Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 127

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 127
* * *
I stared at the tips of my fingers, which had already healed, with a sense of unease.
‘It seems the cut wasn’t as deep as I thought.’
Well, it wasn’t even a knife wound—just a paper cut.
I accepted this reasoning readily and soon forgot about the matter entirely. What concerned me more was Isidore. Muffin, who used to traverse the windowsill so frequently, had disappeared without a trace. His sudden absence left a hollow ache in my chest, and I found myself worrying about him.
‘Perhaps I should ask Margaret to investigate the current situation with Visconti House.’
While I was thinking this, I received news of him from an unexpected source.
As I looked around the bustling Academy, I asked Margaret about it.
“Why is the Academy so chaotic today?”
Margaret quickly brought me the gossip.
“It appears that the title of Visconti Duke has been inherited by Prince Isidore.”
‘So Isidore has become a Duke?’
It was completely unexpected news. The source of this shocking rumor was believed to be Imperial Court servants. They had apparently noticed from the signatures at the bottom of recent correspondence between the Imperial Court and Visconti House that the master of Visconti had changed.
Once ignited, the rumor spread as rapidly as wildfire.
‘What on earth happened to the previous Visconti Duke?’
It remained unclear whether the former Duke had become unable to conduct his duties for personal reasons, or whether he had voluntarily passed the position of family head to his successor. Since Visconti was a house with far more secrets than other noble families, countless speculations were rampant.
‘Based on Isidore’s demeanor the last time I saw him, this seemed like something unexpected—something that happened suddenly.’
I wondered if Isidore was all right.
The moment I heard the rumor, he continued to weigh on my mind, and I grew increasingly worried.
‘If only I had a telephone, I could contact him immediately.’
Unfortunately, the Southern Territory where Visconti’s lands were located was quite far from the Capital.
‘If I send a letter to the south, wouldn’t it arrive too late?’
Given the sudden succession of the title, he would surely be overwhelmed and wouldn’t have the presence of mind to properly read a letter.
‘What should I do?’
I swallowed a sigh and fidgeted with my quill pen.
* * *
In the coastal region of the Southern Territory governed by Visconti House.
Before the Alea Strait, known as a natural fortress, stood Rodium Castle, where the Duke of Visconti—the master of the territory—resided, facing the sea.
Splash—
Waves crashed against the castle walls, scattering into white spray.
The interior of the castle was enveloped in an atmosphere far quieter and more composed than ever before. It was the complete opposite of the previous week’s night, when it had been a city that never slept, filled with people indulging in excess.
The Duke of Visconti, a man of hedonistic and impulsive nature, had collapsed from a sudden heart attack while showing off and drinking excessively in front of his guests. After remaining in a comatose state for some time, he had finally died this morning.
Though it was a sudden event, the retainers of Visconti House had calmly prepared to welcome their young and capable Duke as their new master. They harbored not even a shred of loyalty toward their previous lord.
The reason Visconti came to be regarded as an unusually secretive house was because its retainers had desperately concealed the conduct of the Duke of Visconti from the outside world.
The Duke of Visconti had drawn ruffians and jesters into his home to host bizarre parties that were difficult to speak of, and he would sit in his office feeling restless, then venture out to his private lands to hunt slaves and pass the time.
At some point, the retainers within the household began to rely on and follow the young heir, who possessed superior skill and talent, more than the mad Duke. The only person in Visconti House who did not acknowledge Isidore was Albert Visconti, the family head.
‘In truth, rather than not acknowledging him, he was a mediocre father who felt inferiority toward his superior son.’
Count Rivera, an aged retainer of Visconti, withdrew his cold gaze from the corpse of the former Duke and approached Isidore, the new Duke.
Since arriving in the territory, Isidore had not eaten properly, and his jawline had become even more sharply defined. Whenever I met his gaze—so devoid of emotion, so pale—a chill ran through my limbs.
“Duke Visconti.”
“That title doesn’t sit right with me. It feels like I’m hearing someone call my father.”
Isidore spoke with a sardonic edge.
