The Retribution of Obsession
After the village fell to ruin under the weight of obsession's karma, there was nothing left to do but accept that it was over. Yuria had no money to buy a home in her childhood, no stable job to rely on. A cold assessment of reality left no paths forward except selling her body—a figure so alluring it could even ensnare nobles. And then, to make matters worse, she lost even the place she could call home.
No one remained to support the young girls. They could either starve to death on the streets after days without food, or end up as playthings for filthy nobles. Weighing her dignity against her life was the only choice she had. She clung to her pride until the bitter end, but reality didn't improve. Days without meals were commonplace, and the rare food that came her way was never anything substantial—she had no memory of ever eating a proper meal.
When she finally lost even that so-called house, nothing was left. No, it had barely qualified as a home to begin with. A tiny stable with a filthy floor, so drafty in winter from the countless holes that she had to pile layer upon layer of straw just to sleep. There were days when exhaustion made her think, Maybe I should just turn to banditry, steal from others...
Endless hunger, mental torment, the nobles' ceaseless exploitation. She lost everything. Bandits multiplied, and soon the village itself was gone. But the one who saved her—and the village—was a single man.
He had crossed paths with her once before, teaching her practical skills like basic dagger techniques and footwork. Her ability to resist intruders stemmed mostly from what he'd taught her. Naturally, Yuria pushed him away at first. Every man who approached her seemed to have only that kind of intent. The wounds she'd suffered made it impossible to take his words at face value.
And he seemed to understand that, never forcing anything on her or pressuring her with words. It might have been consideration. Their first meeting, he simply observed her movements. The second, he provoked her with a slightly grating tone to guide her. She realized he was secretly helping her grow stronger exactly one month after they met.
Before she knew it, the walls she'd built had crumbled, accepting him. By the time he taught her useful stances, he was having her take down light skeletons that raided the village—low-level monsters even ordinary folk could handle one-on-one. But skeletons armed and in groups were a different story. Wielding actual weapons, a single misstep could mean a fatal wound. Give three regular skeletons clubs or swords, and even seasoned fighters could end up injured.
"...Ugh."
Today was no different. She could handle two or three with ease, but beyond that, scratches started piling up. And Yuria scrambled to hide those wounds. Afraid he'd be disappointed. Afraid he'd abandon her. She always pretended to be fine, gritting her teeth behind a smile.
But that didn't last long before he noticed.
It was the first time his voice carried anger like that. When Yuria heard it, she naturally assumed it was because her skills were so lacking. After all, her sister Cheondo-hwa, standing right there beside her, had completed the task he'd assigned without a single scratch.
For some reason, jealousy—or a competitive fire—burned hotter. She vaguely knew he wouldn't abandon her over something like this. But in those immature days, she forgot that momentarily.
"S-Sorry... I'm s-sorry. Sniff, ugh..."
It was pathetic. She knew she looked utterly wretched. Some wounds had festered or gotten infected from improper treatment, robbing her of sleep night after night. She'd snapped irritably even when Cheondo-hwa voiced concern.
In the end, it all came out. Bursting into inexplicable tears before him, she hated herself for it. Her breath caught in her throat. A stabbing pain twisted in her chest. Sudden terror gripped her.
Thump, thump, thump.
The thought that she'd disappointed him filled her mind completely.
"S-Sor..."
Her body froze mid-sob. Was this it? Truly, truly being abandoned...? Even she'd discard a useless hero like herself...
Grab.
His hand seized her wounded arm. Yuria squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head like a frightened rabbit.
Squish.
But the warmth that followed left her bewildered. She lifted her head. "...Ugh, ah?"
Peeking through half-opened lids, a firm male body pressed close. Not soft, but the solid muscle earned through daily training. Yet contrary to that beastly physique, his voice was incredibly gentle.
"..."
It would feel like the sky collapsing. Without him, she was just another former slave girl—nothing more.
But...
"P-Precious... you say."
A warmth bloomed in the center of her chest. An emotion she'd never felt before. Perhaps that's when she began harboring feelings for him.
By the time she'd become a capable adventurer in her own right, she thought he'd leave her. Instead, he made her part of his core group, training her harder and harder. Starvation training and climbing mountains while carrying boulders twice her size were grueling near-death ordeals. But Ian, now so much closer, had become indispensable to her.
She monitored him constantly, ensuring nothing inconvenienced him without showing it. Whenever he needed her or called, she'd come running, no matter what.
Yet the more she saw him, the more time passed, the more women gathered around Ian. Heroes in skimpy outfits with more skin exposed than covered. Women more useful and capable than her, claiming their spots.
"..."
For some reason, her chest itched right in the center.
Before she knew it, she'd snapped to awareness with her dagger's hilt gripped tight.
The time spent with him was being stolen by other heroes. His visits grew rarer. She'd never truly believed he'd watch over only her for life. Ian was a capable instructor and fighter. And among the guild's heroes, she'd never seen anyone who resembled her.
She knew it. Ian had only used her. By force.
She, Yuria the hero, was utterly useless and weak.
Realizing that, her lips wouldn't part. It just—hurt. So painfully.
Everything up to then felt negated. So perhaps that's why she grew jealous. She'd thought she was his most beloved hero. But she wasn't.
Of course, she knew he still spared her glances. But the farther he drifted, the thicker the itch in her chest grew—that desire.
Yet because of it, she squandered chances to grow stronger. She botched things she used to handle flawlessly. Desperation to not disappoint him made her try harder, but she couldn't match others in everything.
And when the final chance came...
She failed again.
Misfortune comes in waves, they say. He left the guild—and the village—without looking back, leaving only a single letter. And soon after, the hope she'd pinned on his return...
One year, two, three passed. The other guild members scattered one by one. Yuria finally had to accept it.
She'd been abandoned.
Some heroes, shocked by their own abandonment, fled the guild they'd poured so much into. Ten years. In the end, she was alone.
Her mind knew it. He'd left, disappointed. Or for some other reason.
But Yuria couldn't accept it. The echo of Ian's hand stroking her hair lingered in her room, on her body.
So she waited. Ten years, eleven. Cleaning the vast empty mansion. Killing invading foes in her spare time. Waiting for him to return.
The guild had become an empty shell. And on the fifteenth year, as promised...
The dormitory housing all those she'd desperately protected vanished too. All those short but cherished memories with them—gone.
All that remained was the guild castle storing Ian's and the others' weapons and high-rare items. She couldn't let them leave, fearing how he'd react if they did.
But if he never returned? The mere hypothesis brought crushing emptiness.
She had nothing left. The necklace he'd gifted her, the statue he'd made, the group photos—all lost. She couldn't protect any of it.
The only place still holding his faint presence: his office.
But...
"...There's no way."
Right. There wasn't. No trace of his scent. No sign of him.
Cleaning had shifted everything bit by bit. Even the messy bed from his tossing and turning—gone.
If he never came back, she truly would be alone.
Realizing that, she could only shake her head in denial. Her lifeless eyes murdered enemies, turning her into a blood-soaked demon reflected in the full-length mirror—a witch, plain and simple.
Without Ian, Yuria was just a deranged killer.
And so, on the fifteenth year...
He returned.