Wasn’t I the Female Lead of a Regret Novel? [Novel] Chapter 42

Chapter 42

“Did they really think they could keep the great Peter trapped in a backwater well like this?”

Peter let out a mocking snort as he pried open the kitchen window. The house was deathly silent, the air so still he could hear his own heartbeat. Not even a sliver of moonlight reached inside the pitch-black room.

It was well past midnight, and the household was deep in slumber. Even Chris, who usually stood guard, had finally gone to catch some shut-eye. This was his chance.

Peter had already stripped off that pathetic apron. He hadn’t spent years clawing his way up just to end up as a glorified housemaid. He was the future
Vice Guild Master of the White Guild. He couldn’t let his talents rot away in a place like this.

“Winning people over is easier than breathing for someone like me,” he whispered, a conceited smirk playing on his lips.

He hadn’t actually been afraid of that frying pan back then. He’d just been playing along, pretending to be cowed. Truly. His docile behavior over the last few days had all been part of the plan, a calculated move to lower their guard and make them turn a blind eye.

He wasn’t like those other amateurs. He knew how to assess his surroundings, adapt, and wait for the perfect moment to strike. And when that moment came, he never missed.

“That’s me. Peter, the rising star of the White Guild. I guess being this talented is a curse in itself.”

Peter shook his head with exaggerated humility. If the cursed necklace around his neck kept him from physically leaving, then he just had to notify the guild. They would surely come for him; he was far too valuable an asset to lose.

He reached into his sock and pulled out a small tool, no larger than a thumb.

“Finally finished.”

His eyes gleamed with a sense of superiority. The device looked crude, but he had spent his time as a servant secretly scavenging components from the magical tools and equipment scattered around the mansion. Being a housemaid had actually worked in his favor, it gave him the perfect cover to pilfer parts right under their noses.

“I should actually be thanking them,” he chuckled.

It didn’t matter that they had stripped him of his belongings. In the end, he had built what he needed. It had just taken a little time.

Without further delay, Peter switched the device on and began tapping the buttons in a rhythmic pattern.

The signal went out.

The crude-looking tool was a transmitter. Any competent guild member knew how to build one even in the most barren conditions, and Peter considered himself more than competent.

By now, one of the nearby mana birds should have picked up the signal. The White Guild maintained a network of mechanical birds across the country, designed to receive distress signals from agents in the field.

A few dozen seconds passed. Then, from beyond the open window, came the sound of
fluttering wings.

“There you are.”

Peter’s face lit up as he waited for the bird.

A white bird landed gracefully on the windowsill.

“Number Three, it’s you.”

Peter recognized the mana bird by the distinctive wave pattern on its white feathers. This unit was in charge of the southern territories. He skillfully scooped the bird into his hands and pressed a button on its underside to begin recording.

He reported that Vendia Rose had been located but that he was currently being
held captive. He detailed the location and the current situation.

“Vendia Rose’s personality differs significantly from previous reports. She appears to be suffering from mental trauma following her divorce. Marchioness Heden is aiding her, and Vendia is surrounded by several associates. So I request an immediate backup.”

Having finished his report, he pressed the button again. The recording was
saved.

Since the signal wouldn’t reach the capital from here, Number Three would fly
back to the guild to deliver the message. At its current speed, it would arrive
in two days.

Peter stroked the faithful bird, preparing to toss it back into the sky, when suddenly—

“Agh! Hot!”

Peter screamed and reflexively dropped the bird.

“…Number Three?”

The shock lasted only a second before his face went blank with despair. In an instant, a flare of fire had engulfed the bird, incinerating it so completely that not even a speck of ash remained.

“How did…”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

Peter spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. He hadn’t sensed anyone’s presence, yet a voice had come from directly behind him.

Through the deep shadows, Chris walked slowly toward him.

“You… you stuttering brat. Did you do this?”

“I cannot allow you to cause trouble for the Master.”

“You…”

“What are you?”

“That…”

In that instant, Peter’s breath hitched.

“…is none of your concern.”

Peter turned deathly pale. One moment Chris was several paces away, and the next, he was standing directly in front of him. Before Peter could even blink, the transmitter was gone from his hand.

In fact, Chris hadn’t even seemed to move his arm, yet the device was simply there, resting in his palm.

“Hmm. Quite poorly made.”

Chris turned the pathetic piece of junk over in his hand before closing his fist.

The transmitter was crushed into powder, which sifted through Chris’s fingers and scattered across the floor.

“It’s actually quite disappointing. To think that after all those experiments to create perfect magical devices, the best you could do with the parts you stole was this piece of trash.”

“…”

Peter swallowed hard.

Chris wasn’t stuttering. Not even a little. His expressionless face, partially veiled in shadow, was so chilling that Peter felt a physical wave of cold wash over him.

“…Does she know? Does that woman know what kind of monster you are?”

“Of course not.”

“You think I’ll just stay quiet? I’ll tell her everything! I’ll—”

“Shh.”

Chris placed a large hand on top of Peter’s head.

“Nothing happened tonight. You will return to being a simple housemaid. And you will never think of doing something so foolish again.”

“…”

A pale blue light bled from Chris’s palm and sank into Peter’s skull.
Peter’s eyes, which had been frantic with terror, suddenly grew dull. The light in them flickered and died.

“Nod if you understand.”

Peter bobbed his head vacantly.

“Now, go back to your room.”

The moment the command was given, Peter turned and walked out of the kitchen with the mechanical gait of a programmed machine.

Chris stood still, staring into the darkness. He had intervened on impulse, but even so, he couldn't shake the foul mood that had settled over him.

He thought of Vendia’s back as she had left with Ron. A surge of inexplicable irritation tightened the veins in his neck. He felt a sudden, violent urge to overturn everything, the desire to accelerate his plans regardless of the consequences.

“…”

Chris slowly turned his head to the side.

As he looked toward the corner, he heard a sharp, stifled gasp. One corner of his mouth curled upward.

A moment later, he heard the sound of small, frantic footsteps running in the opposite direction, the person was clearly trying and failing to remain silent.

His dark, clouded eyes shimmered with a twisted sense of amusement. A smile
spread across his face, a smile that was as cruel as it was beautiful.

“Now, what will you do, Master?”