Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 207

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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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Special Side Story 4
The scale of funds invested suggested this was far more than a simple vacation retreat. My suspicion was that he was deliberately constructing numerous high-end villas in regions where land prices would rise in the future.
‘The Imperial Court doesn’t impose heavy taxes on the nobility’s dignity maintenance expenses—there would be too much resistance.’
Villas could be processed as dignity maintenance expenses, making them far more advantageous tax-wise than constructing buildings for general commercial purposes.
Since the hot spring had only recently been developed, the facilities would be excellent, and once winter arrived, the hot spring’s popularity would naturally surge, bringing increased visitors to the surrounding accommodations.
‘There’s no way there wouldn’t be demand for high-end villas differentiated from ordinary lodgings.’
If I sold villas to vain nobles, couldn’t I pocket profit margins exceeding five times the cost?
‘Hmm….’
As I gradually came to understand the Visconti method of budgeting that laid golden eggs, considerable time had passed.
Before dismissing the administrators, I asked what was on my mind.
“Given the size and scale of the villas constructed, it seems there’s a correspondingly grand hot spring. Is this hot spring venture being handled directly by Duke Visconti?”
“Regarding the hot spring venture, His Excellency reviews the final reports, while Count Morgang handles the actual operations.”
“I see. Thank you for taking the time.”
The moment I dismissed them from the office, Isidore appeared with a sullen expression.
“Why are those old men monopolizing you for half the day? I’ve only seen you this morning.”
He uttered nonsense with the most aggrieved expression imaginable.
“I simply grew curious about various matters, and time got away from me.”
“You could ask me.”
“I can’t keep imposing on such elite personnel as Master.”
“Sigh. Why must you say such things.”
Sighing as though it were his karma, he glanced at his watch before suggesting we dine together.
After indulging in fish dishes prepared using Southern cooking methods, we took tea and dessert on the terrace adorned with golden lighting.
Isidore cut an appropriately sized piece of cake laden with fruit and fed it to my lips as he asked.
“You’re not uncomfortable, are you?”
He constantly inquired about my well-being, always carefully observing whether I was adapting well to the Southern Region.
“There is.”
“What is it?”
“How inconvenient it is that someone who possesses Visconti Castle keeps clinging to me from early morning.”
“What kind of leech behaves like that.”
“Indeed.”
“Punish him. Preferably with your lips.”
He uttered such shameless words without hesitation, dumping sugar into his tea before swiftly changing the subject.
“Ah, a gathering has been scheduled for the weekend. But since most of them are manageable people, there shouldn’t be any troublesome matters.”
“Are House Visconti members coming?”
“Yes. They’re regional lords who have served under House Visconti for generations, and most are from the Southern Region.”
Despite being tempered in the cutthroat Central Social Circle, tension suddenly rose within me.
The fact that only Isidore’s people would attend made it even more burdensome. When surrounded by enemies, I could behave recklessly, but toward allies, shouldn’t I conduct myself with dignity?
“Give me the guest list. I should at least memorize their names.”
“Why bother memorizing their names? They should consider it an honor merely to breathe in the same space as you.”
As I forcibly extracted the guest list from Isidore, who spouted such nonsense, and familiarized myself with the guests’ names and characteristics, the gathering drew rapidly near.
* * *
The Visconti retainers attending the Duchess’s welcome banquet were generally on the younger side.
The older retainers had stepped back from the front lines after the previous lord, Albert Visconti, died suddenly. And on the day before the banquet, Isidore’s subordinates were receiving a lecture on proper conduct from their master.
“Don’t ask unnecessary questions.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And don’t say anything that won’t help matters.”
“Yes, sir!”
“If you get caught up in the mood, don’t head home, keep drinking and carousing, and if the banquet goes on too long… you understand?”
“Um, I’m not entirely sure, sir.”
Watching his colleague give such a vacant response, Miguel clicked his tongue inwardly.
‘He’s saying he wants to enjoy his honeymoon, so get out as quickly as possible. Good grief, how can someone be so oblivious?’
“If you’re curious, go find out for yourself.”
Isidore’s gaze was utterly cold.
He was already quite displeased with this banquet. Deborah Simour had been too busy memorizing the names of attendees to spend time with him.
“N-no, sir, I absolutely won’t do that.”
The retainer tensed up, completely unaware of Isidore’s childish reasoning.
“Good, then remember it.”
Isidore gave the tense retainer’s shoulder a couple of light pats before heading briskly toward his office.
‘I need to leave work early. This evening I’ll take a carriage into the city with Deborah Simour.’
He was humming cheerfully while reviewing documents when a knock sounded at the door.
“Your Grace.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it’s…”
As Miguel continued speaking, Isidore’s expression turned glacial.
“Philaf Montes is acting suspiciously?”
“Yes, sir.”
Isidore let out a sharp breath.
‘Philaf Montes.’
It was remarkable how a single name could sour one’s mood so thoroughly.
Then again, with nothing clean about his manner of speech, his gaze, his gestures, or his way of thinking, it was only natural that merely recalling him filled Isidore with revulsion.
