My Maids are All Final Villainesses-Chapter 27: Possesion

Meanwhile, far from the comfort of the villa and far from the restless young master who could not even find peace in his own bed, Cerys remained hidden within the darkness, her presence completely erased as if she had never existed in the first place.

She did not move.

She did not breathe loudly.

Even her heartbeat was restrained, controlled with precision that came not from training alone, but from instinct born through hardship.

Young master said it clearly...

Her eyes, cold and focused, followed the young man from afar as she remained merged with the shadows.

Once I’m back to the side of the Villainess, I must avoid fated individuals like myself because Fated individuals possess trump cards. Never rush. Never assume victory is yours.

He eyes the young man.

Although she had already killed this man multiple times, although she knew his weaknesses, although she knew how easily his life could be taken, she still chose to stop.

She chose to wait.

She chose to watch.

Because she can feel this one... he is different now.

It is safe to assume that he must be one of the fated ones just like herself.

Her gaze narrowed slightly as she recalled the earlier conversation the young man had with the voice inside him.

That voice.

That presence.

It was not normal.

Even she, who had stepped into the path of assassination and death, who had inherited power that twisted the soul itself, could feel that something was wrong.

That voice... it is not just guidance. It is something else.

And so, even when the young man had reached his final life, even when she could have ended everything with a single step, she did not strike.

She listened.

She followed the young master’s words.

She waited.

Then—

Something changed.

The air itself trembled.

The young man, who had been kneeling and breathing heavily, suddenly froze, his body stiffening as if something unseen had taken hold of him.

A faint glow began to seep out from his skin.

At first, it was weak.

Barely noticeable.

And grew.

And grew.

Mana surged from within him like a violent tide, spreading outward in waves that caused the ground beneath him to crack and the air around him to distort.

The cave, once quiet and still, now trembled under the pressure of something ancient and powerful awakening within a vessel that was never meant to contain it.

The young man’s fingers curled tightly, his nails digging into his own palms as his veins bulged, dark lines spreading across his arms like roots of something unnatural.

His breathing changed.

No longer panicked.

No longer frantic.

It became steady.

Heavy.

Controlled.

His back straightened slowly, his head lifting as if a new will had taken command.

The mana around him condensed, no longer chaotic, no longer scattered, but refined, focused, and terrifyingly dense.

This... this is not his power...

Cerys remained still, her eyes watching everything without blinking.

This is the old man.

The transformation did not stop at his aura.

Even the way he stood changed.

Gone was the arrogance of youth.

Gone was the recklessness.

What remained was composure.

Experience.

A presence that carried the weight of countless years.

When he finally spoke, his voice was no longer that of a young man.

It was deeper.

Colder.

Filled with a calm that only those who had lived long enough to see everything could possess.

"Come out," he said, his gaze scanning the darkness around him. "There is no need to hide any longer."

Silence answered him.

But he did not react.

Instead, he sighed softly, as if dealing with something troublesome yet expected.

"I understand your intent," he continued, his tone steady and composed. "You were sent here to kill. That is your duty. That is your role. But things have changed."

He took a step forward, the ground cracking slightly under the pressure of his presence.

"The one you were targeting... he is no longer here."

His lips curved into a faint smile, one that carried neither arrogance nor fear.

"I have taken his place."

He raised his hand slowly, showing no sign of hostility.

"There is no need for conflict. We can talk this out. We can come to an agreement that benefits both sides."

His eyes scanned the shadows again, sharper now, more aware.

"I do not seek war. I do not seek unnecessary death. If your master has a reason for targeting this body, then let us discuss it. I am certain there is a solution that does not involve bloodshed."

The cave remained silent.

Then—

From within the darkness, a voice emerged.

Cold.

Unmoved.

"The young master does not want to dirty his hands."

A pause.

"That is why you must die."

The old man’s expression did not change, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I see," he said softly. "So this is not a personal grudge."

He lowered his hand slowly.

"Listen carefully," he continued, his tone now carrying a faint edge. "The person you were sent to kill... he is gone. His consciousness is gone. His will is gone. What remains is me."

