NOVPUB
Chapter 42 - 42: Cursed Memory
Sorry for the late upload guys.
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With resolution burning in her veins and all her brave companions behind her, Lara stepped forward. Her sword hung heavy at her waist—a promise forged in steel and fire. She turned once more to gaze upon those who followed her—the warriors, mages, knights, and friends whose trust was as unshakable as stone. Their nods were silent but resolute, each one a vow etched into the fabric of fate.
Gon held Ale steady by the hand, their bond stronger than words could ever convey. Denish stood tall among the knights, his blade gleaming faintly under the dim light. The mages murmured quietly amongst themselves, weaving spells that crackled with latent power.
Lara smiled—a fleeting curve of gratitude—and nodded back. With both hands gripping the humongous doors before them, she pushed open the gateway to destiny. Together they crossed the threshold, stepping into what should have been their battlefield.
[System: Danger!!!! Warning!!!]
Her system screamed warnings louder than thunder, shaking her very core.
"Hold!" Lara commanded sharply, spinning around to face her team—but no one was there. Not Gon, not Ale, not even the mages or knights. In fact, 'she*'wasn't where she had just been moments ago.
Instead, she found herself standing near the gates of a familiar castle—her childhood home in Berkimhum. Gone was the armor-clad warrior she had become; instead, she wore her sky-blue princess dress, delicate and impractical. Her small hands trembled as she reached for her sword, only to find it missing from her side.
"....what?"
Confusion clawed at her mind like a rabid beast. She stared down at her trembling hands, so much smaller now, so fragile. Panic surged through her chest as realization dawned: this wasn't real—or rather, it wasn't the present. This was a memory, cruelly vivid and suffocatingly raw.
Step!
Step!
Step!
The sound of boots marching echoed across the courtyard. A battalion approached, flanked by soldiers clad in shining armor. At their center rode a figure atop a majestic horse, crowned with gold that glinted mockingly under the sun.
"The king has arrived!" announced the gatekeeper, his voice reverberating off the stone walls.
Lara froze, her breath catching in her throat as the man dismounted. He removed his golden crown with care, cradling it gently in his calloused hand. His eyes scanned the area lazily until they landed on Atlas and his mother the regent queen, waiting beyond the gates. Without hesitation, he bypassed Lara entirely, his smile radiant as he walked past her without acknowledgment.
Henry—her father—strode confidently toward young Atlas, lifting him up with a joyous laugh. Lara watched in stunned silence as Henry placed the crown upon young Atlas's head, his pride evident in every gesture. The dark mythril armor covering Henry shimmered menacingly, scratched and bloodied from battles unknown. His mighty hammer rested against his back, its presence an ominous reminder of his strength—and his indifference.
Lara's heart shattered anew, old scars ripping open as memories flooded back. That same cold disregard he'd shown her years ago—it hadn't changed. It never would.
"...Father?" she called out hesitantly, her voice cracking despite her resolve.
Henry paused mid-step, turning slowly to look at her. But the warmth in his gaze vanished instantly, replaced by confusion and mild annoyance.
"Why is the child at the gates... Isabella!" he barked, his tone sharp and dismissive.
The echo of his command silenced the palace grounds. Moments later, soft footsteps approached—graceful yet deliberate. Isabella appeared, her forest-green hair flowing like waves beneath the sunlight. Emerald eyes sparkled with beauty meticulously crafted, her pale complexion flawless despite the weight of sadness hidden within.
"Yes, Your Majesty called?" Isabella asked softly, her melodic voice masking the turmoil brewing inside.
"Take your daughter from here. It's dangerous for the child," Henry muttered, his tone colder than ice.
Lara remembered everything then—the moment her hatred began to take root. The day her view of him plummeted irreparably low. Isabella moved quickly, taking Lara's hand firmly in hers. They retreated together, leaving behind the scene of Henry doting on Atlas and his queen, oblivious to the pain etched onto Lara's face.
".....let's go, Lara," Isabella whispered, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. All the effort she'd poured into preparing for today—the carefully chosen dress, the layers of makeup—rendered meaningless in an instant.
