A Background Character’s Path to Power Chapter 441: Damsel Yet Again

Nightmare Realm.

In the center of a desolate wasteland, where the ground consisted of gray ash and the sky swirled with a vortex of violet despair, stood a structure that defied gravity.

It was a majestic, dreadful black spire.

It pierced the heavens like a jagged needle, its obsidian surface absorbing what little light existed in this forsaken world.

And at the very peak of this architectural monstrosity, inside a room that was surprisingly lavish in a gothic, vampiric sort of way...

A figure sat by an arched window, their chin resting on their palm as they stared out at the abyss.

It was a cliché situation.

Usually, in fantasy novels, the beautiful princess or the heroines would be the ones locked up in the Demon Lord’s high tower. They would weep elegantly, gaze out the window with longing eyes, and wait for the hero to storm the gates.

However, reality had a cruel sense of humor.

Here, the prisoner was a man.

Right, A MAN!

And worst of all... the one playing the role of the ’damsel in distress’ was .

’...’

"Urgh."

I groaned, leaning my head back against the cold stone fra.

Just rembering how it all happened made want to die of embarrassnt.

It had been roughly two and a half months since that day in the cave.

I rembered my resolve vividly.

The crackling fire. The determination in my eyes. The dramatic monologue about surviving this hell and finding a way back. I had felt like a true protagonist, ready to conquer the unknown with wits and grit.

I had stepped out of that cave with Nemo, aura flaring, ready to face the dangers of the Nightmare Realm.

And then, exactly ten minutes later, ’she’ appeared.

She descended from the sky in silence.

A pressure heavy enough to crush a mountain slamd down, and a woman, if you could call a being made of shadows and moonlight a woman, floated down.

She simply looked at , tilted her head, and smiled.

Then, with a casual flick of her finger, she sent Nemo into a black portal and wrapped in a cocoon of darkness, dragging up here.

There was no battle.

There was no epic struggle.

I was completely helpless.

...Urgh.

Shaking my head, I looked around my prison.

The room resembled a massive, opulent bedroom rather than a cell. A four-poster bed with black silk sheets dominated the center. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tos written in incomprehensible scripts.

Actually, this looked more like a five-star hotel than a prison.

Nevertheless, it was still a cage, forcing to-

Creak.

My brooding was interrupted by the heavy oak door swinging open.

I stiffened, standing up slowly. I kept my posture straight, my expression indifferent, though my instincts scread at to run.

"Oh, you were indeed awake."

A voice, smooth as velvet but cold as the void, drifted into the room.

A figure stepped in.

She was tall, easily surpassing two ters. Her skin was pale gray, contrasting sharply with the flowing abyss-black dress that seed woven from shadows themselves. Her hair was a cascade of white starlight, floating behind her as if underwater.

But it was her eyes, sclera black, irises glowing with a predatory crimson ring, that pinned to the spot.

She was the Mistress of the Spire.

The one who had plucked from the wasteland and locked up in this damn tower.

I watched as she glided toward , a tray floating in the air beside her, carrying a goblet of thick red liquid and a plate of dark fruits.

"I brought you sustenance..."

She paused, her crimson eyes curving into crescents.

"...Dear."

I felt a shiver run down my spine at the word.

It wasn’t said with romantic affection. It was said with a terrifying, possessive weight. It was like the sound of a dragon claiming its hoard.

"I told you," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the cold sweat forming on my back. "My na is Aman."

"I know," she purred, stopping just a few feet away.

The pressure rolling off her was suffocating. It felt terrifyingly familiar. It carried the sa absolute weight as Master Virion and Lady Nisha’s presence. She was likely a primordial entity, or perhaps even stronger.

Offending her would be suicide. But accepting this twisted dynamic every day felt like losing my mind.

She reached out, her cold fingers brushing against my cheek.

"You are looking pale today. Did you sleep well?"

"It is hard to sleep when the sky screams," I replied dryly.

She chuckled, a sound like wind chis in a graveyard.

"You will get used to it. The Void sings to those it loves."

She leaned in closer, her face inches from mine. I could sll the scent of ozone and ancient dust on her.

"And how is... our little one?"

Her gaze dropped to my chest, or more accurately, to the space hidden within my soul where that mysterious egg resided.

I swallowed hard.

This was the source of my nightmare.

The egg.

It was later that I discovered everything.

When she had found , she wasn’t looking for but the egg.

And it seems like it was her ’child’.

But I had already stored it away in the inventory before setting out.

Yet... She saw right through it.

Her crimson gaze had pierced through the dinsional barrier of the System as if it were re glass, locking onto the hidden life force instantly.

She had sensed the heavy traces of the egg’s aura clinging to my skin.

She had sensed my blood and my aura mixed into the egg.

In her twisted, alien logic, that connection ant only one thing.

I was the father. She was the mother.

And therefore, I was her husband.

’Damn! I haven’t even got married yet! But now I have a wife and an unborn child?!’

"It is... still sleeping," I said honestly, not daring to lie.

"Good," she whispered, her eyes softening with a genuine, yet unsettling lancholy. "It must grow strong. Stronger than its mother. So it does not suffer like I do."

She pulled back, her mood shifting instantly from lancholy to dostic authority.

"Now eat. You are frail. A human body is so inconveniently fragile."

She picked up a dark purple fruit from the tray and held it to my lips.

"Open."

I looked at the fruit, then at her crimson eyes.

I opened my mouth.

I had no choice.

As I chewed the tasteless, cold fruit, I scread internally.

’I hate this arc. I really, really hate this arc. I wanna go back ho!’