My Maids are All Final Villainesses

The moment Borv’s body collapsed to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut, a strange stillness spread across the battlefield, as if even the wind itself had forgotten how to move, as if the very air had been forced into silence by what had just happened.

No one spoke.

No one even dared to move.

The soldiers, the archers, even the Captain who had faced countless battles and witnessed countless deaths, all stood frozen in place, their eyes locked onto the unconscious figure of Borv lying there, his body limp, his presence completely gone, as if the strength that once filled him had never existed in the first place.

And then, slowly, their gazes moved.

They shifted from Borv... to Clay.

The young man who stood there calmly, as if what he had just done was nothing more than brushing dust off his shoulder.

The Captain swallowed hard, his throat dry.

"What... what just happened...?"

His voice came out weak, barely louder than a whisper, yet in the silence of the battlefield, it echoed clearly.

One of the knights beside him shook his head, his grip tightening around his weapon as if trying to find something real to hold onto.

"I... I didn’t see anything..."

Another archer, still standing on top of the wall, leaned forward, his eyes wide as if they might fall out at any moment.

"He just... he just appeared..."

"And then the intruder who was introduced to be stronger than the first intruder... just..."

He could not even finish his sentence.

Because there were no words that could properly describe what they had just witnessed.

Even Borzoi, who had lived his entire life surrounded by warriors of unimaginable strength, who had seen countless battles among his own tribe, who had believed that he understood what it meant to be strong... stood there completely stunned.

His remaining hand trembled slightly as he stared at Clay.

What... did he do... ...exactly?

I didn’t even see his movement...

No... it wasn’t even movement...

It was like... he was already there...

His heart began to beat faster.

For the first time since he was young, since he had stepped onto the path of strength, since he had been taught that the strong could do whatever they wanted... he felt something unfamiliar creeping into his chest.

Fear.

Meanwhile, the Captain stepped forward slowly, his eyes never leaving Clay as if afraid that if he blinked, he would miss something again.

"Young... Young Master Valmont..."

He hesitated, his voice shaking.

"May I ask... how did you..."

He paused, struggling to find the right words.

"How did you defeat him...?"

Clay tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself amused him.

"Defeat him?"

He repeated the words casually, as if tasting them.

"I didn’t defeat him."

The Captain froze.

"You... didn’t...?"

Clay smiled faintly.

"I just tapped him."

The moment those words left his mouth, the silence became even heavier.

Tapped him.

That was all.

That was all it took.

A being that Borzoi himself had acknowledged as stronger than him... a warrior sent by their tribe... someone who should have been far beyond anything they could handle... had been taken down by a single tap.

The archers on the wall looked at each other, their faces pale.

"Tapped...?"

"That’s it...?"

One of them let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it.

"Then what are we...?"

"If that’s just a tap... then what would happen if he actually attacked...?"

No one answered.

Because no one wanted to imagine it.

Meanwhile, Clay bent down slightly and grabbed Borv by the collar, lifting his unconscious body with ease as if he weighed nothing at all.

Then, without any care in the world, he tossed him upward.

Borv’s body spun in the air.

And then—

Thump.

Clay caught him.

Again.

He tossed him up once more.

Thump.

Caught.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Each time, the movement was casual, almost playful, as if he were simply passing time.

As if the person he was tossing was not a powerful warrior from a terrifying tribe... but nothing more than a coin being flipped between fingers.

Borzoi stared at the scene, his eyes twitching.

So strong...?

No... this is not just strength...

This is... something else...

Something I cannot understand...

Beside Clay, Cerys stood quietly, watching everything with calm eyes, yet there was a faint glow of pride within them that she did not bother to hide.

She stepped forward slightly, her voice clear and filled with confidence.

"Of course he is strong."

Her gaze swept across the soldiers, the archers, and even Borzoi.

"Did you all only realize it now?"

She placed a hand over her chest, her lips curving into a faint smile.

"My young master... is the strongest."

Her voice carried a firm certainty that left no room for doubt.

"He is someone who does not need to shout about his strength, because his strength speaks for itself."