Lara remained silent, watching Isabella's glistening tears fall silently. As they walked toward their room—a barren space devoid of maids or guards—Isabella hugged her tightly, seeking solace in shared grief.
"....his treatment of me isn't because of you," Isabella murmured, trying to comfort them both. "You are not to blame."
She wiped away her tears with trembling fingers, determination hardening her gaze.
"I know... I know for sure... By the gods, one day everyone will know your name. And that man will beg you to take the crown for it."
Her embrace tightened, desperate and fierce, as fresh tears spilled over.
"...mother...life was cruel to us. No, 'he' was cruel to us. I am starting to remember once more," Lara thought bitterly, her gaze shifting from pity to rage as the memories flooded back.
.
.
She reappeared again—this time at Atlas's birthday gala. The air buzzed with laughter and false smiles, the nobles sipping wine while Marquise Claire lingered quietly in the corner, overshadowed by her siblings' brilliance. Even Isabella watched everything unfold, her fury simmering beneath a polished veneer. Day by day, the nobles had abandoned her, stripping away her hard-earned accomplishments like vultures tearing into carrion.
Lara realized this was all an illusion—a mirage conjured by some dark force within the castle—but it felt so real As Her confidence crumbled under the weight of despair, sinking deeper into the abyss with each passing moment. Everything changed again.
.
.
Ahhh!!!
Yesss!! Ahhh!!! That's the spot!!!
Now she stood in a dimly lit room next door, clutching her ears tightly as moans echoed through the walls. Her mother entertained yet another nobleman, his identity unknown and unwanted. Despair clawed at Lara's chest as she buried herself under the covers, her mind fixating on the kitchen knife downstairs. Would death bring relief?
But she was a coward—a child born of a concubine, not the regent queen. Instead of seeking escape, she grabbed a pillow and slipped silently into the garden where no one could see her, no one could blame her.
"The moon seemed closer tonight," she mused drowsily, her eyelids growing heavy. For the first time in what felt like forever, she drifted off to sleep, far away from her family, her life.
.
.
When she woke, the softness beneath her wasn't grass but silken sheets. Confusion clouded her mind until a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Oh, you're awake!"
Lara turned sharply, her blue eyes locking onto the figure before her—black hair framing a face she knew too well. Those piercing golden eyes bore into hers, freezing her in place.
"...brother Atlas!" she gasped, panic seizing her heart. "No—I mean Prince Atlas! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry..." Tears streamed down her cheeks as she imagined the punishment awaiting her for daring to sleep in the prince's bed. "Please don't punish me!"
Her voice cracked, choked by sobs that wracked her small frame. This wasn't part of the memory—it couldn't be. Yet here she was, drowning in trauma that felt sharper than any blade.
"Lara! You know it's just a memo—"
Before he could finish, the scene shifted violently. Like a dream unraveling, she found herself transported elsewhere.
To a training ground where Kury, the battle maiden of Berkimhum, stood coaching her.
For a brief moment, Lara felt calm. Holding the wooden sword gave her a sense of familiarity, grounding her amidst the chaos of fractured memories. She swung clumsily, each strike pulling her further from the suffocating despair that threatened to consume her.
"Nice! You're doing great for a six-year-old," Kury praised, her younger self sturdy and full of vitality.
"Kury!" a commanding voice barked.
Lara froze mid-swing, recognizing the voice instantly. It was Henry—the king who despised her existence. His shadow loomed over them, his disapproval palpable.
"What in God's name are you doing, training someone like her?" he spat, glaring at Lara. "And why are you even here? Where's your mother? Go! Get out of here! This isn't a place for children."
Fear rooted her feet momentarily before instinct took over. Dropping the wooden sword, she fled, tears blurring her vision. She knew staying would only invite disaster. If Henry called her mother, things would worsen. After all, Isabella was no longer the woman she pretended to be. Consumed by ambition and tangled alliances with powerful nobles, Isabella saw Lara as nothing more than a hindrance now.
Tonight, there would be another beating—for being seen playing with swords, for existing when she shouldn't.
'...somebody, please Help me i want to...i want to get out.' Lara muttered silently, her voice trembling like a dying flame.
