To My Beloved, I Present My Exquisite Nightmare (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 4
The moment she placed her hand on his shoulder, Laila felt a strange heat seeping beneath her fingernails. It was too faint to be actual pain, yet too vivid to be mere imagination—even after she pulled her hand away, the sensation remained clear.
What on earth has been going on since earlier?
Laila furrowed her brows, staring blankly at her fingertips. Something strange emanated from this man—something intangible, yet undeniably present…
“The path does lead to the village. What’s wrong with that?”
Startled out of her thoughts, Laila let out an incredulous chuckle at Eustar’s casual reply.
“What do you mean, ‘what’s wrong’? Don’t you know? If I go to the village now, those furious villagers will tie me upside down from a tree. And that’d be the lucky outcome. More likely, they’d pelt me with stones until I died—or burn me alive, tree and all.”
Though she exaggerated slightly, it was undeniable that ever since this strange illness began spreading through the village, the villagers had been desperate to get their hands on Laila.
Walking straight into the arms of those enraged people? Only someone out of their mind would do such a thing.
Just as she was about to shake her head, Eustar suddenly let out a low laugh—partly amused, partly teasing.
“I think I understand your worry. But Laila, this isn’t the Dark Age anymore.”
Laila’s frown deepened. The Dark Age referred to a distant past, hundreds of years gone, reduced now to dust. It was a time when disease, war, death, and screams ran rampant, and people trembled in fear that the first demon would rot everything on earth.
Terrified, they hunted down lone witches living deep in the forests and burned them in the name of God.
They tied stones to women’s bodies and drowned them in the middle of rivers; they pierced armpits with red-hot irons. Outlandish, cruel tortures and executions—so brutal even real demons would have recoiled—were commonplace.
—But that was truly foolish, darling.
Laila recalled her mother’s voice from long ago. Her mother often combed Laila’s hair while sitting in a creaky rocking chair, calmly telling her daughter those dreadful tales as she held her on her lap.
—None of those poor women they killed were real witches, you see. Because the only true witch lineage left is ours—right here.
—What if people try to kill us again, Mama?
When little Laila asked fearfully, her mother stroked her hair with slender, gentle, yet firm fingers.
—Don’t worry, Laila. True witches never die by human hands. And that belief belonged only to the Dark Age—a delusion born when foolishness and darkness seeped into the air, clouding human eyes and muddling their minds. Nowadays, humans don’t even know what a real witch is. Of course…
What had her mother said next?
“Are you all right?”
Eustar’s voice pulled Laila out of her reverie.
She jerked her head up as if waking from unconsciousness, then bit her lip inward, recalling the last thing they’d discussed.
“It may not be the Dark Age, but Ridgus Village is shrouded deep enough in darkness.”
“That may be true. But as long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe, Laila. None of the things you imagine will happen. I promise.”
Again, Laila found herself unable to disagree with Eustar. For someone like her—who avoided people and had never trusted them her whole life—it was an inexplicably strange pull, even to herself.
As they turned onto the mountain path and reached the village entrance, Laila suddenly felt an icy chill run down her spine.
The village, swallowed by silence and darkness, felt like a ravenous beast—lying in wait with jaws wide open, ready to devour her.
Even after the two stepped onto the narrow village lane, the silence persisted. Almost no windows emitted light, and every house had its doors tightly barred.
Every doorstep was thickly lined with dried pomegranate flowers and camphor tree branches; some houses had even hung upside-down corpses of dead lambs.
The few livestock in the pens dragged out pitiful, drawn-out cries, clearly neglected for a long time.
“They’re all using very old warding methods.”
Eustar examined the foul-smelling lamb carcass with interest. Laila turned her eyes away from the gruesome sight and snapped back irritably.
“They’re all completely useless. It’s foolish to think ghosts can be blocked with such things.”
“Judging by how you say that, you’ve tried them yourself, haven’t you?”
Laila’s lips pressed into a tight line. After a moment of silence, she spoke.
“I’ve never killed a lamb. Besides, I couldn’t even afford lamb meat.”
“Dried pomegranate flowers and camphor branches do help—but only if applied correctly. A blessing would make them even more effective. Now that I think of it, I don’t see a church in this village.”
“It’s a very small village.”
And isolated, Laila thought.
Ridgus Village was cut off from the outside world. Of course, as Eustar had shown, people could technically enter or leave freely—but no matter how many came and went, Ridgus Village retained its peculiar sense of isolation. As if…
‘It’s like a stagnant pond, cut off from the water source, slowly rotting away.’
As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Laila scanned her surroundings with growing unease.
Beside houses with lights extinguished and doors locked tight stood freshly made wooden gravestones—more than just a few… The patches of earth where holes had been dug and refilled were far too small. They weren’t adult graves.
Eustar could see everything Laila saw, yet he showed no sign of fear or tension, striding forward with large, purposeful steps as if he knew exactly where he was going.
After walking long enough to circle the entire village, Eustar finally stopped in the backyard of a remote house.
