The Baddest Villainess Is Back - 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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Part 2, Episode 3
With her confusion resolved, Rozelin let out a long sigh and reached for a cookie, only to pause when she spotted just one left.
‘His taste in food is as voracious as his temperament, it seems.’
She chewed and swallowed the last cookie thoughtfully.
“So you’ve made up your mind then?”
“Yes, I apologize. The truth is, I’m not a cadet branch of the Bellion ducal house. Years ago, I met a man who claimed to be your son, and—”
“My son…?”
“Yes. That’s why I came to meet him, thinking he’d be a marquis by now. But it seems it was all a lie, so I thought I should be on my way. Thank you for your time despite your busy schedule.”
Rozelin rose and offered a respectful bow.
Marquis Wilbred, whose face bore a kindly expression, opened his mouth with a smile.
“…Hmm. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“There is.”
“If it’s not too difficult, I might be able to assist…”
“No, I couldn’t impose on a stranger. I’m grateful for your hospitality despite my intrusion.”
“Well, I understand. But it’s already quite late—surely you could stay the night…”
“I have somewhere to return to. I’ll be leaving now. Thank you.”
Rozelin bowed politely and turned to go.
Marquis Wilbred, struck by the perfect propriety of her deportment, stroked his thick chin and released a low murmur.
“A child who knows how to begin and end things cleanly.”
Her circumstances seemed far from favorable at first glance.
That such a composed young woman would leave quietly despite having every opportunity to ask for something troubled him more than he could quite articulate.
* * *
She was back on the streets again.
To be precise:
She had been back on the streets for a week now.
“…Damn this life.”
Rozelin hadn’t anticipated returning to homelessness, and it was giving her a terrible headache.
This was no mere urban camping—she was sleeping rough in the alleys with nothing but the sky for a roof. And she had to beg for alms every single day.
“Hey, Rose.”
“What?”
“The High Priest is looking for you.”
“For me?”
Rozelin watched the child inform her curtly before spinning around and dashing off.
It was the same girl who had looked after her on that first day.
She seemed angry that Rozelin had vanished in the middle of begging and hadn’t returned until late at night.
Of course, the real reason was that she’d lost her tin cup and hadn’t managed to collect even a single coin, so she’d failed entirely to meet her quota and had gone hungry.
‘…The Bynac Cult.’
This was quite the ridiculous organization.
They didn’t stay in the capital but traveled throughout the provinces conducting missionary work, and their influence appeared considerable.
And their methods of making money were equally sordid.
They preached about Eternal Life, Eternity, Fortune, and all manner of such things while demonstrating their Healing powers and performing Miracles for the injured.
Behind the scenes, they took in orphans under the pretense of sponsorship and dumped them all in a warehouse of sorts inside the Temple that they called the Temporary Cult, forcing them to beg for alms.
Of course, only children who met their quota were allowed into the Temple and eligible for meals.
Those who failed were cast out onto the streets, becoming the source of rumors about “ungrateful orphans who’ve learned nothing but vice and fail to appreciate the Temple’s generosity.”
And the Cult, in turn, laundered its image by appearing always to welcome even such wayward children.
‘This isn’t sponsorship—it’s exploitation.’
Rozelin clicked her tongue, stood, and headed toward the Temple.
Still, the children were grateful enough—they got food and a roof over their heads—so they set out at dawn each day without fail to meet their quotas.
‘I never wanted to witness the dark underbelly of a rotten society firsthand.’
The one stroke of luck was that my body is remarkably robust.
Even going hungry for three or four days left me unfazed, and sleeping on the bare pavement caused no lasting harm—I’d wake the next morning feeling refreshed.
My strength had also grown; I could lift anything reasonably heavy with ease, and subduing troublemakers was no challenge whatsoever.
Even if all I could really do was swing my fists about indiscriminately.
Thanks to that, I didn’t have to stake my life on begging.
This quota was a sum that four-person teams had to meet together, and since I’d skipped work several times, word apparently reached the higher-ups.
‘But what exactly is the Bynac Cult anyway?’
