The Male Lead Is Trying To Tame Me With Money - Chapter 180

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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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Side Story 02-10.

It was a memory that Emperor Ernest Artez had long since forgotten.
The Imperial Court was in turmoil, and he desperately needed a breakthrough.
He had the nominal advantage of being born of the Empress, but it was far from certain.
His mother, the Empress, came from a wealthy Count’s house, while the Empress who had borne the next most promising Prince came from an ancient Marquess family—not as wealthy, but with deeper roots in history.
Therefore, the factions of nobles supporting each house held roughly equal strength.
His father, the Emperor, had ascended the throne late and married late, making Ernest seven years older than the Prince born of the second Empress—a slight advantage, but only slight.
‘I’m sick and tired of my position being this unstable.’
Worse, his father the Emperor suggested giving his half-brother a little more time in the name of making the best choice for the realm.
Despite it being Ernest himself who had ventured onto difficult battlefields and handled all manner of arduous state affairs.
Naturally, Ernest’s thoughts turned to the three great ducal houses of the Empire.
House Ashwood, as always, maintained neutrality, saying it would treat both sides fairly until the Emperor made his decision.
House Lopez, being merchant-like folk, at least offered room for negotiation—but the problem was clear: he had no card worth playing to secure their support.
Eliminating them one by one left him with exactly one option.
House Reardon. They held autonomous authority recognized by the Imperial Court, earned the Temple’s displeasure, yet maintained high prestige through a history older than the Empire itself.
Moreover, they almost never came to the Capital, so drawing them in might yield a surprisingly strong hand.
He judged that understanding House Reardon, though he had but one card to play, was worth the gamble.
Of course, the disadvantage of the Temple’s disfavor would have to be accepted, but he had means to navigate that as well.
After all, the current Temple leaned more toward the Empress’s side than his—so accepting it as a temporary sacrifice seemed worthwhile.
Thus Ernest consulted the aristocratic register and murmured the name that would become his target.
“Maribel Reardon.”
The name felt pleasant on his tongue, and he became convinced she would be an excellent card to secure his position as heir.
So Ernest manufactured a reason to travel to Reardon and departed.
Leaving the Capital for several months made him somewhat uneasy, but he chose to trust the other two ducal houses in his absence.
They, too, would not be ignorant of the advantage if House Reardon were brought into his fold.
Thus Ernest set out for Reardon.
House Reardon was somewhat taken aback by his visit, but they received him warmly in appearance.
“While His Highness graces our county, I shall personally ensure your comfort.”
Besides, Maribel was an only daughter and a young countess, so creating opportunities to spend time together during his stay in Reardon County would not be difficult.
Ernest hastily concluded that it would be easy to make Maribel like him based on this fact alone.
He was often regarded as having the finest appearance among the princes, and at court gatherings, many noble daughters wished to dance with him even once.
As her eighteenth birthday approached, she would soon have her Debutante Ball, and he had already decided to ask his mother to host it grandly in the Capital.
Yet Maribel was cold, and occasionally he felt her gaze upon him like a disreputable noble—as though she saw him as a contemptible man.
‘Nonsense. The young countess simply had little social interaction, that must be why.’
Because he was the one in need, Ernest chose to dismiss such looks as misunderstanding.
There was a time when she withdrew from their conversation, and he hastily followed after her when he realized she had forgotten something.
‘People say that as you age, you bear responsibility for your expression…. Yet this feels so different.’
He heard her murmur those cryptic words, but dismissed them—he was merely in his twenties, after all, so they couldn’t possibly apply to him.
Yet strangely, he felt as though her words somehow applied precisely to him, and his mood darkened.
Regardless, despite such moments, Ernest devoted himself to Maribel.
When he learned of her interest in swordsmanship, he sparred with her regularly, and once he realized how deeply she cherished Reardon, he threw himself into understanding it thoroughly and providing aid as a Prince—thinking that after all, these lands would be his to rule.
Gradually, unaware, Maribel came to occupy an ever-growing space in Ernest’s heart.
Her cold speech, her indifferent gaze, the sparkle in her eyes when she spoke of what she loved, and her beauty from the very first impression—all of it grew more beautiful in his eyes with each passing day.
He truly wished to marry her. To keep her by his side.
When he recognized this, Ernest was taken aback, but he soon decided it was actually fortunate.
As a prince seeking the throne, he considered political marriage inevitable, but if love existed within it, that would be all the better.
Of course, Maribel still treated him with the formal demeanor she showed the Prince, so she would require strategic reasons to accept him.
And so Ernest visited the Abandoned Mine with Maribel—where a dragon was said to sleep—despite knowing the Temple would seize upon it as a grave weakness.
