Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 174

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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 174
“So having a true name means she changed her name?”
I asked the startled woman.
“Yes, ‘Jamila’ was the name the Fourth Empress used during her time in the Nerman Kingdom, and ‘Astella,’ which she uses now, was a name bestowed directly by His Majesty the Emperor when she bore the Third Prince.”
“I see.”
So that’s why Jamila’s name didn’t appear in Isidore’s records. After all, those were compiled from investigations conducted over the past three years.
‘And the fact that Miya discarded the Duchess’s diary means she’s deeply entangled with the Fourth Empress to the point of knowing her true name.’
As I fell into thought, the woman’s eyes darted nervously.
“But how does Lady Deborah Simour know that name…? It’s a name known only to those who came over from the Nerman Kingdom with her…”
She murmured softly, her face bewildered. Since I had no obligation to answer, I rose from my seat.
“Forget everything that happened today. If you keep your mouth shut, no trouble will come your way.”
“Oh my, yes yes. It’s an honor to be of service to Lady Deborah Simour of Simour.”
The quick-witted woman, understanding my meaning immediately, clutched the money pouch tightly and bowed repeatedly. Once Isidore and I had discovered the identity of the name hidden in the crossword puzzle, we pulled our robes deep over our heads and exited through the back door of the Convent.
‘In the end, Jamila was the Fourth Empress’s true name.’
“One truly understands the saying that the darkest place is beneath the lamp.”
I nodded in agreement with Isidore’s words.
The mastermind behind the Black Mage Group, a contractor with demons, the one who caused rifts that claimed countless lives—she had been walking openly within the Imperial Palace all this time without being discovered. And she was an empress from a foreign land with no power base to speak of. Who could have imagined such a thing?
Separate from my shock, as puzzle pieces that had been missing began to appear one by one, the grand design my opponent had drawn became increasingly concrete.
In the novel, Miya continuously rejected the endless advances of powerful and wealthy suitors because it was already designed for her to solidify her position as the incarnation of a saint and then support the Third Prince.
‘In the end, the Fourth Empress created a fake saint named Miya to make her own son emperor.’
To give legitimacy to the Third Prince, whose claim was weak, she sought to exploit the prestige that Saint Naila possessed.
Struck anew by the terrifying obsession parents could have for their children, I opened my mouth.
“Now I understand why the Black Mages who impersonated priests and searched for the saint never touched Miya Binoshu, and why they sought to make her into a saint.”
“Marquis Francois’s unwavering support for Miya Binoshu was to establish the Fourth Empress’s son as emperor.”
Isidore responded to my words.
“The man chosen by the incarnation of a saint. With this alone, even without the blue hair that symbolizes the Imperial House, he could gain the support of the people and nobility.”
“Moreover, by putting a saint forward, they could draw in the Temple faction, which had been wary of the Emperor’s growing power.”
If a saint became empress as Isidore said, the Temple would have justification for direct and indirect involvement in politics.
“Had their plan succeeded, even the Senate, which coveted the power monopolized by the founding merit families, would have allied with the Fourth Empress and supported the Third Prince.”
They sought to check the formidable Emperor faction with the Temple and the Senate.
“…They’ve created an absolutely brilliant scheme.”
And absurdly, all this time I had been barging into the game of go-stop that the Fourth Empress and Miya were playing together, unintentionally disrupting their plans at every turn.
In the novel, Miya gained the support of the people through devoted service, demonstrated outstanding achievements at the Academy, and wielded considerable influence in the Central Social Circle.
But through my intervention, Miya lost the pink diamond, the Flower of the Year, the top position at the Academy, and all other significant connections, failing to establish herself as firmly as in the original work.
‘The Fourth Empress must have been continuously wary and watching me, the greatest obstacle.’
In the end, they deliberately targeted my life, which had become an endless stumbling block.
‘Insane.’
They tried to kill me because I was in the way.
They deliberately separated Isidore and me, committed arson to shake off my guards, and even sent assassins and powerful Black Mages. And now, the mastermind behind all this must be certain that I am the incarnation of the saint.
I clenched my fist tightly, turning over in my mind the word ‘DEMON’ that had been at the intersection.
* * *
“Haah! Haah!”
