Becoming the Dark Hero’s Daughter

Chapter 1

Have I Won the Lottery?

“You are to become my one and only daughter,” the duke said.

He was the realm’s wealthiest and most powerful figure. It should also be said that, of all those I had met in my two lives combined, he was the most striking to behold as well.

This can’t really be happening. I was only nine years old. I gulped and clenched my hands, my palms slick with nervous sweat and grime.

“What’s the matter?” the duke asked. “Not fond of the idea?”

The prospect had been spun around me like sugar, and it was tempting to accept his invitation. But the facts were unavoidable.

You’re a serial killer who has murdered 107 people, Your Grace. That was the heart of the problem. It wasn’t like I could ask point-blank if my refusal would lead to my demise.

That’s right. He was the protagonist of this novel. And he was also a psychopath.

I started to feel faint. This story began three days ago, when I had been just an ordinary street urchin—a harebrained young girl who was naïve to a fault.

A Vagrant Child

I first met the duke three days ago. I had been huddled in an alleyway, completely unaware of the impending event that would alter the course of my life. I was clutching a newspaper that someone had discarded, my nose barely an inch from the print.

“Why bother looking at that thing? You could probably make lots more money as a harlot.”

Walter, the boy who had spoken, was a good kid. We slum children had no idea the nature of a harlot’s work, we knew only that they were similar to courtesans. Rumor had it that such courtesans not only made a pretty penny, but also could indulge in sweets every day of the week.

Mmm, sweet cookies. Just the thought of one makes me start salivating.

“Shush. I’m trying to focus,” I said, irritated by the boy who kept trying to talk to me.

At the age of nine, I could only read a handful of words, but I knew exactly where to look for the employment postings in the paper.

Looking… for… a… maid. Brilliant. I read four words today.

“You don’t even know how to read,” Walter butted in.

“I can read some words,” I retorted. “My mother told me before she died that I should find a job, an escape from the slums. That way, I can set my fate right again.”

“Your fate? How do you do that?”

“It’s not easy, of course.”

After all, a beggar growing up to be anything other than a beggar is nigh impossible.

“Doesn’t that tall gentleman over there appear to be quite rich?” Walter pointed out.

“You mean the one wearing a red hat?”

“No, the one dressed all in black.”

Walter was always kind, so he tended to leave the more affluent-looking gentlemen to me. I spent most of my days begging to make ends meet. Strangers were often eager to spare some change for me because, according to my friends, I had a rather cute face.

And on the days when my panhandling had been profitable, we could all share a loaf of bread. Who would have thought that approaching a stranger for money could initiate a life-changing journey?

I drew nearer to the gentleman and peered up at him. “Excuse me, sir, but could you spare a few coins?” I pleaded, then gasped.

Wow. What a stupidly handsome man. He was dressed in a formal suit, his hair raven-black to match. His unusual red eyes glowed down at me.

There is a gem I’ve only heard tales of. Is this not the exact same shade? I can’t believe it. He’s breathtaking.

“Out of my way, child. I’m far too busy,” he barked, and coldly swept me aside.

However, the moment I touched his bare hand, a strange memory flooded my mind.

Huh?

“I’m afraid there is no hope.”

“We love you, Yuna. You may only have a little time left, but you can do anything you like with it.”

“You enjoy reading these novels, right? This one’s called The Life of Duke Lewelton.”

I caught a glimpse of the man’s pocket watch as he shoved me aside. It protruded from his pocket, bearing the engraving Kallen de Lewelton. I was practically illiterate but, for some reason, I could read his name effortlessly.

As the second hand ticked, a wave of memories swept over me.

Wait, what? That’s when I realized the true nature of my past. I had been a terminally ill girl named Han Yuna in my past life.

What memory is this? Recollections flashed through my mind like bolts of lightning, one after the other. It was an unsettling sensation. Then, in the very next moment, I became aware of something else incredible: I was living within a novel.

One might wonder how I came to this realization. Red eyes, black hair, and a suit with a navy blue collar. The man in front of me matched the novel’s description of the duke to a tee, and his pocket watch revealed his full name to be Kallen de Lewelton. The man in front of me was indeed the novel’s protagonist.

“Damn it. Where did that bastard run off to? Has he already managed to escape?”

The line from the book… It suddenly dawned on me. It’s from chapter three of The Life of Duke Lewelton. The Red Hat Murders! A bleak and tragic tale. The story of Duke Lewelton—the powerful hero who lived within the darkness.

“Damn it. Where did that bastard run off to? Has he already managed to escape?”

Kallen’s anxiety grew. Even if he was a fraction late, he was sure the criminal would board the train. What he didn’t know was that the perpetrator wore a red hat. The man had changed his clothes to disguise himself so he could better blend in with those living in the slums.

While Kallen raced toward the train station, the man in the red hat brought carnage down upon the alleyway. It was no longer a road, but a river—the blood of over thirty people running like water along the cobblestones. And the very first victim was a young beggar boy named Walter.

