Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 133

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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 133
The Fourth Empress, who had been watching me, slowly turned her body and disappeared among the nobles. I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination.
‘Besides, we’ve never even met before. Why would she suddenly glare at me like that?’
Yet that chilling sensation I felt the moment our eyes met still lingered around my chest. As I was trying to calm my racing heart, the Crown Prince’s words snapped me back to reality.
“Duke Visconti, Lady Deborah Simour. See you at the after-party.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“See you later.”
The Fifth Princess waved at me before leaving. The moment they disappeared, Isidore spoke to me.
“Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
I shook my head, and he lightly brushed the back of my hand.
“This event is quite long, isn’t it? There seem to be an unusually high number of nobles receiving title promotions this quarter.”
Some nobles like Isidore inherited their titles from their fathers, but quite a few had risen in rank through their achievements. Recently, monster waves had been occurring frequently due to cracks in the Barrier, so several people who had distinguished themselves in the frontier regions had emerged besides Lord Rozard.
The Third Prince was also a case of someone who distinguished himself in warfare. In the novel, he returned to the Capital backed by the support of Northern Region lords. He was drawn with considerable presence in the novel, but now he seems to be overshadowed by Lord Rozard.
‘But why did Lord Rozard suddenly become such a star?’
Absurdly, I’d been hearing news that a play depicting Lord Rozard’s recent exploits was about to premiere. Though his character was ruined, he managed his image well and was popular because of his handsome appearance.
Beleck Simour, who had earned me a fortune through the massage device, was stuck in the Magic Tower trying to meet the demand for magical tools.
‘Is this even allowed?’
Things were flowing differently from the original work, and I found myself clicking my tongue inwardly.
“Thank you for coming with me to such an uncomfortable place.”
Isidore whispered tenderly to me as I was lost in thought.
“Shall we return to our seats? The event will start again soon.”
It wasn’t a distance that required an escort, but Isidore seemed to want to link arms, so he extended his arm slightly. Finding that adorable, I gently pinched his forearm, and he closed his eyes with a smile, looking delighted.
The moment he smiled, I heard a dolphin-like short scream from somewhere, but I deliberately ignored it.
Soon after, the Emperor, who had briefly left his seat for a rest, appeared, and the title succession ceremony that had paused resumed. And after a long wait, the ceremony for conferring the Duke title was held.
Isidore, who had walked across the red carpet laid between the towering marble columns and ascended the high platform, knelt respectfully before the Emperor.
“I hope glory befalls the House of Visconti, the pillar that supports the Empire.”
The scene was so solemn, like a painting, that even the spectators held their breath.
‘Why doesn’t magic that can record video exist in this world?’
At least there were record painters who preserved this sight in paintings.
‘He looks like he’s in pain.’
The painters had expressions as if they wanted to tear up their paper right then and there. It was an expression of utter helplessness at how to capture that face on canvas.
‘Well, I doubt even photographs or videos could capture the real thing like that.’
With thoughts bordering on infatuation, I gazed blankly at him receiving his title for a long while.
* * *
The after-party was held in the Grand Hall at the center of the Imperial Palace. Since prominent figures attended, it was an excellent opportunity for the newly titled nobles to build their networks.
‘The Master of the Magic Tower is attending the party.’
‘I thought he would definitely not attend.’
When Duke Simour, who rarely appeared at such informal gatherings despite showing up at official events, made his appearance, several nobles became excited.
However, those who had approached him hoping to make acquaintance with the Master of the Magic Tower through this opportunity immediately took a step back. Duke Simour’s aura was so fierce it seemed he could freeze the entire hall.
He, whose gaze looked ready to freeze everything in sight, transformed into a tender and gentle father the moment Lady Deborah Simour, dressed in an evening gown, approached him.
‘What on earth did I just witness?’
Among the nobles standing nearby, some found themselves doubting their own eyes.
“Deborah, shall we head home soon?”
At Duke Simour’s suggestion, which seemed to come through gritted teeth, a flicker of discomfort crossed Deborah’s gaze.
Isidore, who was essentially the star of tonight’s event, needed to remain in the ballroom for at least another couple of hours, and if his partner left now, it would cast him in an awkward light. But Duke Simour cared nothing for such considerations.
“What a tiresome affair this is. So many nobles everywhere. Since tomorrow is Monday, it would be best to retire early and rest.”
“Actually, I was planning to dance the first waltz with you, Father. If you’re tired, would you prefer to leave first?”
Duke Simour faltered.
