The Villainess’s Dad Is Too Overpowered

The carriage rattled gently as it moved along the dirt path, wheels crunching over scattered leaves. Sunlight peeked through the canopy above, casting soft golden light over the road.

Inside, Violet sat by the window, her small hands pressed against the glass as she watched the trees blur past.

Her violet eyes sparkled. "Papa! Look! The world is so big!"

Callian, seated across from her, remained unimpressed. Arms crossed, he leaned against the plush seat, golden eyes half-lidded.

"It's just trees," he muttered.

Violet huffed. "No, it's not just trees! There's a road and…and that was a squirrel!" She pointed excitedly as a tiny creature darted up a tree.

Callian sighed. She's way too excited about a squirrel.

Damien chuckled beside her. "Have you never left the forest before, little one?"

Violet shook her head. "Nope! Papa never takes me anywhere."

Callian scowled. "The forest has everything we need."

Damien smirked. "Ah, yes. Boars the size of houses and 'kitties' with razor-sharp teeth. A child's dreamland."

Violet giggled. "The kitties are cute."

Callian shot the duke a glare but didn't argue.

Violet continued watching the passing scenery, enraptured. The road was widening, signs of civilization appearing—farms, distant rooftops, travelers walking along the path.

Callian sighed. He wasn't thrilled about this trip.

But…

The duke was right about one thing.

He needed information.

He hadn't cared much before, happy with his peaceful life in the forest. But now? Knowing what this world was—knowing who Violet was destined to become—he couldn't ignore it.

If the capital had answers, he would find them.

Even if it meant traveling with the grand duke.

---

The sky turned a soft orange as the carriage continued its journey.

At some point, Violet had curled up against Callian's side, her tiny hands gripping his sleeve.

Damien had left to speak with the knights outside, leaving the two alone in the dimly lit carriage.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Until—

"Papa?"

Callian hummed, stroking her silver hair absentmindedly. "Hmm?"

Violet fidgeted.

Then, in a quiet voice, she asked,

"Does…Mommy hate me?"

Callian stilled.

His fingers paused mid-stroke, golden eyes darkening slightly.

Violet played with the hem of her dress, her expression unreadable. "Is that why she left me?"

Callian exhaled slowly.

Ah.

So she had been thinking about it.

She didn't cry. Didn't pout.

She just…asked.

His clever little girl.

Callian leaned back, tilting his head. "Who told you that?"

Violet hesitated. Then, "Grandpa said she has a new family now."

A cold sensation crawled up Callian's spine.

"And?"

Violet shrugged, looking away. "And that she didn't want me anymore."

Silence.

Callian closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

Damien. That bastard.

He knew the duke wasn't fond of Julianna's actions, but telling Violet outright?

Violet sniffled, still avoiding his gaze. "I mean…that's why she left, right?"

Callian opened his mouth—then closed it.

What should he say?

That her mother did abandon her? That she had looked at her newborn daughter with horror and ran?

No.

Violet didn't need to hear that.

She was too young.

Instead, he reached out, gently pinching her cheek.

Violet squeaked, swatting at his hand. "Papa!"

He smirked. "Don't make that face, little princess."

Violet pouted, rubbing her cheek. "But—"

"Your mother didn't leave because she hated you."

Violet blinked up at him. "Then…why?"

Callian sighed, leaning forward to rest his chin on top of her head. "Because she was stupid."

Violet giggled. "Papa, that's mean!"

"But it's true," he said dryly.

She shifted in his arms, looking up at him with those big, inquisitive eyes.

Callian softened.

"Listen, Violet," he murmured, "you are the most precious thing in the world to me."

Her lips parted slightly.

"I don't care what anyone else thinks," he continued. "Not your mother, not your grandfather, not the whole damn empire."

He poked her forehead gently.

"Because you're mine."

Violet blinked rapidly, her violet eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Then, suddenly, she tackled him.

Callian grunted as her tiny arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing as tightly as they could.

She buried her face in his shirt, mumbling something against the fabric.

Callian tilted his head. "What was that?"

Violet peeked up at him, puffing her cheeks. "I said…so what if Mom has a new family?"

She straightened, raising her chin defiantly. "I have my strong Papa!"

Callian chuckled.

That's right.

She had him.

And he wasn't going anywhere.

---

Outside the carriage, Damien stood near his horse, arms crossed.

He had returned a few minutes ago but had chosen not to interrupt.

Instead, he watched through the carriage window as his granddaughter clung to that absurd man, laughing and chatting without a care in the world.

Damien sighed.

He had thought the child would be broken after learning the truth.

But Callian…

Damien shook his head.

He should have known.

That man had never let Violet feel unloved, not for a second.

With Callian by her side, even the weight of abandonment couldn't crush her.

Damien exhaled, adjusting his coat.

Perhaps his granddaughter didn't need a mother.

She already had a father strong enough to shield her from anything.

The border crossing was uneventful at first. Callian didn't care much about the noble knights lined up to greet them, nor did he care for the way they barely hid their disdain. He focused on Violet, making sure she was warm enough and had something to snack on.

The knights, however, cared very much about him.

"I don't understand why the Duke is personally escorting a commoner," one of them muttered, just loud enough for Callian to hear.

Another knight scoffed. "Duke Damien must be feeling merciful today."

Callian ignored them. He didn't expect respect from nobles, nor did he need it. Violet, perched in his arms, was oblivious to their words, far too busy playing with his fingers.