Before she could blink, the world warped around her once more—another memory surfacing from the depths of her buried trauma. She found herself standing amidst the grandeur of a royal banquet hall, surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses. This time, however, something felt different. Her mother glowed with joy, nobles flocked to her side, showering her with praise and recognition. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Isabella seemed truly happy.
And so did Lara.
For one fleeting moment, the suffocating despair that usually clung to these memories lifted. The night was alive with music, light, and celebration—a stark contrast to the hollow gatherings of the past. As the festivities drew to a close, guests filtered out, offering warm farewells to both Isabella and Lara.
"Lara," Isabella called softly, her smile genuine for the first time in years.
"...yes, Mother?" Lara replied, her voice laced with cautious optimism.
"Tonight, some guests are arriving in our room as usual. Don't make any noise, okay?"
Lara nodded obediently. It had become routine—a weekly ritual she accepted without question. And tonight, lulled by the rare happiness she'd glimpsed earlier, she didn't bother resisting. Crawling into bed, she slipped on her earbuds, ready to drown out the inevitable sounds of whispered conversations and exchanged favors. But something was off.
Silence.
No murmurs, no rustling fabric, no muffled voices. Just silence.
It startled her but not enough to investigate further. Instead, she curled up under the covers, seeking comfort in the stillness. Sleep beckoned, its embrace promising escape.
"...Lara."
A voice broke through the quiet. Startled, she turned toward the doorway where a figure emerged from the shadows.
"Huh? Who is it?" Lara asked groggily, already slipping into slumber.
"Oh, you're still awake? It's me, your patronage. Marquise Henderson."
"Oh...where's Mom?"
"Oh dear, she's fast asleep." His bald head gleamed under the moonlight streaming through the window. He moved closer, his presence unsettling despite his polite demeanor.
"Oh, sir, aren't you sleeping?" she questioned innocently.
The man leaned in, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "I thought I'd sleep with you tonight. I've worked hard—very hard—for this night."
Lara froze as recognition slammed into her like a tidal wave. Memories surged back, raw and brutal, forcing her to relive what came next. Panic ignited within her chest as she tried to push him away, scrambling backward across the bed.
"No, no, no!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes.
But he grabbed her hair, yanking her back with cruel force. "Shhh...I've spent millions of gold for this night alone. Helping your whore of a mother fit back into society. Tonight, I will taste what a young princess really tastes like."
Despair consumed her as his words sank in. She slapped at him, clawed at his arms, but her small frame offered no resistance. Fear gripped her heart, squeezing until it threatened to shatter entirely.
'Please...please...please. Somebody. Somebody save me,' she prayed desperately, tears streaming down her face.
"You know what? Let me tell you something—might as well relieve myself of this burden. I actually, really—no, I mean truly—hate your father.
So when I saw vulnerability in your mother's eyes... maybe, just maybe, I had a chance. A chance to fuck around and ruin something of his. But you know what? I failed. Miserably.
He knew, that bastard king. He knew about your mother's affairs—of course he did. He had eyes everywhere. But he didn't give a damn about her. So tonight... I changed my mind.
I know he still won't care as I tear into your innocent flesh. And I prefer it that way." With a snarl, he ripped away her underwear. "Because this won't be the first time... or the last. I promise you that."
Lara could only weep in despair, pushing against him with all her might. She didn't know what she'd done to deserve this—but she didn't want it. Not a single second of it.
"P-Please... st...stop...!"
[Your solemn wish is heard.]
Something rattled at the window. A shadow lurked just beyond the pane, its golden eyes burning with rage as it witnessed the scene unfolding.
"Wha—?!" The marquise barely had time to react before the shadow roared.
"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS!!!!" The familiar voice beloud.
[System initializing]
Young Atlas burst through the opening, landing with the ferocity of a storm. His fists clenched tight, veins bulging beneath his skin as rage poured off him in waves. Without hesitation, he launched himself at the marquise, delivering a devastating punch that sent teeth flying.
"OOOFFF MYYY SISTER!!!!!" Atlas bellowed, each word dripping with venom. He struck again and again, relentless, unyielding, until the man crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
[System Activated]