“All the retainers of our House have long followed you with their hearts.”
“….”
“The golden coffin has arrived. I shall summon the priests to prepare the funeral rites.”
“Wait a moment.”
Isidore, his voice hollow, gazed at his father—motionless as if in deep slumber—for as long as he wished. The cause of death: cardiac arrest from excessive drinking. Even in his final moments, he remained a pedestrian, contemptible creature.
In the end, there would never come a day when I could truly meet my father, who had always walked a parallel path to mine. From the very beginning, he was fundamentally a different being—understanding him was simply impossible.
‘Besides, I never wanted to meet him anyway.’
Yet the fact that my father’s death stirred so little emotion in me drew a faint, bitter laugh.
‘Now I understand clearly.’
I had never even hated the pathetic man before me. What I once mistook for hatred was merely contempt and revulsion—no different from the feeling one experiences upon seeing a black centipede crawling across the floor.
Even the emotions I felt toward my father in childhood had been corrupted by memory, diluted into nothingness.
Certainly, until now, everything had felt tedious, wearisome, and dull….
‘Why do I suddenly want to see more?’
While the priests who had come to the castle offered their prayers, I found myself thinking of Deborah’s crimson eyes. When I first beheld her, those ruby-like eyes of hers blazed with an intense, inexplicable radiance. Yet now they seemed to shine for no reason at all, at any moment.
I had no idea then that I would come to feel this way.
‘I want to see her face.’
Conducting the funeral rites as Duke rather than Prince, I calculated how much time I would need to remain in the Southern Territory. Completing the southern funeral procedures and formally holding the succession ceremony would consume even more time.
I wrote to Deborah that the situation would take some time to resolve. And when I wrote that I missed her, I found myself dipping my quill in ink once more, almost without thinking. Perhaps it was because I wanted her to feel the vividness of my longing.
“Duke, a letter has arrived.”
Just as I sealed the envelope, a letter from Deborah arrived with perfect timing. Though it must have been sent days ago, it felt as though I had received her reply immediately.
Whenever I had a spare moment, I read her letter again and again.
I ate a late meal. Suddenly, hunger had seized me. I recalled how she had savored the meat I had cut for her.
Yet there was an error in her final sentence. Far from being disheartened, I regretted that my father had died sooner than expected. After all, I would now assume the troublesome position of family head all the faster.
‘That man called father was useless to the very end.’
The coffin, draped in white cloth, descended into the earth. After the priests offered their prayers for the deceased, the funeral rites concluded. Since I already held all real power within the House, the entire process unfolded as smoothly as flowing water.
“At last….”
Count Drain wept with emotion.
“True radiance now shines upon Visconti.”
Gazing upon the new Duke of Visconti, who bore an uncanny resemblance to the portrait of the founding patriarch, the retainers felt overwhelming reverence and surging exultation. Soon after, I took my seat at the center of the gathering, dressed in black ceremonial robes trimmed with gold, surrounded by all the retainers and collateral branches of the House.
“Without further ado, let us do our best going forward.”
At those words from him—who had remained expressionless throughout—delivered with a captivating, subtle smile, thunderous applause erupted.
Shortly after, a grand banquet commenced to commemorate the succession of the Duke of Visconti.
* * *
I quickly scanned the letter Isidore had sent. Given that he had used a transfer gate, it hadn’t been long since he wrote it.
‘Isidore has always been skilled in transfer magic, after all.’
I suppressed my nervous feelings and carefully read through his letter from the very first line.
He had grasped my situation with remarkable accuracy.
When I think about it, Isidore isn’t even that old, yet he must conduct his father’s funeral and restore his entire house. The burden he carried seemed far too heavy, and that weighed on me all the more.
As I worried for him in silence, my eyes fell upon a sentence written at the back of the letter, and I found my face flushing unexpectedly. I rubbed my cheeks in embarrassment.
What on earth?
That particular sentence stood out with unusual clarity, as if pressed into the paper with deliberate force, when a sound interrupted my thoughts—someone tapping at the window.
What is it?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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