Reincarnated as the Villainess's Unlucky Bodyguard

Liria stood before the towering stone doors, each carved with twisted, serpentine shapes that coiled and spiraled toward a single, ominous eye in the center. The eye wasn’t just a carving—it blinked. A faint, liquid shimmer passed over the surface like a living thing, tracking her every move. The stone beneath her boots was cold, slick with a thin layer of mist that curled around her ankles like whispering phantoms.

Her heart thrummed in her chest.

"Alright," she whispered to herself, adjusting her grip on her sword. The metal felt heavier than usual, as though it, too, sensed what lay beyond the door. The Shadowflare Blade pulsed faintly with its dark energy, the black flames curling along its surface like restless snakes.

[Feeling nervous?]

"Not even slightly," she lied.

[Sure. That tremble in your left hand is definitely confidence.]

"Shut up," she muttered, forcing her fingers to tighten around the hilt.

The massive eye in the center of the door suddenly narrowed. The stone groaned as the doors began to shift, grinding against each other as they slowly creaked open. The mist thickened, rolling toward her in a wave that seemed to hiss as it passed. Beyond the threshold, darkness waited.

[Alright, genius. You’ve entered every creepy door you’ve encountered so far. No reason to stop now.]

With a final deep breath, Liria stepped forward.

The room beyond was vast. The air was thick with magic—ancient, oppressive magic that weighed down on her shoulders and crawled along her skin like icy tendrils. The walls were smooth obsidian, veins of faintly glowing crimson running like cracked arteries through the surface. High above, the ceiling disappeared into shadows.

At the far end stood a colossal throne. Made of jagged black stone, it was shaped like the ribcage of some monstrous creature, its spiked arches curving inward toward the figure seated there. The figure’s eyes snapped open the moment she stepped closer.

Red eyes. No glow, no crackle of magic. Just endless, predatory crimson that locked onto her with unyielding focus.

The figure shifted.

It was enormous. At least four meters tall when it stood, its body lean but corded with shadowy muscle. Its skin appeared ink-black with thin streaks of molten red running along its limbs and torso, like magma coursing beneath obsidian flesh. It wore a ragged cloak of midnight mist, its edges fraying into nonexistence with each step forward. Its horns were twisted and jagged, curving backward like blades.

Liria’s system chimed softly. The interface appeared, the text sharp and unyielding.

[Enemy Identified:]

Name: Abyssal Monarch

Level: 25 (Boss)

Health: 18,000/18,000

Magic: 5,000/5,000

Attributes:

• Strength: 70

• Agility: 65

• Endurance: 68

• Intelligence: 40

• Magic: 75

Abilities:

• Abyssal Surge (Level 4)

• Soul Rend (Level 3)

• Voidquake (Level 5)

• Sovereign’s Command (Level 4)

• Shatterstep (Level 3)

Special Attribute:

• Abyssal Presence: All enemies suffer -10% to movement speed and magical power within the Monarch’s domain.

[Well, that’s comforting,] the system remarked. [Eighteen thousand health. What a fun number.]

"Eighteen thousand," Liria breathed, her stomach lurching. "That’s more than the Hellbeast."

[Correct. And it has better abilities. And it knows we’re here. You sure you don’t want to reconsider that whole heroic dungeon-runner persona?]

The Abyssal Monarch stepped forward. With each step, the ground beneath it trembled slightly, as though the dungeon itself recognized its master.

Its voice slithered through the chamber.

"Intruder."

Liria’s breath caught in her throat. The word didn’t echo off the walls; it resonated directly in her mind, bypassing her ears entirely. The weight of its presence intensified, and her knees nearly buckled beneath the pressure.

"You come to steal the core."

[It knows why you’re here. That’s never a good sign.]

"We’re just passing through," Liria said, trying to keep her tone light. "You know, sightseeing. Lovely place. Very atmospheric."

The Monarch’s eyes narrowed. It extended one clawed hand. A crackling spear of black-red energy materialized in its palm.

"Die."

The spear flew with impossible speed.

Liria threw herself sideways. The spear slammed into the floor where she had stood a heartbeat before. The impact was catastrophic—the ground splintered in a spiderweb of cracks, a deafening explosion of force hurling shards of stone across the chamber. One fragment sliced across her thigh; she bit back a cry and rolled to her feet.

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[Congratulations, you’re alive. Temporarily.]

The Monarch was already in motion. It blurred forward with unnatural speed, its massive arm lashing out in a diagonal arc. Liria raised her sword. Shadowfire surged along the blade as she met the strike.

The impact rattled every bone in her body. Sparks flew as blade met claw; a shockwave rippled outward, scattering debris across the floor. Liria dug her heels into the ground, but the force sent her skidding backward.

The Monarch’s left hand snapped forward.

Abyssal Surge.

The spell activated with a thunderous crack. Tendrils of black lightning erupted from the Monarch’s palm, arcing toward her. Liria instinctively raised her Nightflame Shield. The dark energy collided with the shimmering black barrier, creating an ear-splitting shriek as the opposing magics clashed.

