TMSB Ch#06

Psyche went straight to Count Erisicthon.

It was an unannounced and impolite visit—an act that made her a topic of gossip and a willing target for rumors.

But she had no time to worry about such trivial matters.

She feared a future sinking into ruin more than a damaged reputation. She would rather be branded a loose woman unfit for marriage than watch her life fall apart.

“Haha, Lady Psyche, the swan of the Sigurd Empire, has come to see me personally.”

The man before her was once a war hero.

Born out of wedlock between a noble and a commoner, he had joined the family and gone off to fight in numerous wars. His efforts had contributed significantly to the current prosperity of the Sigurd Empire.

The emperor, recognizing his service, granted him a noble title and lands on the frontier.

That man now stood before her.

“I had to meet you after hearing so many rumors. And indeed…”

The frontier count trailed off, his snake-like eyes scanning every inch of Psyche’s face.

She was stunningly beautiful. The rumors about her barely did her justice.

From between her long eyelashes, her pink irises flickered in and out of view. Her reddish pupils and pale skin combined to form a divine glow—more fitting of a goddess of beauty than any mortal woman.

Unbothered by the count’s blatant gaze, Psyche spoke directly. She knew all too well what looks like his truly meant.

“Please cancel the contract. I beg of you.”

“Contract? Ah… You must be talking about Dr. Pascal, whom I’m sponsoring?”

“Yes,” Psyche replied with a nod.

The count’s gaze drifted from her face to the exposed curve of her neck.

When she didn’t respond, his eyes shamelessly wandered lower. Psyche bit her lower lip and clenched her fists tightly, fighting the urge to storm out immediately.

Worse still, the count casually called her by name without permission.

But Psyche had come here with a purpose—one she was willing to endure humiliation for.

“The contract is already signed, so cancellation will be difficult. However… perhaps we can find a compromise. What do you think?”

The count continued, eyes still crawling over her.

“You must be worried about money.”

“…”

He suddenly stood and stepped closer. Whether from war wounds or age, he dragged his right leg as he limped forward.

“Would you honor me by attending Saint Peter’s Day with me?”

Then the count knelt before her and extended his hand politely.

That’s when Psyche fully grasped his intentions.

He wanted her.

Whether for a single night or more—she couldn’t yet be sure.

But one thing was clear: he didn’t care to win her heart.

It was nothing new.

Psyche was said to be the most beautiful woman in the Sigurd Empire—

The noble swan of the Empire, a single flower weathering hardship.

Every poetic phrase referred to Psyche Clement.

“Lady Psyche.”

But no one wanted her heart. They only wanted her beauty. The reason was simple: no one wanted to take responsibility for her.

“…I can solve all the problems troubling you.”

Psyche looked down at the count slowly.

He was far past the usual marrying age. Most men his age were long married with children.

But the count remained unmarried—or more accurately, had been married multiple times, briefly, and was now single again.

All due to failed marriages.

“This would be a reasonable decision for us both.”

His cold voice made Psyche’s fingers twitch. Just a little more, and she might fall into his grip.

“I think you’re mistaken.”

“Mistaken, Lady Psyche?”

“This may seem reasonable to you, but to me, it’s utterly unjust and unfair.”

She calmly placed her hands together and straightened her back, lifting her chin—just as her father had taught her, never to forget the dignity of a noble.

“I understand your position, Your Excellency. However, at the time the seal was sent, my father—the head of the house—was unconscious. And my mother was mentally unstable and unable to make proper decisions. She has been receiving therapy for some time now.”

As resolve replaced the gloom on Psyche’s face, the count slowly stood and pulled back his hand.

Her dull pink eyes regained their shine and blazed brilliantly.

“This contract was executed solely by the head maid’s unauthorized decision. I am to blame for failing to properly supervise our staff, but I sincerely ask Your Excellency to forgive us with a generous heart. …After all, the Imperial Palace would not want a scandal either.”

She added the last part gently, smiling.

Seeing the count hesitate, she knew her polite warning had been understood.

“Lady Psyche. I am the hero who delivered the Kunga Peninsula and surrounding lands to His Majesty. This estate, the land, and even the name Erisicthon were all granted directly by the Emperor himself. Do you think His Majesty will side with you?”

The count’s sharp voice cut through the air—a clear threat.

“You’re a young maiden who hasn’t even married yet. I understand—you’re still naïve to how the world works. It’s not as easy as you think.”

Despite his lecturing tone, Psyche remained unmoved, her gaze even more unwavering than before.

“Is that so? Haven’t you been married several times already, Your Excellency?”

Her gentle tone filled the cold silence, and it carried an odd power that often made her quiet words strangely persuasive.

“The Imperial Palace won’t stay silent forever.”

Her voice, noble and resolute, flowed out like a true aristocrat’s.

The count’s face twisted.

He hated nobles—more specifically, noblewomen. His wives had often borne the brunt of his loathing.

It was widely believed that his strange habit of marrying fallen noblewomen stemmed from this hatred.

Many of his wives had mysteriously gone missing or died.

The Imperial family had remained silent—because he was a hero. But silence could not last forever.

The count knew it too. That’s why Psyche’s words shook him.

“I never imagined reading the newspaper would help me like this.”

Psyche always visited the capital’s plaza when selling her embroidery or cutting her hair to sell.

She would buy newspapers from the children hawking them—not only out of sympathy, but because of the job ads tucked in the back.

Her father, Viscount Clement, had warned her not to take work unbefitting a noblewoman. But someday, she might need one of those ads.

“Ha! Go ahead and try. We’ll see if things go your way. A girl raised in a greenhouse thinks she can take on the world.”

Turning away from the still-blustering count, Psyche said,

“…I see even exile to the frontier wasn’t enough for you.”

That was her final word.

The truth was, the moment the count lost his leg, he lost his usefulness.

The land he guarded was now lawless, a place too dangerous for a lord to leave unattended.

To the Emperor, he was no longer valuable—just someone who needed minimal respect.

Psyche didn’t enjoy stepping on others’ pride. She believed harming another’s dignity was wrong.

She wanted respect and therefore gave it.

But such ideals were meaningless in the face of survival.

If the count clung to pride, Psyche clung to something even more urgent—her life and h

er family’s future.

Even if her pride and dignity were trampled countless times, her life could not be destroyed.