Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 69

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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 69
The cup she handed me had a far more delicate mana coating than anything currently on the market. Just to be sure, I poured water into it for a test—not a single drop seeped through the paper.
Looking at the total mana output, if I crafted the magical formations densely enough, I could mass-produce countless paper cups using the worthless low-grade mana stones that rolled around the Magic Tower like garbage.
‘If the production costs hadn’t been so reasonable, I would have abandoned the takeout business long ago.’
“How long does the coating last?”
“About twenty-four hours.”
“Not bad. I’ll need to file a magical technique patent on this property value.”
Once I got a taste of it, there was no escaping the patent quagmire. The patent revenue split outlined in the contract was fifty-fifty.
‘Arin did all the work, and here I am pocketing fifty percent. It’s practically a slave contract….’
I gazed at her, whose labor was being wrung dry, with a bittersweet feeling.
‘But what’s done is done.’
Perhaps sensing my meaningful stare, her small shoulders shrank. With her already fierce expression, she seemed startled by my piercing gaze.
“Um… My lady.”
Even now, Arin hesitantly spoke up.
“What is it?”
“Ah, I made this, and it’s nothing special, but still….”
She, who had been trembling like a squirrel before a snake, suddenly thrust a neatly folded handkerchief that lay on the desk toward me.
This was for me?
‘I thought she was making this for a knight participating in the jousting tournament.’
“Why are you giving this to me?”
“I made it while thinking of you, my lady. Please, accept it.”
I accepted the violet handkerchief she offered with a bewildered feeling.
‘Huh? It’s cold.’
It was a handkerchief that functioned like a cooling pack. Moreover, it emitted a pleasant fragrance, as if perfume had been sprayed on it.
“When you watch the jousting tournament, it will surely be hot, so use this to wipe away sweat. It will feel refreshing.”
“I’ll use it well.”
The moment I wrapped it around my wrist, thinking it would feel cool, she suddenly gasped sharply.
‘Hmm, what’s wrong?’
Soon after, blood began trickling from Arin’s nose. She hurriedly pressed the handkerchief to her nose in panic, tears glistening in her eyes.
“I’m… I’m so sorry. To show you something so… so embarrassing.”
‘Her nosebleed burst from overwork because of me.’
Though I had repeatedly resolved to live as a villainess, I felt an unnecessary pang of conscience.
“Take it easy from now on.”
These words shouldn’t come from my mouth, having piled so much work on her.
“Next time, please… make sure to drink tea….”
Arin, speaking in a nasal voice, looked so pitiful that I hastily rose from my seat.
“My lady, next time I’ll definitely prepare tea for you.”
‘I can’t understand what she’s saying.’
“Yes. All right. I’ll be going now.”
I fled from the laboratory like a coward to give her a chance to rest comfortably.
* * *
The weather was unusually sweltering today.
It was the day of the mounted combat tournament.
I gazed up at the brilliant sky and squinted against the glare. Not a single cloud marred the crystalline blue expanse. The scorching, relentless sun was nearly blinding.
The humid Tournament Grounds nearby teemed with throngs of people. Mounted combat was the Empire’s most popular spectacle, and the tournament held on the Founding Emperor’s birthday was so massive in scale that tickets were impossible to obtain even with money to spare. There were people lingering around the arena’s perimeter with forlorn expressions, much like idol fans unable to secure concert tickets.
Of course, the Simour Family was an exception—the Imperial Court had extended a direct invitation to grace the occasion. The nobility occupied the front-row seats with an unobstructed view of the matches, while the lesser aristocracy and commoners filled the rows behind them.
Fine sand swirled thickly across the Tournament Grounds. The neighing of horses and the thunderous clatter of hooves echoed from every direction, while banners bearing the insignia of various Knight Orders fluttered in the breeze.
I sat beneath the canopy where the Simour Family had taken their seats, observing the barracks where the knights awaited their turn. Some moved about restlessly with visible tension, while others had removed their helmets, seeking relief from the oppressive heat.
Mounted combat was a discipline where aura manipulation was forbidden, requiring competitors to rely solely on technique, physical strength, and reflexes. It was an excellent venue to assess horsemanship and combat instincts, making it a prime hunting ground for talent scouts from various Knight Orders. Due to the risk of serious injury from falls, members of the royal family abstained from participation, and the knights engaged in the tournament fully armored.
Pooooow—
As the great trumpet sounded, the first match commenced. When a knight clad in steel armor removed his helmet and bellowed a battle cry, the spectators erupted in excited cheers.