"Come on, come on!" she hissed, pouring more mana into the shield. The pressure mounted until her knees bent beneath the strain.

The Monarch tilted its head. Then, with disturbing calm, it clenched its fist.

The Abyssal Surge detonated.

Liria was hurled backward like a rag doll, crashing into a pillar with bone-crushing force. Pain exploded across her ribs. The shield shattered, fragments of nightfire scattering like glass. Her vision blurred.

[Health down to 2,400. Maybe try not to get electrocuted again.]

The Monarch advanced with measured steps, its crimson eyes gleaming. Liria forced herself upright, spitting blood onto the stone.

"Is that all you’ve got?" she taunted. Her sword trembled in her grip.

The Monarch didn’t answer. It simply raised its hand again.

"Soul Rend."

The air turned cold and sharp, as if the atmosphere itself had turned to shards of glass. A pale crimson glow enveloped the Monarch’s clawed fingers. The spell ignited, tearing through reality as it lunged toward her chest.

Liria moved on instinct.

"Void Step."

The world blurred.

She vanished just as the spell struck, reappearing ten feet to the Monarch’s left. The sensation was disorienting—a split-second of absolute nothingness before reality slammed back into place. But she’d dodged the attack.

The Monarch’s head turned toward her, its expression shifting slightly for the first time. Surprise.

Liria didn’t waste the opportunity.

She charged. Her feet barely skimmed the ground as she sprinted toward the creature’s exposed flank. Shadowfire coiled around her blade, trailing like a serpent of darkness as she swung upward with every ounce of strength.

The blade bit deep.

The Monarch roared. The black flames seared into its side, cutting through the thick, obsidian-like flesh. Thick, molten ichor spilled from the wound, sizzling as it hit the stone.

Liria’s heart surged with triumph.

[Direct hit. Health down to 16,400. You actually hurt it. Congratulations—you’re annoying.]

The Monarch snarled. It spun with terrifying speed, its massive arm sweeping across the space between them. Liria raised her sword, but she was too slow.

The blow caught her across the torso, lifting her off her feet. She hit the ground hard and skidded across the chamber.

Pain exploded through her chest.

The Monarch stalked forward, molten blood dripping from its wound. Its voice hissed through the air:

"You are nothing."

The words echoed through the chamber, each syllable laced with disdain, heavy and sharp as the blow that had sent Liria sprawling across the cold stone floor. Her vision swam, the edges of the world blurring into indistinct shadows. Her ribs screamed with every shallow breath, and her arms trembled beneath her as she tried to push herself upright.

The Abyssal Monarch’s footsteps reverberated through the chamber, slow and deliberate. It wasn’t in a rush. It knew it had the upper hand. Its molten eyes glowed with the cruel amusement of a predator toying with its prey.

[Hey. Hey. Stay awake, dumbass.]

The system’s voice cut through the haze in her mind like a shard of ice. Liria coughed, tasting blood. The weight of the Monarch’s Abyssal Presence pressed down on her, every limb heavy and sluggish.

"I’m trying," she whispered, voice ragged.

[Yeah, well, try harder. You’re not allowed to die like this. Not after all the crap you’ve survived.]

The Monarch halted a few feet away. Its head tilted as though curious. Then it extended one massive hand toward her. Crimson energy coiled around its fingers, condensing into a writhing spear of dark power.

Soul Rend. Again.

Liria’s breath caught. Panic surged through her veins. That attack didn’t just hit flesh—it tore at the spirit, leaving agony in its wake. The memory of the last strike still burned in her bones.

[Okay, kid. Here’s the plan. Dodge. Really fast.]

"Brilliant advice," she muttered.

The Monarch’s arm lashed forward. The crimson spear shot toward her with terrifying speed, splitting the air with a sound like cracking glass.

Liria’s body moved before her mind could catch up. She shoved herself sideways with every ounce of strength, her sword dragging against the floor to maintain balance. The spear struck where she’d just lain, detonating with a concussive blast that sent jagged cracks spiderwebbing across the stone.

The shockwave hurled her into a nearby pillar. Pain shot through her side as she slammed into the unyielding surface. She crumpled to her knees, gasping.

The Monarch advanced again, closing the distance effortlessly.

[Health at 1,200. You’re running on fumes here.]

"I’m aware," Liria ground out.

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The Monarch raised its hand once more, this time conjuring a swirling vortex of black mist in its palm. The air in the chamber turned ice-cold.

"Beg," it said softly.

Liria laughed—a broken, bitter sound. Her vision swam, her limbs ached, but the fire in her chest hadn’t gone out yet. She wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand, then leveled her sword.

"Beg?" she spat. "Sorry, but you’re not my type."

The Monarch’s expression shifted to something close to irritation. The vortex grew larger, crackling with abyssal power.

[Incoming. Big spell. We’re talking ’get disintegrated and forgotten’ levels of big.]

"Suggestions?" Liria asked through clenched teeth.

[Survive. Somehow.]

The Monarch thrust its arm forward. The vortex surged outward like a tidal wave of black fire.

Liria braced herself and charged into the oncoming storm.