Isn’t Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? - Chapter 75

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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 75
* * *
The moment Beleck saw Deborah Simour approaching, he reflexively flinched, his shoulders tensing.
‘I’m actually intimidated by my younger sister.’
But with so many vulnerabilities exposed, there was nothing I could do about it. And now there was one more thing hanging over my head.
‘Damn it.’
Beleck, who had been cooped up in the Magic Tower lately preparing artifacts for the exhibition, had recently visited the Simour Library and discovered that the internal filing system had undergone a dramatic transformation.
“A card catalog system? Who brought this in? Don’t tell me you came up with this?”
I desperately hoped not, but the young lady who appeared to have been brought by Deborah Simour answered with an irritatingly cheerful tone.
“It was Deborah Simour!”
For reasons I couldn’t explain, an ominous chill ran down my spine.
Swallowing down the foreboding sensation of having disturbed a hornet’s nest, I was taking a walk near the Townhouse Garden when I encountered my viper-like younger sister.
‘No wonder I’ve been dreading coming home lately.’
“Make this for me.”
Deborah Simour strode forward and thrust a blueprint at me with shameless confidence. This time, she had sketched a bizarre magical artifact with the function of high-speed rotation combined with heat application to the lower section.
The blueprint was so meticulously detailed that I could roughly infer its function—it gave me chills. Her understanding of mechanisms was so sophisticated that I secretly wanted to entrust her with designing offensive magical artifacts.
“Deborah, what are you plotting with magical artifacts these days? Simour can only cover up crimes involving lower-ranking nobles. Anything beyond that, and you could face trial yourself.”
“That’s not what this is.”
Deborah Simour muttered in a disgruntled voice.
“What do you mean it’s not? From the looks of it, it’s a magical artifact designed to secretly disperse toxic gas from heated venom!”
Not only toxic gas—if I added a magic missile function to such a device, it would be quite a formidable military weapon.
“There you go, suspecting and slandering me again.”
“How could I not suspect you? You actually dared present a slave contract with toxin clauses to me, the heir of Simour and your beloved older brother! You absolute fraud!”
Every time Beleck recalled that contract filled with microscopic text, fury surged through him so intensely that he’d jolt awake from sleep. In all my years, I’d never seen such a thuggish contract.
That was when Deborah Simour’s eyes gleamed with a mysterious light as she pulled up the corners of her mouth into a smile.
“Who’s your older brother?”
“What?”
“You promised to call me sister.”
In that instant, the nonsense I’d spouted from my own mouth in the past flashed through my mind like lightning. The eerie feeling I’d been experiencing all along—this was its true source.
Deborah Simour tapped lightly on a recording artifact as if she’d been waiting for this moment, and it contained a long ten-minute conversation I desperately wanted to erase.
“What will you do if I prove I wasn’t bluffing?”
“Fine! I’ll call you sister myself, Deborah.”
“This is… this is insane.”
Caught so completely off guard by the undeniable evidence, Beleck’s voice came out rough and strained.
“You promised me that if I properly resolved the Librarian situation, you’d call me sister. Did you really think I’d just let such an important statement slide?”
“How despicable—recording a slip of the tongue made in anger! And you still dare call yourself a lady of a prestigious noble house?”
Beleck shot back with a pale face, then quickly tried to snatch the magical stone from Deborah Simour’s hand. But her athletic prowess was such that she nimbly retreated backward.
“I’m sorry, but even if you destroy this, I have multiple copies in my possession. I have quite a lot of these magical artifacts.”
“You’re insane.”
“Just make the artifact according to the blueprint, and you won’t have to worry about calling me sister.”
Deborah’s eyes narrowed to slits like a serpent’s.
“Of course, if I’m a bit cruel to my retainers, my heart might change its mind.”
She feigned concern for her servants while seamlessly threatening him—Beleck shuddered at Deborah’s meticulous attention to justifying her own leverage.
“What kind of wicked demon are you…?”
“If I were truly a demon, I would have sold this voice recording to Rozard for an exorbitant price. So let’s just call me a villain instead.”
‘Sell it to Rozard?’
The thought he hadn’t considered until now sent a chill down his spine.
The ill-tempered Rozard would likely burst into laughter the moment he heard the recording, clutching his stomach and rolling on the ground. Beleck had been born mere moments after Rozard, yet he had never once called him “older brother”—his pride wouldn’t allow it.