“How dreadfully loud.”
Duke Simour, who had attended only reluctantly despite the Emperor’s presence, visibly frowned at the chaotic atmosphere.
“Knights are always so boisterous and barbaric. I suspect their brains are made entirely of muscle.”
Duke Simour watched the match with his arms crossed, muttering acerbically, while Beleck Simour sat expressionless beside him. Enrique had been unable to attend, as mounted combat was deemed unsuitable for children.
I genuinely couldn’t fathom why people were so enthralled by it.
Deborah Simour seemed to relish mounted tournaments whenever the opportunity arose, but I did not. Each time a long lance struck a torso, shield, or helmet, thunderous roars erupted from the crowd, yet to my eyes, it appeared perilous and precarious.
And it was so unbearably hot.
As time wore on, the combined body heat of the spectators made the Tournament Grounds increasingly stifling.
I was unfolding the cool handkerchief Arin had gifted me when I felt a penetrating gaze from somewhere. My father’s expression had grown inexplicably stern.
Perhaps the heat was affecting his disposition.
“Father, please take this. It’s enchanted, so it should keep you cool.”
Though the handkerchief was Arin’s gift, I decided to lend it to my father as a gesture of filial respect.
“A curious item.”
“My attendant crafted it.”
“Ah, the girl you brought from the Academy. She seemed quite clever. Her potential appears considerable—I shall be happy to sponsor her development.”
I had subtly promoted Arin to Duke Simour, and my father examined the handkerchief with evident interest.
“How… artificial.”
Beleck Simour shuddered and muttered something under his breath, but I pretended not to hear.
Meanwhile, the fervor of the Tournament Grounds intensified, and when a man astride a black horse made his entrance, the atmosphere seemed ready to explode.
“Diera Orgoda!”
“Waaaaah!”
“The Arbiter! The Arbiter!”
Diera Orgoda, who wielded her blade with impartial justice to both the guilty and the innocent regardless of station, enjoyed immense popularity throughout the Empire among all ages and classes.
As Diera circled the Tournament Grounds slowly, displaying her austere and refined beauty, the cheers grew deafening. She coldly swept past a noble maiden desperately waving a handkerchief in supplication, then suddenly dismounted and approached Miya, who sat in the rear section, extending her hand.
Miya, startled, fumbled momentarily before retrieving a handkerchief from her small purse and offering it. The sight of Diera Orgoda, clad in jet-black armor, accepting a pink-hued handkerchief was quite striking.
“I shall bring you the glory of victory, my lady.”
She donned her helmet and brandished the heavy lance with commanding vigor.
I couldn’t help but think how unfair it was that she monopolized fifteen minutes of the tournament alone.
Her opponent, waiting his turn in the distance like a crouching rabbit, was almost pitiable. Even if he was one of the novel’s main characters, this seemed rather excessive.
I watched Diera Orgoda’s match while feeling my common sense slip away. Her overwhelming skill made the competition end so quickly it was almost boring.
“Kyaaaaaaah!”
“What, what is it?”
That was when it happened.
Before the fervor from Diera Orgoda’s appearance had even faded, a sudden scream tore through the air so violently that the very ground trembled beneath us.
‘Oh, I know exactly what this is.’
It was the kind of roar I’d heard at an end-of-year awards ceremony back in my first year of high school, when I was obsessed with idols and even attended fan meetings.
“Isidore Visconti!”
The Tournament Grounds erupted as a golden-haired handsome man appeared on a white horse, clad in platinum armor that created a striking contrast with Diera Orgoda.
Regardless of status or age, the overwhelming support from the women in the audience completely drowned out the men’s booming cheers. Some noble ladies were even throwing handkerchiefs at him without restraint.
‘He really does look like he stepped straight out of a romance novel.’
Now I understood why jousting competitions were such a staple in romance stories. Even I, who believed I’d grown somewhat accustomed to his beauty, couldn’t help but marvel at how he looked in armor—like a god of war incarnate.
Just before putting on his helmet, Isidore Visconti cast a glance in my direction and offered an angelic smile, which made me flinch in surprise.
“He definitely looked at me!”
“No, he smiled at me! He definitely smiled in my direction!”
The noble ladies near me engaged in heated arguments, their faces flushed, though to Isidore Visconti they probably all looked the same anyway.
“He looks more like an opera singer than a knight.”
Duke Simour, with his rigid and old-fashioned—or rather, stuffy—disposition, muttered his disapproval, regarding Isidore Visconti with disdain.

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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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