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{3rd Pov}
Ram lay trapped beneath a heavy pile of collapsed rubble, her body pinned down, motionless. The weight pressing on her chest made it hard to breathe.
Dust filled the air, and her lungs burned as she coughed again and again, blood coating her lips.
Her skin was badly burned in several places—blackened, blistered, and torn.
Multiple wounds covered her body, some of them deep enough to show bone, and she was bleeding so much it was becoming difficult to remain conscious.
But even in that condition—broken, crushed, and dying—Ram had no intention of calling out for help. She had no interest in being saved.
In fact, a part of her welcomed the idea of dying right there, in pain and in silence. At least it would finally end.
Two years ago, things were different—completely different. Her life, although far from perfect, had been something she had quietly come to cherish.
She worked as a maid in the Roswaal mansion alongside her younger twin sister, Rem.
Despite having lost her horn—a core part of her Oni identity—and despite being the only survivor of her tribe, Ram had come to accept that life had given her another chance.
Even if her past was tragic, even if she was serving under a master who was eccentric, manipulative, and terrifying at times, she had carved out a sense of peace for herself.
Roswaal was a lot of things, most of them terrible, but he had given her a place to stay, a role to fulfill, and more importantly, he allowed her to stay by Rem's side.
Those quiet, ordinary days with her sister—working, cooking, scolding her, teasing her, laughing with her—those were the best days of Ram's life. The happiest she had ever been.
But that life came to an end in a single, irreversible moment.
One day, out of nowhere, Rem collapsed.
Her breathing stopped.
Her body went cold.
Panic took over, and they rushed to find out what had happened. But it was already too late. The cause was a curse, a fatal one. There was no time to even attempt saving her.
Ram could still remember every second of that day—the moment she realized her sister wasn't going to wake up again, the sound of her own screams, the way her legs gave out underneath her.
She cried endlessly, clutching Rem's hand even as it grew cold and lifeless.
She begged Roswaal to do something. She pleaded with Beatrice, who possessed powerful magic, to find a way to bring her back. But no matter how much she screamed or how hard she cried, the answer was always the same.
There was nothing that could be done.
Ram had to watch as the only family she had, the only person in the world who made her feel human again, died in front of her.
She watched Rem's body wither away into something unrecognizable before she finally buried her in the forest behind the mansion, tears falling silently as she placed dirt over the grave.
The grief did not go away. It lingered for days, then weeks. For a long time, she did nothing. She stayed in her room, her eyes red and swollen.
She couldn't eat. She couldn't sleep. And even when she did, she only saw Rem in her dreams. But eventually, grief turned into something darker.
It turned into anger.
Ram stormed into Roswaal's chambers and demanded answers. She accused him, shouted at him, grabbed him by the collar, and screamed until her voice gave out. Did he know? Had he seen this coming? Had he allowed it to happen for the sake of his plan?
Roswaal didn't deny it. He didn't shout back, didn't threaten her. He just looked at her with that same calm, cold stare and spoke the truth in that irritatingly casual tone of his.
"In fact, this is beyond even me," he said. "If you're looking for someone to blame, then perhaps you should blame Emilia. And maybe you should blame yourself. Rem would still be alive if things had gone according to my plan. Someone should have returned with you two that day. If you had only done your part and stayed with Emilia, this could have been avoided."
Those words shattered something inside Ram.
She had always known Roswaal was manipulative and untrustworthy. But he had never lied to her. Even when she began to suspect his true intentions, it was he who confirmed them.
He confessed his goal of reviving Echidna, his so-called "Sensei," and admitted he was pulling strings behind the scenes to manipulate events toward that outcome.
She didn't approve, but she stayed quiet, hoping for a way to sabotage his plans without direct confrontation.
She remembered that day at the capital, how she had deliberately separated herself from Emilia. She had hoped that even a small disruption would derail Roswaal's manipulations.
That maybe, just maybe, if things didn't go as he expected, he would reconsider the lengths he was willing to go to. She hadn't thought the consequences would be this severe.
And now, she couldn't escape the guilt.
She began to believe that Rem had died because of her own selfishness. Because she had refused to follow orders.
Because she had wanted to defy Roswaal, even in a small, subtle way.
She thought she had been doing the right thing.
She thought she was making a moral choice. But in the end, that moral high ground meant nothing.
Her sister was gone.
She blamed herself. Fully. Completely.
It was her fault.
All of it.
Because she was self-righteous.
Because she believed her own judgment was always correct.