Behind a fogged, opaque window, a dim light flickered—someone seemed to be moving about with a candlestick.
The moment the light shifted, Eustar and Laila glimpsed a gravestone tucked in a corner of the yard. It was newly made, and the soil covering it hadn’t even settled yet.
“This will do.”
Eustar spoke—but it was unclear whether he addressed Laila or merely murmured to himself.
Laila stood a few steps away, watching him silently. In truth, watching was all she could do—and the best course of action at that.
Unbothered by the pitch-black darkness, he plunged his hand into his bag and pulled something out.
Under the starlight, it glinted like a glass bottle—but when Eustar tightly gripped it in his palm, its contents glowed faintly white.
“What’s that?”
At Laila’s question, Eustar slowly exhaled and relaxed his grip—then, without answering, opened the bottle and poured its contents onto the gravestone.
What on earth is he doing?
Laila watched him—and the unknown liquid trickling down the gravestone—with the helpless curiosity of a child. The rough wooden surface of the marker darkened instantly, as if absorbing the darkness itself.
Suddenly, something emerged from the center of the gravestone.
Laila was too shocked to even scream. Tiny—impossibly tiny—white handprints rapidly covered the marker. The speed was unbelievable, accompanied by slapping, tapping sounds as if living skin were striking stone.
In an instant, the marks densely crowded the gravestone, threatening to shatter it and collapse the soil piled atop the coffin.
“Good heavens.”
As Laila gasped, her foot caught on something. A loud clatter rang out as a long stick rolled across the ground.
She realized she’d tripped over a mixing rod. Whatever had been inside it was surely spilled everywhere—but she couldn’t care less.
Her mind was now fixed solely on the handprints racing away from the gravestone toward the dark woods, leaving no room for other thoughts.
“This… this is…”
Eustar glanced quickly at Laila.
“What—what in the world is this?”
The question, lodged like a stone in her throat, finally forced its way past her lips—quivering and pathetic.
Eustar replied.
“It’s a trace left by the source.”
“A trace…?”
Just then—
—Clang!
At the sudden sound, Laila let out a small cry. Instinctively clutching her skirts, she moved closer to Eustar.
“You bastard!”
A grumbling breath and a strong smell of alcohol drifted over. The homeowner, a man, thrust a greasy lamp toward Laila and Eustar.
At the same time, Laila saw what he held in his other hand—a massive pestle, large enough to fell an ox in one blow.
“You witch!”
Veins bulged furiously on the man’s neck. He hurled the lamp aside and raised the pestle to crush Laila’s skull—but before he could even take a step, Eustar’s hand sliced sharply through the air with a hiss.
“Argh! What—what is this?! You witch! What did you do?!”
Thick black smoke, dark enough to swallow even the night itself, blinded the man. While he floundered in confusion, Eustar grabbed Laila’s hand and began running in the opposite direction.
No—it wasn’t running. They moved almost as if flying. Laila realized her toes weren’t even touching the ground.
“You witch! Where’d you run off to?! You killed my daughter and think you’ll get away?! I’ll gouge your eyes out! Smash your head in! Come out, you wretch!”
The man’s furious shouts shook the quiet village.
Yet his house, his figure, even the glow from the lamp he’d thrown—all vanished from sight. It was as if an extra layer of darkness had been draped over that spot, neatly erasing it from view.
“What was that just now?”
Laila shouted. The speed was so great that the wind rushing past her ears sounded like arrows being fired. Yet Eustar answered as calmly as if he were taking a leisurely stroll.
“That’s called ‘Borrowed Night.’”
“A magic tool? You didn’t kill him, did you?!”
“Of course not. It only blocks vision temporarily—and doesn’t last long. It’s still in the testing phase.”
Eustar finally slowed his pace only after they’d ventured deep into the woods. The change was sudden and silent.
For a moment, Laila thought time itself had frozen—but glancing back, she realized it hadn’t. She was simply walking slowly, almost cradled in his arm.
The same tiny handprints seen at the gravestone continued deeper into the forest. Some even spread like bloodstains. Eustar stopped before the final print and let out a soft hum.
“The trail ends here.”
When the male lead is punished by carrying the female lead’s child and having periods like a woman
“I’ve given birth to two children for you, yet you still think about him.
Was I nothing but his substitute to you from beginning to end?”
Synopsis:
Meng Huan, a scumbag who has dated countless girlfriends, transmigrates to a female-dominated country.
Day 1: Whether it’s female dominance or not doesn’t matter. The beauties here are passionate and amorous. Isn’t it easier to date them than in modern times?
Day 2: After a night, Meng Huan discovers the differences in the female-dominated world. Men here actually have chastity locks and menstrual cycles. This hinders his ability to perform, damn it!
Day 3: What’s wrong with sleeping around? I don’t want you to marry me. I’m meant to be a playboy. I don’t care about male virtues… What? You want to drown me in a pig cage? Marry, I’ll marry!
Day N: Meng Huan inexplicably vomits and receives the shocking news of his life… He’s pregnant.
_____
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