“Assign an informant. Have them report every time he does something suspicious.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
‘He’s been quiet for a while, and now he’s making himself a nuisance again.’
With that base mind of his, Philaf Montes couldn’t concoct any grand scheme even if he died and came back, but like a pebble in a shoe, he was irritating enough to make Isidore’s eyes narrow.
8. Philaf Montes
Philaf Montes gripped the glass so tightly his knuckles turned white, then poured strong spirits down his throat.
He suddenly laughed with a hehehehe, then drummed the table furiously with an expression burning with rage.
‘What an eyesore.’
It was nothing unusual for the Montes House’s wastrel to get drunk at the only entertainment district in this region, but today he was being particularly unruly.
Today was the day Philaf Montes had learned of Deborah Simour’s marriage.
“What? Deborah Simour got married…?”
Philaf Montes, who had been living like a recluse on the outskirts of the Montes Territory, stood frozen for a moment before he began hurling whatever objects came to hand in all directions.
The familiar sting of humiliation and inferiority wrapped around him once more.
During his time in this godforsaken wilderness, not a single moment had felt bearable, but the day he heard the news of her marriage, that unbearable feeling reached its absolute peak.
“You’re lying!!”
Suddenly he screamed convulsively and seized the informant by the collar.
“You’re lying, aren’t you?”
“N-no, sir! How could I dare lie to you…”
“Shut up! You’re lying.”
He continuously denied reality at every turn.
His banishment from the Capital, the fact that his attempt to kidnap Deborah had put her in grave danger—he denied it all relentlessly. He felt only a deep sense of injustice and bitter resentment.
“You’re telling me to live in this pigsty?”
The very notion of remaining in this repugnant place indefinitely was an incomprehensible reality to Philaf.
The yokels of this region made his skin crawl just to look at them, the food was poorly seasoned, and the two-story wooden structure of unknown age was by far the worst living quarters he had ever experienced.
Still, when he first arrived in exile, he had suppressed his anger and exercised restraint. Before leaving the Capital, his father had raged with the fury of one ready to strike him from the Montes family register.
“Ross, tell me—how much longer must I rot away in this place? I’m not even asking to return to the Capital! Tell Father I’ll conduct myself quietly in the Torso District.”
For reference, the Torso District was the most prosperous region within the Montes Territory.
“Young Master, if you would wait with steadfast resolve and continue your training, surely the Duke will provide an opportunity…”
“Shut up! Opportunity? My father has buried me in this cursed backwater to slowly watch me waste away!”
Philaf finally exploded the day he heard that Isidore had distinguished himself against high-level monsters during the Hyanghwa incident.
That detestable Isidore—fortunate enough to have his father die early, already a Duke of House Visconti, advancing far ahead with impressive military achievements—while he himself rotted away in this musty place.
Philaf abandoned all pretense of restraint and began frequenting the entertainment districts of the Outer Region, drinking himself into oblivion with harsh liquor.
“Actually, during Hyanghwa… I… was asked by the Crown Prince to lead a high-level spirit into battle, but that bastard Isidore stole my glory…”
Drunk and rambling, he would sometimes mutter incoherently to the courtesans sitting beside him, and when rage boiled over, he would harass his subordinates and servants to vent his fury.
He had never been able to control his temper, but news from the Capital only made him more violent.
“Deborah is the incarnation of a saint? That reckless fool from House Simour?”
“Gack!”
Philaf roughly seized the throat of the retainer who had uttered such nonsense.
“Damn it. Even if I’m stuck out here like a blind puppet, you dare feed me such transparent lies? Deborah has no divine power in the first place! That Simour wench can’t even sense mana—she’s a useless incompetent. So how could she have faced a Great Demon?”
“Gah… gaaah!”
“You’re mocking me and lying, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?”
“It’s not a lie… hack!”
“It is a lie! Say it’s a lie!”
“Cough! Cough! It’s a lie. I… I was completely wrong!”
Though he had coerced the answer he wanted, Deborah’s exploits against the Great Demon had spread too far to dismiss as mere rumor.
“My nephew who works in the Capital actually witnessed the radiance that Lady Deborah bestowed. The light was so immense and brilliant that it covered the entire Horun District!”
“I heard that when the Great Demon appeared, not a single person was injured or killed.”
“I should have been the one to see that light!”
“It’s unfortunate, but simply living and breathing in the same era as the incarnation of the saint is itself a tremendous blessing.”
Even in the Outer Region, wherever he went, he heard praises of Deborah, and even the gamblers in the entertainment districts would call upon Saint Deborah and pray before flipping their cards.
“Rumors spread with exaggeration, but this isn’t exaggeration—it’s distortion. Distortion! Everyone’s been deceived by that lunatic Deborah Simour…!”
Deborah Simour, who had nothing to her name, was the Saint, while Miya, who possessed formidable holy power, was the imposter claiming to be the Saint.
For Philaf Montes, who had even written a letter of recommendation to the Academy for Miya while leaving the true Saint right before his eyes, this reality was all the more difficult to accept.

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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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