Because of her sloth—her refusal to act decisively—Rem died.
After that, the rage she once felt disappeared. It burned out completely, leaving behind nothing but emptiness.
Ram was no longer the strong-willed, sarcastic maid who teased others, who protected her sister, who defied her master with quiet resistance. That version of Ram died along with Rem.
What remained was a hollow shell of who she used to be.
From then on, she stopped resisting Roswaal.
There was no point anymore.
Her days became a blur of orders, missions, and blood. If Roswaal asked her to poison someone, she did it without hesitation.
If he ordered her to assassinate a threat, she obeyed without question. Whatever task he gave, no matter how dark or unethical, she carried it out with robotic efficiency.
And when Roswaal finally asked her to help set fire to the capital—something she would have once stood against without a second thought—she didn't flinch. She didn't argue. She did it.
Because none of it mattered anymore.
Nothing mattered.
Rem was gone.
And as far as Ram was concerned, she should have died with her.
The only reason Ram continued to live after everything that had happened was because of Roswaal.
After losing her sister, Rem, she had developed a deeply unhealthy, twisted sense of dependence on him. It wasn't loyalty, not in the traditional sense.
It wasn't admiration or faith either.
It was the result of losing everything else that had ever mattered to her.
Roswaal was the only person left who gave her a purpose—no matter how dark, misguided, or morally wrong that purpose was.
And over time, that dependence grew worse.
Much worse.
Especially after Rem died.
So, when Roswaal told her that he needed her to assist him in setting the Royal Capital on fire, she didn't hesitate.
She didn't argue.
She didn't even question the order.
She simply obeyed.
Like she had been doing for so long now.
Everyone believed that Subaru Natsuki, the so-called Sin Archbishop of Pride, was the one who burned down most of the capital.
And it was true—he did play a major role in the destruction.
He had unleashed flames so massive they engulfed entire districts.
But what people didn't know, what they never suspected, was that it would have been impossible for even a powerful quasi fire-spirit to cause that much destruction on its own.
That was where Ram came in.
Before the fire, she had been ordered to distribute strange and dangerous materials throughout the city—things she only barely understood.
Gunpowder.
Flammable oil.
Even powdered wheat dust.
She spread them around marketplaces, warehouses, storage units, back alleys, and rooftops, all according to detailed instructions Roswaal had given her.
At the time, she didn't fully understand what the combination of those materials would cause. She knew they were flammable, of course.
She wasn't a fool. But she didn't anticipate the scale. She didn't realize how quickly the fire would spread. She didn't comprehend just how many people would die because of it.
That is, until it actually happened.
When the flames broke out, they didn't spread slowly—they erupted. Explosions tore through buildings. Fire rained from windows and roofs.
Entire streets were reduced to ash within minutes. People ran screaming. Families were separated. Children cried out for their parents.
The city that had once bustled with life became a hellscape of burning wood, smoke, and death.
Ram stood there, watching the destruction she had unknowingly set in motion. It was only then, seeing people die—burned alive, crushed by debris, or trampled in the chaos—that she truly realized the magnitude of the crime she had committed.
Panic took hold of her.
Her mind, which had gone numb for so long, was suddenly flooded with regret and horror. She had told herself all this time that she was doing it for justice.
That she was following Roswaal's plans because he promised that, in the end, it would lead to the downfall of the Witch Cult—the people responsible for so many tragedies.
He had assured her that these sacrifices were necessary. That by helping him now, she was preventing even greater horrors from happening in the future.
He made it sound like this was a noble mission. A painful path toward salvation.
But now, with bodies lying in the streets and smoke covering the sky, those promises felt hollow.
She rushed through the burning streets, coughing and stumbling as ash filled her lungs. She looked for Roswaal. She had to find him. She needed him to explain. To justify it.
To tell her what she was supposed to do next.
She needed him to take responsibility.
Or maybe she just needed him to say something—anything—that would make it all feel less pointless.
But when she finally found his location, she was too late.
Roswaal was dead.
A Royal Knight, one of the few who had managed to survive the initial wave of destruction, informed her that Roswaal had been killed.
Murdered by none other than the Sin Archbishop of Pride—Subaru Natsuki.
The very same person who had caused the fire.
The one whose name was now being whispered across the kingdom in fear and hatred.
This Sin Archbishop had become far too active in recent weeks. Reports said he had gone on a rampage, targeting the Royal Candidates directly.
He had murdered Anastasia Hoshin. He had killed Julius Juukulius.
