ITTRAETML 50

~Chapter 50~

The Hendrake Ducal House was in chaos. At dawn, Larvihan had stormed in and blown away half the mansion. As for those inside… may they rest in peace.

“What are you doing, Sir Larvihan!”

The Duke of Hendrake rushed out in his nightclothes, throwing a barrier over what was left of his house.

“I’ve come to repay a debt, Duke Hendrake.”

Larvihan didn’t even flinch at the screams echoing around him. He began another spell.

“W-wait! A debt? There must be some mistake. Let’s talk—let’s talk this through!”

The Duke shouted, too intimidated to come closer.

“Talk? Since when were we close enough for that?”

With a crooked smile, Larvihan finished his spell. Stones rained down on the parts of the mansion left unshielded. The building collapsed in clouds of dust.

“You madman! Why harm innocent people!”

The Duke half-spoke, half-groaned, already mourning the losses.

“Innocent people? Ah… those didn’t die.”

Before the attack, Larvihan had teleported the servants away. He hadn’t chosen a destination—it consumed too much mana to move so many at once—but at least they weren’t dead.

“W-what did you say?”

“Someone told me not to kill them.”

With that, Larvihan stepped closer. The Duke raised his hand, preparing a spell—but he was too slow.

Larvihan’s fist smashed into his mouth, cutting the spell short. Blood gushed. The Duke groaned, clutching his face. Teeth clattered to the floor.

“Only four front teeth? Shame.”

Larvihan’s words were calm, almost disappointed.

“Y-you, y-you’re d-doing th—”

The Duke couldn’t even finish the sentence. He gathered his broken teeth desperately, hoping the temple might restore them.

But Larvihan pried open his fingers, one by one.

“U-ugh…”

The Duke resisted, but it was useless. Four white teeth lay on his bloody palm.

“Once more.”

Larvihan pinched one tooth between his fingers and pressed. It crumbled into dust.

“Try another trick, and…”

Another tooth vanished into the wind.

“I’ll grind your bones like this.”

The last two disappeared together.

“You’ll regret this! The Tower won’t stay silent after what you’ve done!”

Larvihan let go of his hand, laughing as if he’d heard a good joke.

“Haha. Hahahahaha.”

Then he leaned in close, whispering in his ear.

“Better bring them all at once. Don’t bother with small fry. I’ll kill them all anyway.”

The Duke’s courage shattered. He collapsed onto the ground, trembling.

Larvihan turned away. Maxmuel was waiting, offering a towel. Larvihan wiped the blood from his face and tossed it aside.

“You went a little far, my lord.”

Maxmuel knew—if the whole Tower came for him, even Larvihan would suffer heavy losses. Larvihan knew it too. But he couldn’t hold back.

Because Lovelace had been in danger.

“He’s not a fool. This will cause trouble, but he won’t dare start a full war.”

Larvihan’s words eased Maxmuel’s heart. If Larvihan said so, it was enough. And even if it wasn’t… what could he do?

All the blows would fall on Larvihan anyway. Maxmuel felt grateful—and guilty—as he followed him with bowed head.

“Oh my, what a cozy garden. In such a grand mansion, a small garden like this feels even more charming.”

Insult or compliment? Lovelace decided to take it as a compliment. No point souring her mood—especially when the speaker was someone she meant to win over.

She smiled.

“Welcome, Lady Quieton.”

Her husband, Baron Quieton, was a law professor at the Academy. Not powerful in politics, but he had many devoted students.

“I couldn’t come empty-handed.”

Lady Quieton handed over a basket.

“My husband picked this especially since I was attending your gathering.”

Indeed, their marriage was known to be affectionate. Lovelace praised Judith silently for her thorough research.

She placed the gift on the table, untied the ribbon, and checked it immediately—as etiquette required.

“A book! I’ve wanted to read this. Please thank the Baron for me—I’m delighted.”

Most gifts were flowers, wine, or trinkets. A book was unusual.

“He hoped it would help with estate management.”

It was a very good book—How to Feed a Hundred with One Sack of Wheat. The title alone impressed her.

“I’d love to thank him in person someday.”

“I’ll pass along your words, Countess.”

Lovelace glanced toward Madam Johan, watching from inside. See? I did well. I even secured a promise. Madam Johan gave a small nod.

Four more ladies arrived. Lovelace greeted them warmly. Soon, six women were seated, exchanging names and compliments. Lovelace remembered Madam Johan’s lessons.

“Lady Melrosa, the red ribbon suits you beautifully—it highlights your clear, radiant skin.”

“Thank you, Countess.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. Lovelace had studied her: she was self-conscious about her looks. The trick was to be specific, praising the features she might feel proud of.

“Your skin looks especially glowing today. Something good happen?”

“No, not really… maybe it’s the new cosmetics I tried.”

Perfect. The topic turned to her, just as Madam Johan advised:

“Make someone the star once. That way, they’ll feel important here.”

It worked—the conversation flowed easily into beauty and cosmetics. The atmosphere softened. Lovelace added light interjections.

“Lady Quieton, your way with words is amazing. Even complex things sound simple when you explain them. I’d love to learn from you.”

This time she raised Lady Quieton. She was the daughter of a merchant magnate, famous for courting the Baron for over a year before he yielded. She had become a voracious reader to keep up with him.

“Me?”

“Don’t you all agree? When she explained cosmetic ingredients, I thought she was a scholar.”

Lovelace invited the others to support her words.

“Yes, I thought so too.”

Lady Melrosa agreed first—now firmly on Lovelace’s side.

Two allies already. That was enough to tilt the room. But Lady Quieton’s reaction was lukewarm. Lovelace thought quickly.

What to praise for someone who worked tirelessly? Not results—but effort.

“I heard you’re an avid reader, Lady Quieton. That dedication must be why you shine.”

Her face brightened.

Got her.

“And the book you gifted me—was it your recommendation?”

“Yes, it was!”

Her delight was clear.

“Of course, my husband agreed,” she added, revealing the subtle pressure she felt.

“The title struck me. I’ll start it right after the party. If I may, could I send you my impressions afterward?”

“It would be an honor, Countess.”

“And in your reply, I’d like to hear your thoughts too.”

Lady Quieton’s lips curled into a smile.

Good. Two allies secured, maybe a third soon.

Her sharp eyes swept the table. Two ladies already looked happy and satisfied—no need to push them. That left one.

Beatrice. The only unmarried young lady here. She sat, sipping tea, face full of disdain.

“Lady Beatrice.”

At Lovelace’s call, Beatrice lazily looked up.

“Yes, Countess? Something to say?”

Her tone dripped with discontent. Unfounded dislike. Interesting.

“Were today’s topics too dull for you? You haven’t joined in at all.”

She made it sound like concern, not accusation.

“They’re the same old conversations I hear everywhere.”

So, mocking us all. Bold girl.

Lovelace kept her smile.

“I’ve enjoyed this gathering a lot, though I regret not giving you more attention. Shall we discuss something you’d prefer?”

“A topic I’d prefer? Something fun—no, something thrilling.”

Beatrice smiled wickedly.

She was a landmine. Not one that crippled—but one that blew your legs clean off. Too dangerous to leave unattended.

Best to claim her as her own.

“Not interested in flashy single life, are you, ladies?”

Beatrice chuckled. The others raised their fans to hide their faces—their polite way of showing discomfort.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m uninterested. After all, I’m unmarried too.”

Lovelace leaned forward. Beneath the fans, she glimpsed flushed faces, dry lips licked nervously.

They’re all interested, too.