The Villains Must Win-Chapter 86: Valerian Cross 6

Back in the present, trapped in the pentagram, Evelyn shut her eyes as the memory finished playing out above her.

A long silence.

Then—

Evelyn chuckled, her chains rattling slightly as she shifted on the cold stone floor. "Ah, those were the good times. Though that last one was a bit of an embarrassment. But hey, who doesn’t have at least that one moment right?"

She stretched as much as her shackles would allow, as if reminiscing about the past was a casual fireside chat rather than a literal interrogation inside a burning pentagram.

Valerian stared at her as if she were the lowest of the low. "You sure have a lot of free time." His tone was flat, unimpressed.

Evelyn smirked. "My dear, when you live as long as I have, you get bored—and when you get bored, you get creative. But anyway, this just proves I’m innocent, doesn’t it? No dark magic, no human sacrifices, no curses of eternal suffering. Well—" she tilted her head as if reconsidering, "—except for a few jinxes and pranks here and there, but no real harm done. Oh! Except for that one guy who lost his tongue because of his foul mouth. But I’d say that was divine justice, wouldn’t you?"

Valerian exhaled sharply through his nose.

"Shut up," Valerian snapped. His grip on her silver dagger tightened, the blade gleaming ominously in the flickering candlelight. For someone with a poker face like his, she sure talked a lot.

The priest beside Valerian stepped forward, his long robes whispering against the stone floor. His expression was as severe as a funeral sermon. "We should not let her live," he intoned. "As long as a witch walks this earth, humanity is under threat."

Evelyn blinked at him before breaking into a laugh. "It’s almost like you’re saying anyone who isn’t human doesn’t deserve to exist. Or have you conveniently forgotten? Every creature in this world is a creation—just like you. The only difference is, some of us have better skin care routines."

The priest’s face darkened. "You dare compare yourself to God’s chosen people?"

Evelyn smirked. "From where I’m standing—or, well, sprawled across this very uncomfortable floor—you lot are the ones acting more like evils than me."

Valerian’s expression remained unreadable.

The pentagram continued to glow, still pulling more of her memories into the air. Evelyn sighed dramatically.

"Well, since we’re all here for a show, shall we see what embarrassing thing plays next? Maybe my failed attempt at ballroom dancing? Or that time I tried baking and nearly set an entire tavern on fire? Oh, I do hope it’s the tavern incident. The looks on their faces were priceless."

Valerian pinched the bridge of his nose. The priest was turning red with rage.

"Cross, this is a waste of time. And our tome—every page of its sacred text—is sacred, not to be wasted on this . . . this—"

"Witch?" Evelyn finished for him with a grin.

Damian’s lips curled in disgust. "Let’s just burn her and be done with it."

Evelyn rolled her eyes, tilting her head back against the cold stone floor. "How original."

Valerian sighed, rubbing his temples. "I will deal with her. You can go now, Priest Damian."

Damian didn’t move, his fingers tightening at the sleeves of his white robes. "Listen, Cross, the Pope grows impatient with the slowness of this mission. Women and children have gone missing left and right while these damned creatures grow stronger by the day. The people are restless, and their faith in the church has diminished. This cannot continue longer."

Evelyn scoffed, drawing their attention. "Hey, old man, why doesn’t the church do something about it themselves? You’re not paying him, are you? From what I understand, you and CROSS have a partnership, not a master-servant arrangement."

Damian’s face darkened. "We don’t need your opinion, witch. Keep your mouth shut. You know nothing of the intricacies of the church or the Cross organization." He turned to Valerian, voice low with irritation. "We supply them with holy weapons, relics, tomes, and spells, and in return, they assist us in eradicating creatures of the night."

Evelyn chuckled, her chains rattling slightly as she shifted. "Oh? Is that how it is, Cross? Are you really so dependent on the church for weapons?" She arched a brow at Valerian, amused. "Because in my hundred-plus years of living, I seem to recall that the CROSS Organization has its own holy weapons, relics, and spell tomes."

Valerian’s jaw tightened. "Stop talking."

But Evelyn only became more delighted, her grin turning mischievous, though her face remained paralyzed. "I don’t believe that’s a secret, is it? So, in a sense, your organization doesn’t really need the church for anything. How interesting that they’re treating you like their servants."

Damian turned red with fury. "You wicked, vile creature! I’ll burn you where you lie if you continue to open your mouth!" He spat again, hand twitching toward the ceremonial dagger at his waist.

Valerian’s voice was sharp and commanding. "Enough, Priest Damian. Leave. I will handle this."

Damian took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He adjusted his already pristine robe with an irritated tug before glaring at Valerian. "I will inform the Pope of this, Cross. You had better handle that thing before he decides to do it for you."

With that, Damian whirled around and stormed out of the underground chamber, the heavy iron door slamming shut behind him.

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating.

Evelyn watched as Valerian slowly approached, his boots echoing against the stone. His imposing figure loomed over her, eyes shadowed under the dim candlelight. The flickering flames played tricks on his sharp features, making him look even colder. Dangerous.

A shiver—not of fear but something else—ran down her spine.

He crouched down just enough so they were almost eye level. His gaze was unreadable, a storm behind those piercing eyes.

Evelyn tilted her head slightly, a smirk curving her lips. "Is this the part where you kill me?"

Valerian didn’t answer right away. His fingers ghosted over the hilt of his sword, but there was no immediate threat in his posture.

He studied her.

And then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and unreadable.

"Not yet."