Wait, Walter’s going to die? My friend, who will gladly share even a single slice of bread?

“Come on, child! Wake up!” Kallen’s harsh cry echoed in my ears.

It appeared that I had fallen unconscious in his arms. From the moment my eyes opened, Kallen was already turning toward the train station. I grabbed the hem of his coat before he could put any distance between us.

Was I always this strong?

“There’s a suspicious man in a red hat!” I yelled. “He looked like he was running to the train station, but then he hid in an alley. He looks just like the serial killer from the wanted posters, William!”

It was my first time shouting as loudly as my voice allowed.

“What did you just say?” Kallen’s eyes slowly narrowed into a menacing glare. My shoulders curled beneath his gaze. “Are you sure you saw him, child?”

“Yes, sir. He went that way. Please hurry. You mustn’t go to the train station, or someone will die!”

Kallen stalked into the alley as if drawn by a mysterious force. I could see the black smoke that had already begun to rise from his palm. It was only moments before a scream rang out.

“So I have caught you at last, you fiendish mongrel. I hope you enjoyed your attempted escape, because your luck ends here. I live to bring justice upon bastards like you with my own hands, you see.”

I quietly peered into the alleyway. More information suddenly flooded into my mind.

William, the serial killer who had kidnapped drunken passersby and dragged them back to his hideout before torturing them to death by the cruelest possible means. The wanted criminal who was still at large. The man presumed to be William was restrained and immobile, surrounded by what seemed like black smoke.

It’s black magic.

The events that followed were exactly as they had been described in the novel.

Thwack, thwack!

Screams followed the sounds of impact and mingled with the snapping of bones. As the man lay prone on the ground, Kallen’s sleek loafer dug into his face and a rod struck his body repeatedly. It was my first time witnessing such bloodshed.

Kallen kicked the man aside, then swept his own hair out of his eyes.

I’d better make a run for it. I took a step back, but it was too late. Kallen looked up, and his eyes shot straight to me.

“Come over here,” he barked. He marched over and grabbed me by the scruff of my neck.

“That hurts!” I squealed.

He pushed me into the rough bricks of the alley walls and shifted his grip to my shoulder.

I’m scared. My body trembled as I met his flaming eyes. “P-please, let me go…”

At that moment, a swarm of people, watchmen among them, rushed toward us. Kallen took stock of this new development quickly and handed me a business card.

“My name is Kallen de Lewelton,” he whispered. “Come find me, you hear? I’d like to discuss the help you provided further.”

He finally released me.

When the city watchmen arrived, I had already fled the scene. My head was spinning.

* * *

Let me reconsider. Am I truly living in a novel? Why? How? Is this not shock and horror itself? I looked down at my hands, up at the sky, and around the slums I called home.

And I just had to end up as the cadging background character! My role in this world was pathetic beyond measure—a side character who occasionally appeared in the description of the scenery, a girl who begged on her knees or cried, “There’s a dead body over here!”

And I was naive enough to not know what a harlot was. At this rate, I’m afraid my life will have no light at the end of the tunnel. Will I die as a beggar? Without having learned to read, nor being able to try this world’s delectable cuisine?

In my past life, I had been a young girl who died of an illness at the tender age of fifteen. I’d rarely left my hospital room, but I seemed to have been quite intelligent. I had always been reading books, solving puzzles, and playing Sudoku. I could recall my parents hugging me, wishing for me to be born healthy and happy in my next life, and the heartbreaking cries that followed.

But this time, my health was literally the only thing I’d been born with! What good is that? For days, I wallowed in self-pity on the streets I had considered my refuge.

How am I meant to go on? I reasoned that if I had to live this life as a beggar, my previous life of illness was preferable. At least I was safe there.

But this situation is truly pitiable. I bemoaned my misfortune for three entire days. However, one morning as I awoke in the alley, covered in a newspaper and a threadbare blanket, something was amiss.

“What’s this?” I muttered, noticing something fall as I sat up. “Flowers?”

The flowers were red, a species I had never seen before.

They look like morning glories. I bet they’re expensive. The flowers’ centers were lined with gold. I then remembered how the older boy who sold flowers from a cart in the back alley would often give them to children when there were remainders after the shops shut.

I guess someone was given them and passed them to me. I sniffed as I considered the flowers scattered around me and atop the newspaper.

“Wait a minute.”

At that moment, a few letters in the paper stood out to me.

Looking for a maid. They were the same words I’d read just the other day.

How wonderful would it be to be a maid? Though I doubt anyone would ever hire me as one. Suddenly, the words next to the advertisement caught my eye.

These letters are… I pulled out the business card Kallen had given me and held it up to the paper, comparing the words side by side.

This one’s round! And this one’s squiggly! These are definitely the same letters. I can read these words. Looking for a maid. House Lewelton.

I threw down the newspaper and eagerly rose.