Apocalypse Villainess? Nah, I'm Nice

Paige Summers was busy in her weapon shop when she received a call from Sheldon Reid himself.

Thanks to Nora Lowell’s sabotage, the shop had grown much quieter. Originally, Paige had planned on slowly winning back her customers. ’Besides, it’s not like I care to serve those blind fools who think I’d palm off shoddy work as premium goods.’

But Blake Morrison couldn’t stand her slow pace.

To think that a partner of the Mercer Family was such a contemptible person—wasn’t that a slap in the face to the Mercers?!

So he insisted on inviting guests over to publicly clear her of this insult!

An Artifact Maker from the Mercer Family coming to the Fourth District was in itself an event big enough to cause a stir, let alone one who would personally explain how to discern a weapon’s quality.

Add to that the guests Blake Morrison himself had invited...

The word "lively" was hardly enough to describe the scene.

Paige’s head was throbbing. Thankfully, most of the people there were Superpower Users. Otherwise, a stampede might have broken out!

And now, all she had to worry about was her small shop not collapsing from the crowd.

Just as she was worrying about this, Sheldon’s call came through.

"The mastermind behind the assassination attempt has been found. His name is Woody Warren. I trust you’re familiar with the name. He has now been executed by the military. As compensation, The Power Corps will be formally placing a custom weapon order with Summers Armaments. Regarding the price..."

Listening to his detached explanation, Paige silently hung up.

She had guessed it.

She figured he would protect Nora Lowell, but she never expected him to offer up Woody Warren so decisively—to have him killed... as a settlement for her.

Having broken ties with Shawn Monroe, Nora Lowell lost her powerful right arm. Now, Woody Warren’s death meant she had lost her left.

She didn’t know if Nora Lowell felt any regret for what she had done, nor did she care.

It was just that Woody Warren’s death left a tightness in her chest. She couldn’t feel happy about it at all.

She knew this was pointless, even laughable.

She should have expected this outcome from the moment she brought those five corpses to Sheldon Reid to make her feigned accusation...

She looked up at the crowd gathered at the shop’s entrance.

She knew Sheldon Reid had likely done this out of consideration for the Mercer Family, and perhaps the Lowell Family as well, but his methods certainly didn’t earn him any goodwill from her.

She was conflicted, and she knew it.

She had already resolved to give up on their past friendship—how could she, an outsider, possibly compare to his own niece? But now that things had truly reached the point of no return, she felt an inexplicable gloom and a heart full of sorrow.

In a daze, she even began to recall when she first arrived in the Dead City.

To avoid the openly hostile Perry Family, she had found Woody Warren’s dilapidated furniture shop through the mission hall... She even clearly remembered the room she had stayed in.

It was so small, so cramped. Compared to her life now, the conditions had been immeasurably worse.

But for the person she was back then, that furniture shop was the best shelter she could have asked for. And its owner, the gruff but kind-hearted Woody Warren, had been the person who treated her best in this strange world.

She never fantasized that time could stand still, but in this moment, she realized there was so much worth remembering...

This "reputation-clearing" event ended with her in a daze.

Fortunately, too many people were fawning over Blake Morrison. Overwhelmed by the attention, he had returned to District One as soon as his speech was over. Otherwise, he would have surely noticed that his host was neglecting her duties.

Back at her residence, after some deliberation, she told Marcus Monroe and Claire Chapman the full story of what had happened to Woody Warren.

Both were stunned for a moment.

But for different reasons.

Marcus Monroe was worried about her, his eyes fixed on every minute change in her expression.

It was no wonder; of everyone, he was the one who best understood her relationship with Woody Warren.

Her father-like reliance on and trust in Woody Warren back then had left a deep impression on him that lingered to this day.

After a long silence, he murmured, "What’s done is done. Try not to dwell on it..."

Paige hummed softly in response.

Claire Chapman, however, was thinking about something else entirely.

"With Woody Warren dead, the traitor is going to sense something’s wrong even without getting a clear report. I’m guessing they’ll try to flee as soon as possible. So, how about it? Shall we lay a trap for them?"

Paige let out a breath, pulling her mind back to the present.

"All right. Have your people keep watch. The moment you spot anything, move in."

"Don’t worry!"

That night, deep in the middle of the night, a knock on the door startled Paige out of her Cultivation. She hopped down, opened the door, and found Lucy Lee standing on her doorstep.

"The prey has left its den!"

"Let’s go!"

Paige got into a car with Lucy Lee, who led the way. The two of them soon arrived at a quiet road in the northernmost part of District Four.

Several Hunting Party members, led by Claire Chapman, had formed a tight circle, completely surrounding a single person.

As she drew closer, Paige heard the person in the middle shout angrily, "What are you doing? I have to go out for a private matter. What’s that got to do with you? Now move!"

The angry shout was followed by the clang of clashing weapons.

Paige’s expression was grim.

The moment the car stopped, she jumped out.

Seeing she had arrived, Claire Chapman and the others parted to create an opening, allowing her to see the person’s face.

"Rachel Forrest, why don’t you tell me exactly what kind of ’private business’ you have?"

Meeting her sharp gaze, Rachel Forrest subconsciously clutched her backpack strap and forced a relieved smile. "Sister Paige! You’re just in time. That punk Claire Chapman is trying to mutiny! She actually brought people to trap me here!"

Claire Chapman scoffed. "Rachel Forrest! You know why you’re here, and we know why you’re here. To think you’re still trying to sow discord at a time like this... Sigh, I really overestimated your intelligence!"

Rachel Forrest’s expression faltered. Shaking her head at Paige, she said, "Sister Paige, don’t listen to her nonsense! I was just..."

"Save it."

Paige cut her off. Drawing her long knife, she closed the distance with lightning speed and, with two quick slashes, tore open the backpack. The contents tumbled out. Among them was a particularly inconspicuous leather pouch. Paige’s eyes swept over the items once before she singled it out, flicking it open with the tip of her knife.

Instantly, a bag full of Crystal Cores began to emit a faint glow in the darkness.

She flipped the blade around and pointed it at Rachel Forrest’s neck. "Still want to make excuses? Then start by explaining where these Crystal Cores came from!"

A protective shield flared to life around Rachel Forrest.

Under Paige’s cold gaze, she dropped the innocent facade. Her expression twisted into one of resentment as she spoke in a hoarse voice, "Yes! I betrayed you. But you all forced me to do it!"

"We forced you?" Paige’s brow furrowed.

Rachel Forrest, sounding self-righteous and exceptionally indignant, said, "That’s right! Why don’t you think about it? My brother and I slaved away for you all the way to Central City. It’s one thing that you weren’t grateful, but you took it for granted and ordered us around like servants! The pay for each mission was a pittance, and even that’s fine. But your Summers Armaments—who was it that worked so hard to look after it for you? It was me and my brother! But in the end? Not only did we not get any shares, but you’re raking it in while my brother and I can’t even get a taste of the scraps. How can you live with yourself?!"

Paige listened, then suddenly let out a cold laugh.

"So that’s how it is! I was always under the impression that you joining the Hunting Party was a mutual agreement—if it worked out, we’d stick together; if not, we’d go our separate ways. I never imagined you saw it this way. Just because we’re companions, you think you have the right to shamelessly covet other people’s property, and that I, the owner, have to split everything with you fifty-fifty? What a bizarre line of reasoning!"