She took a step closer to Clay, her eyes softening just a little.

"You all saw it, didn’t you?"

"Someone you fear... someone you could not even hope to face... was brought down with a single touch."

She let out a small breath, as if recalling something.

"And that is only a fraction of what he can do."

Her words sent a chill through the crowd.

Because deep down... they knew she was not exaggerating.

Meanwhile, the Captain looked at Clay again, his expression completely different from before.

Gone was the doubt.

Gone was the hesitation.

In its place was something else.

Respect.

No... more than that.

Reverence.

He suddenly dropped to one knee, his voice loud and firm.

"Young Master Clay Valmont!"

His shout broke the silence.

The knights behind him quickly followed, their armor clanking as they knelt one after another.

The archers on the wall did the same, some even climbing down in a hurry just to kneel properly.

"Young Master Clay Valmont!"

"Young Master Clay Valmont!"

Their voices echoed, growing louder and louder.

"Thank you for saving us!"

"Thank you for protecting the border town!"

"You are truly worthy of your noble name!"

The cheers continued, rising higher with each passing moment.

Some of them even struck their chests, their voices filled with excitement.

"This is the power of the Valmont Family!"

"A Grand Duke Family indeed!"

"With someone like you, our kingdom has nothing to fear!"

Clay glanced at them briefly, his expression unchanged.

"Alright, alright."

He waved his hand casually.

"Enough with the noise."

Yet even as he said that, the excitement did not die down immediately.

Because for them... this was not just gratitude.

This was witnessing something that would be told for generations.

Meanwhile, far away, on another continent, the atmosphere was completely different.

The Warchief of the Bersuka Tribe stood frozen, his massive body trembling as his eyes remained fixed on the image before him.

For a long time... he said nothing.

And then—

"You..."

His voice came out low.

"You... did that..."

His fists clenched tightly, veins bulging across his arms.

"You... knocked him out... like that..."

The other Warchiefs around him remained silent, their expressions serious.

Even the Shaman, who had always maintained a calm demeanor, now had a deep frown on his face.

"This... is not normal..."

The Shaman spoke slowly.

"Even if Borv was careless... even if he underestimated his opponent... this should not have happened..."

The Warchief suddenly turned his head, his eyes blazing.

"Send Bufolk."

The Shaman’s eyes widened slightly.

"Warchief... Bufolk is not like Borzoi or Borv..."

His voice carried a warning.

"He is among the strongest of the younger generation... even among the senior members... if he falls..."

The Warchief’s gaze sharpened.

"Are you saying... my son would be defeated?"

The Shaman fell silent.

Because there was no correct answer to that question.

The Warchief snorted, his anger barely contained.

"Send him."

His voice left no room for argument.

"I want to see... just what kind of monster that boy is."

...

Meanwhile, in another part of the world, within the ruins of a fallen kingdom, a figure stood amidst destruction.

Buildings had collapsed.

The ground was cracked.

Bodies lay scattered across the land.

And at the center of it all... stood Bufolk.

His large hand was wrapped around the neck of a man who wore a crown.

The King.

The strongest in this land.

His body trembled, his face pale as he struggled to breathe.

"You... monster..."

He forced the words out.

Bufolk looked at him with clear disappointment.

"This is it?"

His voice was calm, almost bored.

"You are the strongest one here... and yet..."

He tightened his grip slightly.

"You can’t even entertain me."

The King tried to speak again, but no words came out.

Bufolk sighed.

"Disappointing."

Crack.

The sound echoed.

The King’s body went limp.

Bufolk released him, letting the corpse fall to the ground without a second glance.

He stretched his neck slightly, as if loosening himself.

"I thought this place would be interesting..."

"But it’s all the same."

He was about to turn away when—

A crack appeared in the air.

A portal.

Bufolk’s eyes widened slightly.

"Hm?"

A voice came from within it.

"Bufolk."

His expression changed.

"There’s a challenge."

For a moment, he stood still.

Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.

"Really?"

His eyes gleamed with excitement.

"I hope that won’t disappoint me."