It wasn't until Damien turned cold and businesslike that Callian finally paid attention.

"We've arrived at the border," the Duke announced, his voice sharp, calculated. "And I have received the official paperwork for Violet."

A butler handed Damien a stack of documents, neatly bound. The moment Callian saw them, his stomach twisted.

The bloodline papers.

Callian clenched his jaw.

"You are aware that, legally, you were never married to Julianna," Damien continued, flipping through the pages. "That means Violet is not bound to you by noble law."

Callian wanted to tell him to go to hell.

But of course, 'Nobility Charisma' wouldn't let him say that.

Instead, his voice came out polite, smooth. "And what does that mean, Your Grace?"

Damien barely glanced at him. "It means I can officially register Violet as my granddaughter. And you will write down both of your names."

One of the knights smirked. "Oh? The commoner can write?"

Callian's fingers twitched. He could crush this man's skull with one hand. But instead, he let out a slow, measured breath and took the quill.

Violet simply tilted her head. "Papa?"

Callian smiled at her before writing down their names.

Father: Callian H. Evanthiel

Daughter: Violet R. Evanthiel

The moment he finished, he slid the documents toward Damien and leaned back, satisfied.

Damien stared at the name.

Then, for the first time, his cold, calculating mask cracked.

His fingers tightened around the parchment.

"Evanthiel?" His voice was eerily quiet.

Callian tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Yes?"

Damien's eyes narrowed. "You have a last name."

The knights, previously smirking, looked bewildered.

Commoners shouldn't have last names.

Damien's expression darkened as he stared at the name as if trying to dig through distant memories.

He had seen that name before. A long time ago.

Somewhere in the Imperial Palace. In an old, dust-covered book.

But he couldn't remember where.

For the first time in years, Damien felt truly unnerved.

Callian, however, simply smiled. "It's none of your business."

And that was the end of that conversation

The journey continued in silence—until they reached the bustling market district.

Violet, who had been quiet until now, exploded with excitement.

"Papa, look!" She pointed at a fruit stall. "It's orange!"

Callian chuckled. "That's because it's an orange, sweetheart."

Violet gasped, as if she had uncovered a world-changing secret.

The knights, still annoyed by his presence, rolled their eyes at his doting.

Damien was still lost in thought, but his eyes snapped back to focus when Violet suddenly vanished.

Callian's heart stopped.

For a split second, the world slowed.

Then he moved.

Using Windless Footstep, he blurred through the market, weaving between people with terrifying speed.

He found her near a bakery stall, eyes sparkling as she reached toward a tray of freshly baked sweets.

Callian scooped her up instantly.

"Papa!" Violet beamed. "They have cookies!"

He pressed his forehead against hers, exhaling slowly. His hands were shaking. "Violet… don't run off."

She blinked up at him, then patted his face reassuringly. "I'm okay, Papa!"

That wasn't the point.

Callian held her a little tighter.

Damien, who had followed more calmly, watched the scene. He had expected Callian to panic—but not like this.

For a brief moment, Callian had looked as if he had lost his entire world.

Damien's suspicions about him only deepened.

"Callian," Damien finally spoke again as they walked. "You should change your clothes."

Callian looked down at himself. He was dressed in simple yet durable hunting attire—practical, warm, and easy to move in.

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are traveling with my granddaughter. You should look the part."

Callian sighed. "Fine."

The tailor shop was overwhelming.

Bolts of expensive fabric, gilded mirrors, and extravagant outfits filled the space. The tailor, a refined elderly man, eyed Callian's worn clothes in horror.

"Oh, dear."

Callian crossed his arms. "What?"

"You—You look like a mercenary who fell into a river."

Callian scowled. "I like my clothes."

The tailor tutted. "Not anymore."

Callian didn't resist too much—partially because Violet was clapping excitedly. "Papa's getting fancy!"

Damien leaned back, watching as Callian emerged in dark, fitted noblewear.

And then Damien clenched his jaw.

Because it was too fitting.

Callian looked effortlessly regal.

No awkwardness, no discomfort—just sheer, commanding presence.

Damien had seen kings and emperors, but Callian, despite being a so-called commoner, carried himself like he owned the place.

The tailor, despite his earlier comments, looked awed.

Even the knights, previously sneering, were staring.

Callian, as always, remained completely oblivious.

Then it was Violet's turn.

Callian sat back, expecting a simple process. He was wrong.

"Too bright," he frowned at a neon pink dress.

"Too revealing," he rejected another.

"Too mature."

"Too many laces."

The tailor was visibly sweating.

Damien rubbed his temples. "It's just a dress, Callian."

Callian crossed his arms. "She's six."

Violet, meanwhile, twirled in a pale lavender dress, utterly delighted. "Papa! Do I look like a princess?"

Callian's expression softened. "You look perfect."

The tailor sighed in relief.

Damien observed the interaction.

For all of Callian's quirks—his unpredictable temperament, his frustrating secrecy, his absurd strength—he was, above all else, a father first.

And that, Damien realized, was why Callian was so dangerous.

Not because of his skills, his charisma, or his unknown origins.

But because he would burn the world down for his daughter.

And nothing—not status, not nobles, not even Damien himself—would stop him.

For the first time in years, Damien felt something unusual.

Not wariness.

Not calculation.

Respect.

Callian adjusted Violet's ribbon and picked her up, carrying her easily. "Let's go."

Damien watched them leave, a strange weight settling in his chest.