Rozelin furrowed her brow as she walked.
No matter how hard she searched her memory, she couldn’t recall anything about the Bynac Cult.
Which meant that either the Cult didn’t exist before she became aware of it, or it had been virtually eliminated by then.
‘Though I wasn’t the sort of seven-year-old who avoided reading the papers…’
She narrowed her eyes and scratched at her tousled hair.
It was time to do something about this situation.
After gathering all the information she could from outside sources, the Wilbred domain without Garren Wilbred was, quite frankly, a disaster.
It hadn’t seemed quite this bad before.
The current Marquis Wilbred had a pleasant disposition, was generous-hearted, and bore no ill reputation, but he was hopeless at management, possessed an enormous appetite, and every investment he’d made had apparently failed.
That explained the state of the Mansion.
Moreover, his kindness was so boundless that he hadn’t uttered a single protest against the heretics operating so brazenly within his domain.
It was mortifying to even consider, but she couldn’t help it.
Rozelin found herself pitying Garren Wilbred just a little.
Regardless of whether her identity was false, the future she remembered was never this chaotic—which meant Garren Wilbred must have been orchestrating everything behind the scenes or offering counsel all along.
‘…Ah.’
Her thoughts halted abruptly as she stopped in front of the Cult’s grand Mansion.
The Bynac Cult—a name she’d never encountered in all her memories.
The disappeared figure of Garren Wilbred.
The Wilbred household finances, teetering on the brink and half-collapsed.
Security that was proving far worse managed than she’d expected.
“…Ah, so it’s because that man is gone.”
She let out something between a sigh and a murmur upon grasping this single truth.
‘Of course—given his distaste for filth……’
Had Garren Wilbred known of this, he would have crushed it in its infancy.
Certainly long before the Cult had grown to such proportions.
There’s no way he could have remained ignorant of such a state of affairs.
“The High Priest called for me, so I came.”
At Rozelin’s words, the Soldier standing guard with a sword at his waist scowled.
Those were priestly robes in name alone—anyone could see this was merely a mercenary playing dress-up.
‘…This is truly covering one’s eyes and calling it dark.’
With such lax order, no wonder the Cult had established its headquarters here.
Rozelin felt her head throb further and pressed her temples hard.
“You filthy orphan brat—didn’t they teach you to speak respectfully to your elders?”
“I know.”
“So you know, yet you’re being rudely—”
“Teach elders, then.”
The Soldier’s expression darkened at Rozelin’s brazen remark, she who barely reached his waist in height.
“Ha, what nonsense are you spouting? This is why talking to such fools is pointless. That’s not what ‘elder’ means?”
To his scornful tone, Rozelin responded with her customary serene smile.
‘As if he’s the one to understand what was being said.’
Even as she thought this, Rozelin opened her mouth with disarming kindness for her slow-witted opponent.
“Yes. Someone capable of taking responsibility for their words and actions—or worthy of respect.”
The Soldier’s eyes widened.
Now that she’d stated it so bluntly, he seemed to grasp what Rozelin meant.
“You little wretch…!”
“Oh my, the High Priest has been waiting quite a while now. If you’re itching to strike, do try.”
Rozelin regarded him with an icy gaze, her lips curving into a cold smile.
The Soldier flinched, his shoulders trembling.
“If you land one blow on me, I’ll ensure that the hand you laid on me and the part of you that did the striking never see the light of day again.”
“…Damn it, you filthy woman. Get out of my sight!”
At how quickly he backed down, laughter bubbled up from her chest.
“You lack conviction as a man. Why not cut it off between your legs?”
Rozelin spoke with a light chuckle.
“Though I suspect you’re too far gone to ever become a woman of principle and spirit either.”
“That brat, I really…!”
Rozelin sprang lightly upward.
In a single instant, the distance between them widened dramatically.
‘It’s wonderful to be strong.’
Fear and dread had simply vanished from her.
Contentment blooming within her, Rozelin proceeded unhurriedly toward where the ‘High Priest’ awaited.

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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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