NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain-Chapter 127: No Daddy?

’Alright, that’s enough motherly love for one day.’

Artis cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders. The sun was high, and noon was creeping in. Which meant—it was almost time for his fucking date.

He patted Rai’s head with all the wisdom and authority of a village elder and smirked.

"Go tell your father that someone stronger than him just saved your mother."

Then, like the absolute bastard he was, Artis struck a pose—arms crossed, chin lifted, chest puffed out like a goddamn heroic warrior. He looked fucking magnificent.

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Just as he was basking in his own divine glow—

Rai blinked. Then, with the innocence of a fucking lamb, he tilted his head and said—

"But Rai doesn’t have a father."

Artis froze. His smirk flickered. The confidence drained from his face like someone had just yanked the floor out from under him.

He slowly—very slowly—slid his hand off his waist and straightened up, looking like a man who just realized he walked into the wrong house butt-ass naked.

"...Uh. What?"

Lily’s eyes widened.

"Rai…" she called softly, as if trying to stop whatever fucking bomb was about to go off.

But the kid wasn’t done. He puffed his tiny chest out, threw his arms up like a cocky little emperor, and SNAPPED his fingers.

"Rai will have a father. Just you wait, old man!"

Then—without hesitation, without another fucking word— He turned on his heel and bolted.

Like a tiny tornado of misplaced confidence, he ran full-speed away from them, his little legs carrying him into the marketplace like he was about to make shit happen.

Artis stood there, completely fucking stunned.

’WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!’

Who the hell was supposed to be this kid’s father?! Where the fuck was the father?! Was this a trap?! A fucking setup?!

He turned his head—slowly—toward Lily.

She was still crouching, hands in her lap. Her eyes—soft, longing, distant. She stared at her retreating son like she had just lost something important.

"His mom was my sister."

Lily said, her voice quiet but firm. Artis blinked.

Wait, what?

"She was killed… for a silver."

A fucking silver?!

Artis snapped his mouth shut, his mind grinding to a halt. A silver coin?! A single piece of shiny-ass metal?!

Lily took a deep, steadying breath. Her eyes trembled, caught somewhere between rage and sorrow, like she was seeing that fateful day all over again.

Artis felt that shit in his chest. She continued, her voice hushed, but every word carried the weight of a hammer smashing against his fucking skull.

"I was there… when she got that silver. We had just sold flowers."

Her fingers curled into her skirt, gripping the fabric like she was holding onto the past itself.

"We danced. Just like Rai and I did earlier. She told me to go home for lunch, said she’d be right behind me."

A shuddering breath.

"But when I came back—"

Her throat bobbed.

"There was a crowd."

Fuck.

Artis didn’t even need to hear the rest—he already fucking knew.

"When I pushed through… all I saw was her."

Her voice wavered.

"Her blood. Blood—thick, glistening, seeping into the dirt. The flower stall had still been there, but the flowers weren’t being sold anymore. They were scattered. Trampled. Soaked in red."

Motherfucker.

Artis felt a slow, simmering rage crawl into his veins. For a single silver?

Lily sighed.

A deep, tired, bone-weary sigh.

’Th-That kid... isn’t hers??’

’He’s her sister’s?!’

’So that means... she doesn’t have a husband...?’

Artis’ brain short-circuited. His man-instincts were tingling.

His eyes subtly flicked to Lily’s hips.

’Untouched... Unclaimed... A single mother without a husband… This is PRIME territory.’

Then—

CLAP!

She smacked her thick thighs, stood up, and—just like that—her fucking sunshine personality was back like nothing happened.

"Anyway! Come on, there’s still plenty of places to see!"

Artis—who still had his fucking mouth open—snapped his jaw shut.

’Bitch, did you just drop a whole-ass nuclear tragedy on me and expect me to MOVE ON?!’

He stared at her—this woman who had just nonchalantly dropped the most soul-crushing, "my-life-is-a-tragic-novel" backstory—AND THEN CLAPPED HER THIGHS LIKE SHE JUST FINISHED A MEAL?!

And the fucking audacity of it all?

She was smiling. Like she hadn’t just shattered his fucking brain.

Like she hadn’t just told him, "Oh yeah, my sister got murdered over a single fucking silver, but anyway, let’s go sightseeing, motherfucker!"

Artis just dragged his hands down his face.

"You’re actually insane."

"What?"

Lily tilted her head, ears twitching.

"You’re smiling after dropping a qi bomb like that. I need a fucking drink. A whole goddamn barrel of ale."

She just grinned.

"What can I say? Life goes on. Come on..."

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Artis groaned.

Lily, meanwhile, just chuckled, completely oblivious to the mental fuckfest happening in his head. She saw his dazed expression and misinterpreted it entirely.

’Oh, he must be in shock hearing about my sister. What a good guy.’

If only she could read his thoughts. She clapped her hands together.

"Why are you spacing out like that? Come on, it’s already noon."

She flashed him a playful smile.

"And, I’ll introduce you to someone important to me."

Then, with her hands tied behind her back, she swayed her hips just slightly more than usual and walked forward at a leisurely pace.

Naturally, Artis’ eyes magnetized downward to the hypnotic rhythm of her bouncy, curvy, tight-ass hips.

He had to forcefully slap his own cheek.

’Focus, you dog. Focus!’

He hurried after her, pretending like he wasn’t just mentally calculating how many inches of that ass he could grab with both hands.

Lily led him through the streets, stopping occasionally to point out little things—a fruit stall she liked, a bakery that had the best honey buns (she bit her lip while saying "honey buns," and Artis fucking felt that in his soul), and a fabric store she visited sometimes.

But finally, they stopped.

Right in front of a small, hidden flower garden.

It wasn’t one of those over-the-top noble gardens from the inner sect—no, this was more… personal.