Miya jolted upright in bed, her breathing ragged and labored. Her body was drenched in cold sweat from the horrifying nightmare that had seized her.
After a long time, she had dreamed of that day’s terror again. The dream had been so vivid that the metallic stench of blood still seemed to linger at the tip of her nose.
“Come with us, Miya.”
Madam Ophelia had approached her in secret, promising to repay the Binoshu Family’s debts and grant her entry into the Academy and Central Social Circle—places where only the chosen nobility walked.
Her family was already ruined, and she had no future. Rather than be sold off to a moneylender’s mercy or married to some decrepit old man or filthy commoner, death would have been preferable.
“I shall make you the most radiant being in the entire Empire, beloved by all.”
“How?”
“Is there anyone more beloved and radiant in the Empire than a saint?”
Miya had accepted Madam Ophelia’s request to become a false saint. Telling herself it was necessary for survival, she had participated in a ritual to summon a demon. And there, she had witnessed something she would never forget for the rest of her life.
A bizarre magic circle inscribed with a goat sigil and a six-pointed star.
The reek of rotting human corpses.
The name JAMILA written in blood-red characters.
Miya knew the name Jamila because the Fourth Empress used her true name when summoning the demon.
And there, Miya had heard the demon’s whisper.
-You possess a deep shadow within you.
Her heart clenched painfully at the desolate voice that resonated through her brain and eardrums. Watching the demon’s form flicker like a shadow behind candlelight, Miya realized there was no turning back.
The Black Mages’ incantations grew louder, and Ophelia raised a finely honed blade toward Miya—her eyes gleaming like those of a butcher preparing to slaughter a lamb upon the altar.
She couldn’t even scream. Red blood erupted into the air, and a deep gash opened across Miya’s pristine throat. When what they called sacred blood first seeped into the exposed flesh, the pain was indescribably excruciating.
But it seemed she was growing numb to the agony. Now, whenever she heard that sacred blood was insufficient, anxiety seized her.
‘I must be a true saint….’
Given the chance, she could outshine anyone. The news that Deborah Simour was still alive must have weakened her resolve, causing this nightmare.
“It’s all because of that woman!”
Miya gasped roughly, hurling everything within reach across the room.
‘I hope she’s dead….’
The shadow in her heart deepened. She was sinking further into an endless black swamp with no visible bottom.
* * *
The Fourth Empress, Jamila, tapped the armrest with a shadowed expression.
She had failed to assassinate Deborah Simour, yet the losses were immense, and bitterness gnawed at her. She had become certain that Deborah Simour was the saint the Divine had revealed, but now she had almost no moves left to make.
‘Sigh, I didn’t expect Albert to leave traces.’
Her most valued subordinate had died without erasing the traces of alchemy, and the Imperial Court had identified the Black Mages as suspects in the arson. Surveillance had intensified. Moreover, Deborah Simour had displayed sacred power, and now Miya was coming under suspicion.
‘This time I managed to weather it, but the next time will be problematic….’
Under pressure from the Crown Prince’s faction to demonstrate the sacred power she had shown at Hyanghwa, Miya had healed someone burned in the Library fire.
‘Thanks to that, I’ve gained sympathy as my backing.’
The Crown Prince’s faction could no longer pressure Miya for fear of backlash. However, because of the scholars whose lives Deborah Simour had saved and the witnesses who had seen the pure white light, whispers that Miya was not a true saint were becoming increasingly common.
Thus, High Society was currently in turmoil over an unexpected saint controversy. The Temple and Senate, which had been supporting Miya from behind the scenes, secretly hoped Deborah Simour was not a saint, so claims that the lady was a saint were losing momentum.
‘But if Deborah Simour directly demonstrates the power she used at Hyanghwa, public opinion will flip in an instant.’
She should have killed her before the lady revealed her strength to the world, but that opportunity had already been lost.
‘Will another chance to kill her arise before then?’
Should I strike another deal with a demon?
“My lord. What shall we do?”
Jamila, who had been observing the Black Mages prostrated before her, bit her lip as her eyes darkened with shadow, then rose from her seat.
“For now, wait until the crimson moon rises.”
When the crimson moon ascends, the passage connecting to the demon realm expands, weakening the intervention of the supreme god while amplifying the power of demons.
“That day is not far off….”
Her black eyes gleamed with an icy light.

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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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