“Ahem. That’s not what I meant to say. It’s just been so long since I’ve danced, I was worried, but…”
He gently took his daughter’s hand as she requested a dance, barely concealing his delight.
‘At least he knows basic courtesy.’
Isidore, who had graciously yielded the first dance, stood alone against the wall. Watching him ignore the beautiful young ladies circling nearby, Duke Simour inwardly clicked his tongue.
‘The man has no humanity.’
Though that was better than overflowing with it and letting it spill everywhere.
‘A mage suits Simour far better than a knight.’
Having been foolish and neglectful of his children until now, only just getting to dance the first waltz with his daughter, Duke Simour couldn’t help but see Isidore—who was eyeing his daughter—as a thief.
The moment he took his daughter’s hand, the minuet began. Duke Simour, who had nearly forgotten how to dance, paid no mind to the rhythm whatsoever, yet Deborah, blessed with natural grace, matched his steps perfectly.
“Deborah.”
Duke Simour spoke as they turned slowly.
“I hear the Academy is creating beginner-level formula textbooks?”
“Thanks to Enrique, I’ve been putting them together in my spare time.”
“I’m proud of you. I hope you continue doing what you wish to do, just as you are now. Without being bound by convention.”
In truth, she was working hard to become a wealthy idler, but the Duke had no way of knowing such details.
“And remember—never trust a man’s words. That is absolute truth.”
“…”
Meanwhile, the sight of the Magic Tower Master, famous for his coldness, dancing with his daughter drew the attention of everyone present. When Lady Deborah Simour twirled in her evening gown with such grace, gasps of admiration escaped from the crowd.
‘It’s unfortunate that she doesn’t look beautiful only to my eyes.’
Standing against the wall and quietly surveying the ballroom, Isidore adjusted his white gloves and approached the young lady who had just finished dancing with Duke Simour.
‘I should not ask Lady Deborah Simour to dance today.’
Dancing the first waltz with one’s ball partner was basic etiquette. Duke Simour, being her direct family and father, could be exempted, but otherwise, no one could ask her to dance until Isidore’s dance with her was complete. If Isidore didn’t dance, there was nothing for it but to wait.
He concealed his true feelings and carefully adjusted the hem of her dress, which had been disturbed by the Duke’s steps.
“If my daughter returns late, I’ll hold Duke Visconti responsible. Prepare yourself for war.”
Duke Simour whispered this warning before leaving the ballroom, and Isidore watched his retreating figure with a peculiar feeling. Moments ago, it seemed he would unleash an Ice Arrow and sever his neck on the spot, but having yielded the first dance, his momentum had noticeably diminished.
‘Still, the road ahead seems long.’
Pouring a single bucket of water into the sea would never dilute its salt.
“What did he say?”
“He said not to tire you out too much. Oh, are you hungry, perhaps? Shall we go to the Tea Room?”
“Yes, let’s. Duke Visconti.”
The two entered the Tea Room prepared in the back. Since many people were still conversing in the hall, the room with its finger foods was relatively quiet.
“Try this. It has cream cheese on top, so it should be delicious.”
Isidore tended to her like a mother bird ferrying food to her nest. While she nibbled on a smoked salmon biscuit to take the edge off her hunger, the Third Prince swept into the Tea Room with his entourage, their boisterous chatter filling the space.
The group that arrived with the Third Prince and Habier Histechi consisted of the Northern Region lords who had recently been promoted to marquis, along with their sons. The Third Prince, who had led the Imperial forces northward to provide support, had effectively subdued the monsters, and the Northern Region lords had earned considerable merit fighting at his side.
Among them, Minu Marshall, the eldest son of a provincial lord unfamiliar with Capital affairs, had heard whispers of Deborah Simour’s notorious reputation but hadn’t truly grasped its weight.
“The Capital ladies certainly are something else, aren’t they?”
He’d been muttering behind her back that she was beautiful, and when he encountered Deborah Simour in the quiet Tea Room, he approached her with a dance invitation—only to be flatly refused.
“I decline.”
“May I ask why?”
“Can’t you see I’m eating?”
“I wasn’t asking for an immediate dance—perhaps later…”
“That won’t do. The princess hasn’t even danced with me yet, her actual partner, and besides, you lack propriety. This is hardly an appropriate place for a dance invitation.”
With Duke Visconti stepping in, Minu Marshall retreated as though fleeing.
Then, the Third Prince, who had been holding a champagne glass, suddenly spilled it across Deborah Simour’s skirts—as if by accident.

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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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