She was particularly interested in this mine within Reardon and was conducting various research there.
Truthfully, Ernest regarded the dragon as merely a demon that should be exterminated, so he found her actions a waste of time—yet because he treasured her, he even invested his own personal fortune to maintain the mine.
When Maribel smiled softly upon seeing the renovated mine, Ernest saw his opportunity.
After consistently sparring with her and engaging in the things she loved, her tone had begun to carry hints of growing familiarity.
Though his indirect proposals of betrothal had been similarly indirectly rejected several times, he had never yet been formally refused, so Ernest wanted to make a proper attempt.
When they reached the rest area of the mine—carefully maintained and glimmering with lighting—Ernest opened the picnic hamper he had brought and offered her tea and sandwiches, then hesitantly spoke.
“Maribel, the time I spend with you has become truly pleasant and comfortable. Have you not found it at least somewhat enjoyable?”
At Ernest’s question, Maribel seemed to hesitate, her lips faltering.
Knowing Maribel to be honest by nature, Ernest hurried forward.
He was not so foolish as not to recognize that he was the one grasping at straws in this moment.
“If there is even the smallest possibility, consider betrothal to me, Maribel. I will help you achieve all that you wish for.”
“So Your Highness is now proposing a political marriage?”
“That is… yes. Honestly, I love you. But my affections will likely be less attractive to you than what I can offer.”
Maribel fell silent for a moment, then spoke with composure.
“You would offer me something attractive enough to leave this land where dwell the people I love most dearly? Even knowing that I, as the Countess of Reardon, will never change whom I love most?”
At those words, Ernest smiled even more.
At the sight, Maribel exhaled a somewhat deflated sigh.
“…You didn’t believe me from the start.”
At her murmured words, Ernest cried out in surprise.
“I know that words alone can prove nothing. So I will draw up a proper contract, therefore, Maribel—”
“Of course, Your Highness. I also dislike uncertainty. I have no intention of making promises I cannot keep. I was taught to work this way.”
In that moment, Maribel was more beautiful than ever, yet simultaneously stirred a sense of déjà vu.
As though he had seen a similar sight somewhere before—
“So I will also make you a promise. The person I love most will not change, but I will think of you second. At least I wish to show faith in our bond.”
As she spoke, a soft light emanated from Maribel’s form.
“But for me to marry you, I must love you most of all. So will you agree to the contract? The price is that both you and I will forget that I just said I cannot love you most at this moment.”
Was this not, in essence, saying she would love him truly?
There was nothing to lose, and it was a joyous proposal.
“Yes, Maribel. I agree. I will love you most forever.”
At Ernest’s agreement, Maribel smiled with a hint of bitterness.
In the same moment, Emperor Ernest Artez—no longer the Prince—opened his eyes wide.
“…So Bel truly didn’t love me most?”
He had recovered only those few words Maribel spoke when accepting the political marriage. At that time, he had welcomed even that much.
But now, having lost all the desperate longing he felt when young and dependent upon her, that realization returned to him as a bitter sting.
*
After the Emperor collapsed suddenly, the ball naturally came to a halt.
Fortunately, it was some time after the ball had begun, and most of the important personages had already retired to their rooms claiming exhaustion, so there was no great commotion.
Those remaining in the ballroom were, save for His Majesty who seemed intent on causing a scene, mostly young nobles around our age.
Moreover, as soon as the Emperor collapsed, Empress Trisha—
‘I told him to refrain from excess drink at his age….’
—smoothly covered for him by saying he had simply fallen asleep after tasting every liquor available, and the matter was handled without incident.
The young nobles who had approached to speak with him by chance and ended up near Maribel heaved sighs of relief at their narrow escape.
Of course, the King of Seolkuk did laugh loudly, saying “The Imperial King is growing old! He’s no match for me anymore!”—but it was no serious matter.
If the Emperor learned of it, it would merely harm his pride.
And the Emperor himself slept deeply and peacefully, as if in pleasant dreams, until a day and a half later when he finally opened his eyes, groaning.
“Where is Marion Dil? Where did that child go? That one was sent to me by Bel—bring her at once!”
Speaking absolute nonsense while he was at it.
Fortunately, young Maribel was spared the sight of him in such a deplorable state.
She had already spent the time the dragon granted her and returned to her own timeline.
So dealing with that troublesome old man fell to us, though it was hardly a difficult task.
Even if dear Maribel worried terribly about it.
I deliberately brought Wesley Morel along and opened my mouth with a worried expression.
“Your Majesty, what are you saying? The Holy One expressed concern that some corrupting force had taken root in you—surely this cannot be real.”
Casian of Reardon, who had let Reardon endure the shame of being cursed and abandoned by the divine for so many years—he should at least taste some of that medicine himself.

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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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