And even more shockingly, he had slain Felt—who was under the direct protection of Reinhardt van Astrea, the Sword Saint himself.
That particular act sent shockwaves through the kingdom. No one had dared harm someone guarded by Reinhardt.
Yet this Sin Archbishop of Pride had managed to do it, and in doing so, had severely tarnished the Sword Saint's reputation. Rumors and speculation grew out of control. How powerful was this man, really? How far was he willing to go?
Combined with a series of other horrific deeds—including mass slaughter, destruction of villages, and mysterious disappearances—Subaru's infamy soared.
He became more feared and hated than the Sin Archbishops of Sloth and Greed ever were. And both of those Archbishops had already been killed—slaughtered by Puck, the Great Spirit of Fire.
(A/N: Lmao, killed by Puck my ass!)
Yet Subaru's legend surpassed even theirs.
Despite all that, in Ram's mind, her actions weren't entirely unjustified. Or at least, that's what she kept telling herself.
Roswaal had insisted that everything they were doing was to bring down the Witch Cult.
That their plan, no matter how twisted or cruel, would result in its destruction. And if that was true, then wasn't it worth it? Wasn't it worth the bloodshed if it meant Rem's death would be avenged?
That was the thought she clung to.
Layer after layer of justifications, excuses, and rationalizations stacked on top of each other, all to protect the one fragile idea she had left: that her suffering, and more importantly, Rem's suffering, wasn't in vain.
But now Roswaal was gone.
And with his death, her only reason to keep living disappeared with him.
Still, she couldn't allow herself to just give up—not yet.
Not completely.
Not when so many people were suffering because of what she had done. Maybe, if she couldn't undo her actions, she could at least try to make some amends.
Maybe she could save a few lives. Even if it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Even if she would still die a criminal in the eyes of the world. She needed to do something. Anything.
So Ram began pulling people out of the rubble. She searched for the injured, the unconscious, and the ones trapped beneath fallen buildings.
Her body was already exhausted, burned, and bloodied, but she kept going.
She tore through wreckage, carried bodies through smoke and ash, and led the survivors toward what little safety remained. All the while, the flames raged on.
What she didn't know was that Reinhardt had seen her efforts.
The Sword Saint, witnessing her selfless actions during the chaos, did not associate her with Roswaal's crimes.
To him, she looked like just another one of Roswaal's staff—a maid caught in the destruction, trying to do the right thing.
He saw someone trying to save lives, not take them.
And with his focus fully turned toward the hunt for the Sin Archbishop of Pride, he left her be.
Ram didn't stop. She kept going. Saving who she could. Pulling bodies out of danger.
Until eventually, a burning house collapsed right on top of her. She didn't have the strength to move out of the way. The weight of the structure crushed her body, and she was buried beneath rubble, badly injured and barely conscious.
And as she lay there, fading in and out of awareness, her thoughts drifted back to the memories she had tried so hard to suppress.
She remembered her sister's smile.
She remembered the peaceful days at the mansion.
She remembered the way Roswaal looked at her when he first took her in.
And now, with everything gone—her sister, her master, her purpose—Ram didn't know what to hold on to anymore.
Only the memories remained.
She hated herself.
She hated herself with a deep, overwhelming bitterness that consumed her every thought.
She hated herself for what she had done.
She hated herself for surviving when her sister hadn't.
She hated herself for the terrible crimes she had committed, the lives she had destroyed, and the ruin she had helped bring upon the capital.
Her mind kept repeating the same words, like a broken record stuck in an endless loop: I hate myself.
And yet, despite the self-loathing that burned within her, there was a strange, quiet relief in the thought of what was to come.
"I guess this is a fitting end for me," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the dying flames and the creaking of the collapsing rubble.
"Sissy... Rem, we will be united in death soon."
For the first time in over a year, she allowed herself a genuine smile—bitter, broken, but real.
To her, death wasn't something to fear anymore. It was a release. A final rest from the pain, the guilt, and the endless suffering.
She closed her eyes, waiting for that release to come.
But just as she was about to slip away, fate—or perhaps something else—had other plans.
"Found her!"
The sharp, determined voices of several people cut through the oppressive silence around her.
Suddenly, strong hands began removing burning debris, chunks of stone, and splintered wood that had trapped her beneath the wreckage.
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she weakly turned her head to see who was pulling her from the brink of death.
Her brows twitched involuntarily at the sight of her rescuers.
They were Royal Knights—dressed in shining armor, standing tall and proud as if they had just saved a helpless damsel in distress from certain doom.
