thoughts.

Will returned to his desk.

Deciphering the ancient text wasn’t particularly difficult. The language was mostly understandable, though some missing phrases required educated guesses.

It was strange—written language in this world hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Of course, Will didn’t expect a trashy light novel to have realistic world-building when it came to linguistics.

As he read, he jotted down simplified spells and procedures on scrap paper, analyzing their meanings in his mind.

Extreme Flame Meteor was considered a basic-level spell in ancient flame magic. Witches who specialized in ancient magic often treated it like a slightly slow-charging basic attack.

But in this trashy novel, there was a common trope: “The older the magic, the stronger it is.” So, as long as it could be cast, it would surpass modern magic in power.

“First, apply the catalyst to a spherical object? Then… hmm, the chant goes like this… okay…”

“The temperature required for the catalyst… is actually this low?”

“Hmm, the activation spell is ancient magic? Its modern substitute would be…”

…

Muttering to himself, Will began to feel drowsy. The flickering firelight before him blurred, and his thoughts drifted into a nightmare—one that had yet to occur in this world.

The flames in his dream were the same color as the candlelight before him. Amidst the fire, a pair of brown-gray beast ears swayed with the flickering light. A girl in a maid’s outfit stood unsteadily but resolutely.

Her body was marred with alternating burns and frostbite. This was the result of an inexperienced user of Ice Armor facing a foe far beyond their capabilities.

Before her stood a massive flame dragon—the final boss of the 50th floor of the dungeon Galactic Summit, the Flame Dragon Arl.

She panted heavily, trying to stand but stumbling back to her knees. Her white stockings were smeared with ash.

The dragon’s shadow loomed over her, engulfing her entirely.

Its enormous claw slammed down beside her, sending her flying with the shockwave. She didn’t even have a proper weapon in her hands.

“Ugh… I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I… I shouldn’t have been like this…”

“I-I’m sorry, Hugh. I… I should’ve stood up for you every time you were bullied… ugh…”

Lying on her side, she struggled to lift herself, her gaze fixed on the shadow atop the dragon’s back.

“Can you come back? I didn’t know… I didn’t know you were this strong…”

“Everyone in Morning Star misses you…”

“I… I miss you too—”

“If you come back, I… I’ll make you tea every afternoon… I’ll bake you little cakes…”

“If they insult you again, I’ll speak up for you…”

But beside him was a petite dragon-girl, her dragon ears brushing against his cheek, her tail swaying against his back.

“I don’t want to kill you, and I won’t come back. Surrender.”

The shadow atop the dragon’s back didn’t even listen to Eir’s words. Coldly, he threw out the line before turning away, wrapping his arm around the dragon-girl and leaving.

“Ugh… so I lost after all?”

With the same inhuman “ears” and “tail,” she had lost so miserably, left battered and broken in the searing flames left by the dragon.

She clutched her bruised and burned arms, half-kneeling on the ground. Her tail, its tip scorched black, lay limply against the ground. She trembled, her tears falling in large drops onto the ground, only to evaporate upon contact with the scorching heat. Her wolf ears, once proud and upright, now drooped weakly, crusted with dried blood.

“Hugh… I know I was wrong. Please… don’t leave… From now on… I’ll always… always stand by your side… I won’t listen to them anymore…”

Her injuries worsened, her charred skin crumbling to ash.

Her trembling grew more violent, her shoulder armor sliding off piece by piece.

Her sobs became more desperate, her words dissolving into incoherent cries.

Will stared at the small, helpless figure in the flames.

He remembered this scene—it was the one he had described to Eir in his “fairy tale.”

That trashy novel had been especially cruel, thoughtfully including illustrations for each of the original party members’ defeats. The image of the wolf-girl maid being obliterated by the dragon-girl in the firelight was drawn from behind—her scorched tail, trembling shoulders, and drooping beast ears.

And the distant, untouchable figure atop the dragon’s back.

“Super loser” didn’t even begin to describe it.

The firelight even resembled a literal funeral pyre.

“Eir…”

Will’s heart ached.

As an “observer outside the story,” he wasn’t supposed to feel this way.

In the original story, every time one of the heroines failed in their pursuit of the protagonist, it was the highlight for readers.

After all, who doesn’t enjoy the satisfaction of watching someone’s “chasing love funeral” unfold?

“You ignored me before, but now I’m out of your league,” right?

Especially when the protagonist always had a new, better, stronger love interest by his side.

Back then, seeing this scene would’ve felt bittersweet but deserved.

But…

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This was the clingy, obedient little maid who had been by his side for over a decade.

The one who, late at night, would carry a lantern, knock on his door, and yawn while telling him to go to bed because health was important.

“Eir—”

The one who, in the afternoon, would sit in the garden, listen to his lectures, and diligently write down every word in her notebook.

“Eir!”

The one who, in the morning, would wake up to train with him, join in his antics, and later bring him a freshly brewed cup of tea.

“EIR!!!”

Will reached out, crossing the flames, and grabbed Eir’s trembling shoulders.

“Y-Y-Y-Y-Young Master?!”

He hadn’t crossed into the dream as a “soul” to rescue her from the illustration. Instead…

In reality, he was tightly gripping the wrist of Eir, who stood before him in her velvet pajamas, holding a thick blanket. The lamplight made her face look especially red.

She was five or six years younger than the Eir in his nightmare.

“Was it a nightmare? Oh right… I knew from the start. Whew… I got too caught up in it…”

Will looked up at Eir, who was holding the blanket.

“But, Eir, why are you here?”