When the matter of that prideful honorific arose, he hastily shifted his approach.
“Deborah. The truth is, making artifacts is the most enjoyable thing in the world to me. Just leave it to me. I’ll create it as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll stop by occasionally to check on the progress. The central design of the blueprint isn’t quite perfect yet. Well then, I’ll be going.”
Deborah gave his shoulder a light pat as though he were her younger sibling, then departed abruptly.
Left alone, Beleck felt as though a hundred sweet potatoes were lodged in his chest, and he struck his solar plexus repeatedly before tearing at his long hair. To escape this dreadful situation, he had no choice but to marry Deborah off as soon as possible—yet he couldn’t think of a suitable mage who would satisfy his father.
If he brought the wrong person, he might even be driven from the house himself…
No, wait—could there possibly exist a man willing to marry his younger sister, who coerced even the respectable Prince Visconti into accompanying her like an ornament?
His face grew deeply troubled as he pressed his temples.
* * *
‘Sigh.’
After dealing with Beleck, my energy was completely drained. His abilities were absurdly overpowered, but he was ordinarily difficult to manage. Getting him to do anything required more than ten minutes of verbal sparring. He resisted like someone being coerced into crime.
The result would be the same regardless, so why did Beleck always repeat such meaningless resistance?
‘The youngest of this household seems far more mature than the second son.’
Though Enrique is perhaps too precocious for his own good.
‘He truly treats me with proper respect as his teacher.’
“Thank you for making time for me.”
“Thank you for your excellent instruction. Sister.”
His mature manner of speaking made me feel like an elderly grandfather. I had offered a convenient excuse to grow closer to him, but somehow things kept flowing in a different direction than I intended.
‘Oh, there’s Enrique.’
The boy appeared in the distance—he never could stay put. A wind carrying summer’s oppressive heat gently brushed through his silver hair.
The flowers blooming in August were unusually vibrant, yet Enrique, standing doll-like before the fully blossomed roses, appeared somehow colorless. His pale, blank-slate face soon turned away, and he quickly slipped through the foliage, disappearing toward the Annex Building.
‘What was that? He looked terribly melancholy.’
His small silhouette, burdened like one carrying a great weight, caught my eye, and I furrowed my brow.
* * *
“Though you rank first in your class, I hear the gap between you and second place has narrowed considerably compared to last semester, Young Master.”
“This tutor is the most renowned private instructor in the Capital, specially assigned by Duke Simour for your benefit. Other young gentlemen from different houses aren’t given such opportunities. If you wish to avoid disappointing the Duke and incurring his displeasure, you must work even harder.”
Enrique understood that he should work hard and make an effort, as his nanny Madam Caryl said—but he had no desire to lift a single finger.
Summer was poison to the boy. The heat pressed relentlessly down upon his shoulders as though trying to crush him. Especially in August, his body felt heavy, as though he were wearing a water-soaked cotton coat.
‘I’m exhausted.’
Enrique stared blankly at the tapestry depicting heroic epics as he worked through the mountain of assignments his tutor had left behind.
‘I still have to finish the homework.’
His body kept growing heavier and heavier.
Every night, Enrique sank into a vile nightmare—a pitch-black swamp pulling him deeper, serpents coiling around his legs until he couldn’t even struggle.
Upon waking from the nightmare, fear prevented him from falling back asleep, so Enrique spent hours tossing restlessly in the dark. As a child with limited stamina, the lack of proper sleep at night left him listless and drained throughout the day.
With an empty gaze, Enrique traced the viper attempting to swallow the warrior on the tapestry with his eyes when a sudden thought jolted him upright. It was the person who immediately came to mind whenever he thought of vipers. His foggy mind snapped into sharp focus.
‘Today—it’s the day of Deborah Simour’s tutoring session!’
The moment he recalled the forgotten fact, a chill ran down his spine.
‘Idiot!’
He’d made a promise: in exchange for her becoming his teacher, he would come to the Library at this time every week.
“Young Master! Are you going to the Library again to read books? Have you finished today’s assignments?”
Though the Nanny called out to him with a stern expression, Enrique didn’t even respond, rushing urgently out of the Annex Building and sprinting toward the Library.

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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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