"Is she still alive?" a voice asked from behind the leading knight.
The man at the forefront knelt beside her, inspecting the charred skin, the bleeding wounds, and the ragged breaths escaping her lips.
"Miss! Miss! Can you hear me? Please respond!" the knight urged, his voice thick with concern and urgency.
Ram opened her eyes just enough to cast him a look filled with nothing but pure annoyance.
'Can't he just leave me alone?' she thought bitterly.
But the knight didn't back down.
"Do not worry, Miss. Hold on just a little longer. I won't let you die under my watch," he declared with a self-righteous conviction that only made her want to scream.
'I want to die, dammit!' Ram thought furiously, frustration bubbling up inside her like a volcano ready to erupt.
Despite her resistance, the knight gently pulled her free from the burning rubble and carried her away from the deadly wreckage.
He set her down carefully on a patch of scorched earth, far enough from the flames to be safe for the moment.
Ram coughed violently, struggling to draw deep breaths as she tried to regain a shred of strength.
Her whole body trembled uncontrollably, but somehow, she forced herself to stand up.
As she wobbled to her feet, she looked up at the man who had insisted on saving her—her unwanted savior.
He was a Royal Knight, tall and handsome, his polished armor gleaming even in the smoke-filled air.
He approached her with a confident stride, a wide, flawless smile spreading across his face, revealing shining white teeth.
"Miss, I know you are very grateful to me," he said cheerfully, as if expecting a heartfelt "thank you" in return.
'No, I'm not,' she thought immediately, her annoyance growing.
"But please, save your gratitude," he continued with a teasing wink. "I'm aware I am quite handsome—and a very desirable bachelor in these parts."
'How shameless can you be?' Ram thought, eyes narrowing in disgust.
"For now, I am Jack," he said, puffing out his chest just a little. "One of the Proud Royal Knights, currently on a mission to save as many people as possible. Please, Miss, follow the others to the healing area. You can thank me later."
Ram's eyebrows twitched with irritation as she snapped, "No, Sir Jack! I must give you the reward you deserve!"
The moment she said that, Jack's eyes lit up. A blush crept over his cheeks, and he gave her a hopeful smile.
"Ah, then I will graciously accept your gratitude," he said, his voice filled with excitement and expectation.
'Yes! Yes! She's exactly my type—cute, strong, and hot!' he thought to himself, beaming with pride.
Ram stepped closer to him, and Jack, closing his eyes in anticipation, leaned forward, expecting a kiss of thanks.
Instead, he suddenly felt a sharp strike against his jaw.
He staggered back, completely bewildered, and fell onto the ground.
He looked up in shock, only to see Ram panting heavily, her glare colder and fiercer than he had ever imagined.
"Die, you filth," she spat before collapsing unconscious.
The other Royal Knights stood around silently for a moment, stunned by the scene.
Then, one of them burst into laughter, unable to hold back.
"Hahaha! To think he actually believed she'd kiss him!"
Jack jumped up, rubbing his jaw and protesting, "Hey! Hey! Why did she punch me? Didn't I save her?"
The laughter died down quickly as the others realized the seriousness of the situation.
"She might not have been thinking clearly, Sir Knight," a nearby commoner said cautiously. "Near-death experiences can cause confusion and irrational behavior."
"Please don't be angry with her," another commoner added, unaware of just how true her words were. Ram meant every insult she had thrown at Jack.
Jack nodded slowly, trying to save face. "Yes, that might be the case. Whatever the reason, take her to the refugee camp immediately. Also, inform her about what she's done… so she can apologize," he added with a knowing smirk.
Several knights snickered at his words.
They all understood what Jack really meant by "apologize."
He wasn't talking about a simple "thank you." No, he was hoping for something far more intimate—and shamelessly expected Ram to return his advances.
But none of them had any idea what Ram was about to become.
By the time they would meet again, she wouldn't be the broken, bitter maid they thought they knew.
She would be changed—in her personality, in her power, and in her position.
And when that day came, none of their arrogant smiles or crude jokes would matter anymore.
To be continued...
(A/N: Don't forget to drop some Powerstones for this fic!
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We've already reached Chapter 131—and wow, Chapter 130 was probably the saddest chapter so far. One guy is completely traumatized. 😂 Honestly, I'm even considering skipping Chapters 126–130 in the WN because of how heavy they are.
Also, we're already in a different timeline—far ahead of the current release—and Chapter 130 alone hit 9k words!
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Hope you enjoyed this chapter!)