He placed a hand on his chest.

"I am not him. I am someone far older. Far more experienced. Killing this body will not achieve your master’s goal."

He took another step forward.

"If anything, it will create more problems."

From the shadows, Cerys did not respond immediately.

He speaks well...

Her gaze remained steady.

But words mean nothing.

"Prove it," she said at last.

The old man’s brows lifted slightly.

"Prove it?" he repeated.

"Yes," Cerys replied. "Prove that you are not the same weak man I killed several times before."

For a brief moment, silence returned.

Then the old man nodded.

"Very well."

He raised his hand, and without chanting, without preparation, mana gathered instantly at his fingertips.

The air around him distorted as a complex magic formation appeared in midair, layers upon layers of intricate symbols forming with precision that no ordinary mage could replicate.

The formation rotated slowly, glowing with intense energy before collapsing inward.

A moment later, a pillar of fire erupted from the ground, twisting and spiraling like a living creature, its heat so intense that the surrounding stone began to melt.

The flames did not spread randomly.

They moved with control.

With purpose.

Like a weapon wielded by a master.

The old man lowered his hand.

"That level of casting," he said calmly. "Is not something that young man could achieve."

Cerys watched.

Then—

"Not enough."

Her voice was calm.

Unmoved.

"In my kingdom, talents can reach that level easily."

The old man’s expression froze for a fraction of a second.

What?

Inside, irritation flared.

This girl...

But outwardly, he remained composed.

"I see," he said slowly. "Then allow me to demonstrate further."

I cannot waste too much mana... not in this condition...

Still, he raised his hand again.

This time, the formation that appeared was even more complex.

It expanded outward, covering a wider area, multiple layers interlocking and rotating at different speeds, each symbol glowing with increasing intensity.

The ground beneath him cracked further as heat spread through the cave.

Then—

With a sharp motion, the formation collapsed.

A wave of fire surged outward, not as a chaotic explosion, but as a controlled expansion that filled the space with burning energy, each flame acting independently, searching, probing, consuming everything in its path.

The cave was illuminated completely.

Shadows vanished.

Or so it seemed.

The old man lowered his hand again, breathing slightly heavier now.

"Is that sufficient?" he asked.

From the darkness—

"No."

The answer came without hesitation.

"Show me something that the younger generation cannot achieve."

The old man’s eyes sharpened.

"You..."

Realization struck him.

She is stalling.

His expression darkened.

"You have no intention of letting me go."

His tone changed instantly, losing all pretense of negotiation.

"You are trying to exhaust my mana."

From the shadows, Cerys did not deny it.

Silence was her answer.

The old man’s lips curled into a cold smile.

"Very well."

His mana surged again, more violently this time, no longer restrained, no longer controlled with care.

"If you insist on fighting to the death... then I will grant it to you."

He raised both hands.

Fire erupted.

Not in controlled pillars.

Not in refined constructs.

But in a storm.

Flames burst from every direction, spreading across the cave like a raging inferno, consuming everything, leaving no space untouched.

Cerys moved.

Her body flickered through the shadows, appearing and disappearing as she avoided each wave of fire, her movements precise, her presence impossible to lock onto.

The old man’s attacks followed her relentlessly.

Each burst of flame targeted where she might be.

Each explosion covered more ground.

The cave shook under the assault, cracks spreading along the walls as heat intensified to unbearable levels.

"Stop this," the old man said through clenched teeth. "You cannot win this way. You are wasting both our time."

Cerys did not respond.

She moved again.

And again.

And again.

Each time avoiding death by the narrowest margin, her form blending with darkness, slipping through the gaps in the flames like a ghost.

The old man’s expression grew colder.

His attacks grew fiercer.

Fire filled the entire space.

Then...

He stopped.

For a brief moment.

His eyes narrowed.

There.

His hand snapped forward.

The flames converged instantly, forming a massive vortex that collapsed inward toward a single point.

The space contracted.

The heat intensified.

And within that point...

A figure emerged.

Trapped.

Cornered.

The old man’s lips curved into a sharp smile.

"Found you."

His voice was cold.

Final.

"You’re dead."