Chapter 218: Mary Sue Notices the Door, Tends to Senpai in Her Room – An Epic Scene Unfolds (4)

It turned out Shia had gambled correctly.

She truly was someone who avoided danger when she sensed it.

Lilith had no intention of entering.

Although her fiancé was speaking, the ominous tone of his words told her enough—things inside weren’t safe.

Naturally, staying outside was the wiser option. She could guard against intrusions while ensuring Sistine’s recovery remained undisturbed.

To her, this felt like doing her part and being helpful.

On the surface, she appeared noble and righteous, but in truth, she was just scared out of her wits.

She even began planning how to swoop in heroically when Shia was utterly exhausted.

By then, the most dangerous phase would have passed, and she could save both of them at once, ensuring their gratitude toward her.

Two birds with one stone!

As for the truth behind Shia’s words?

Lilith didn’t dwell on it.

Years of knowing him had built her trust—he wouldn’t lie to her.

Sure, treating her fiancé like a watchdog might sound harsh, but she trusted him completely.

“Thank you,” Shia called from inside, his voice genuinely grateful.

“The situation is critical. It’s best not to be disturbed by outsiders.”

“With you guarding outside, I feel much more at ease. You’re the only one I can rely on right now.”

Hearing his heartfelt words, Lilith’s spirits soared.

See? Her presence was invaluable!

Shia trusted her deeply, depended on her entirely.

She decided to make her stance clear to boost his morale and solidify her role.

“What are you saying? I’m your fiancée, and Sistine is my respected senior. Of course, I’ll do everything I can to help you both!”

Lilith stood vigil outside, her gaze darting around cautiously, ready to fend off any potential disturbances.

The villa’s surroundings were serene, with few residents nearby, so no one was likely to intrude.

Still, she remained diligent, looking every bit the loyal guardian.

Inside, Shia carried Sistine to the bed.

Sistine nestled obediently in his arms but clung tightly to his neck, her cheek rubbing against his chest with an expression of bliss.

She murmured softly, “Such a warm, comforting scent… I like it.”

As for the voices outside?

Sistine was too far gone to notice them.

Shia glanced toward the door, a strange satisfaction welling up within him.

The mighty heroine reduced to this? Poetic justice.

Meanwhile, Lilith, outside, heard muffled sounds of Sistine’s discomfort and felt a mix of worry and relief.

She worried about Sistine’s erratic sword energy but was thankful Shia was inside to handle the situation.

Her role was simple: stay outside and wait.

Of course, she made sure her efforts weren’t overlooked by periodically checking in on Shia.

“Shia, are you alright in there?”

Shia’s voice, tinged with strain, replied, “Things are still chaotic. I’m doing my best to help senpai control herself.”

Hearing his trembling tone, Lilith instinctively stepped further back from the door.

Sistine was an unparalleled sword prodigy, potentially even surpassing the current Sword Saint. The thought of her losing control was terrifying.

She felt it wiser to stay at a safe distance in case Sistine’s power tore the room apart.

Thank goodness Shia had gotten there before her. Handling this herself would’ve been a nightmare—not to mention the risk of injury.

Inside, Shia’s efforts to detoxify the mist’s effects were intense.

Sweat dripped from his forehead, falling to the floor with each movement.

Outside, Lilith’s voice remained tender and filled with affection.

“Shia, you’re working so hard. Thank you!”

For a moment, Shia felt like the real scoundrel in this situation.

---

Elsewhere in her mind, Sistine clung tightly to Shia, her trembling body wracked by involuntary shudders.

Her consciousness had detached completely from reality, plunging her into a nightmarish dreamscape where she faced her deepest fears.

She was back there—every brick, every flower, every detail of the scene painfully familiar.

Her body quaked as she tried to retreat, to escape, but her legs gave out, sending her crashing to the ground.

She looked at her small hands, realizing she had regressed to her childhood self.

In her younger years, Sistine had been happy.

She took immense pride in her father and their family’s legacy.

Her father’s reputation as a renowned swordsman was unparalleled, and she idolized him.

Although her father was stern and distant, his larger-than-life figure only made her admiration grow.

Her family always told her to behave because her father was busy with important matters.

So, she listened. Whenever she saw him, he was cold and severe, yet she yearned for his approval.

Her mother explained that her father was devoted to nurturing the next generation of swordsmen. He spent his days in the training hall, molding them into prodigies.

Young Sistine often attempted to approach the training hall but was always turned away.

The family declared it a sacred place, off-limits to women.

Determined to earn her father’s love, she began secretly learning swordsmanship.

Her father worked so hard to train others; surely, if she excelled, he would finally acknowledge her, maybe even smile at her.

She was lucky—though she learned in secret, her talent for swordsmanship was undeniable.

By merely observing her brothers train, she memorized techniques effortlessly.

Her brothers, who struggled for years to perfect certain moves, were outdone by her casual attempts.

One day, after another brother failed to meet their father’s standards, Sistine eagerly demonstrated her progress, hoping for praise.

But instead of joy, her father reacted with anger.

“Who taught you to steal from us?!”

His voice thundered, and young Sistine froze in terror.

The sword slipped from her hands as she collapsed to the ground, trembling.

For the first time, she saw her father enraged.

Yet, despite his fury, she was eventually allowed to stay in the training hall—under strict supervision, serving tea and observing the lessons.

Even in her youthful naivety, Sistine cherished this opportunity.

Her father must have cared for her to allow such a privilege, she thought.

Unbeknownst to her, his intentions were far from affectionate.

As one of the Four Great Swordmasters of his era, her father understood the gravity of swordsmanship.

For a girl to violate the family’s traditions and learn the sword—it was an insult to their legacy.

His intention had been to show her how hopeless she was, to crush her ambitions before they took root.

But he hadn’t anticipated her incredible talent.

Within three months, she surpassed her brothers, even those who had trained for a decade.

What others struggled to master for years, she achieved effortlessly.

Her innate ability and relentless effort were terrifying.

Her father finally recognized her potential, not just as his daughter but as a prodigy who could rival the Sword Saints of history.

She had earned his attention, but not the way she had hoped.