The Search for the Duchess’s Husband - Chapter 158

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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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In Search of the Duke’s Husband – Episode 158

The newspapers ran stories about the performance every single day.
It transcended the realm of ordinary trends or popularity—it was a phenomenon.
Naturally, the actors themselves garnered tremendous attention.
Mikhail and Sandra, who had already boasted considerable fanbases, saw their popularity skyrocket beyond measure.
“Mikhail, look this way, please!”
“Sandra, I love you!”
Before two individuals possessed of such overwhelming magnetism, the distinction between nobility and commoner simply dissolved.
The aristocrats trailed after them, revering them as gods.
Yet among them, Luka’s admirers—who drew popularity no less than the other two—displayed a somewhat different character.
Though Shine held a modest role in the performance, the character was profoundly poignant.
Above all, the scene in which he stood alone upon that vast stage and confessed his heart through song stirred the deepest chords in countless hearts.
Especially those of the older noblewomen.
“I heard his parents died not long after Luka was born, and his grandmother raised him alone.”
“Being Kudran, there was nowhere that treated him properly, so he suffered greatly from childhood.”
“How pitiful.”
The women gathered in small groups and sought out Luka.
Marquise Fersan, who served as the leader of these women, presented Luka with a box brimming with gold coins.
“This isn’t meant in any strange way—I simply wish to support you purely and sincerely.”
Luka bowed deeply, his expression touched.
“Thank you.”
Seeing their faces flush, Luka continued.
“But could you perhaps take the money back? Your goodwill alone is already more than I deserve, and I am grateful for it.”
The smile on Luka’s face as he spoke was so radiant and pure.
It was a moment in which the souls of these weary women were cleansed.
From that day forward, the women became even more passionate admirers of Luka.
Their passion ran so deep that if anyone dared say “Well, he’s just a lowborn Kudran after all,” they would appear like lightning from nowhere, eyes blazing, demanding “What did you just say about our boy?!”
Among them were noblewomen from houses of considerable renown.
Those who witnessed this became too frightened to speak negatively of Luka.
In this atmosphere, I approached Marquise Fersan and spoke.
“I intend to use a portion of the business profits to build schools and hospitals in impoverished villages.”
“That is a splendid idea.”
Marquise Fersan offered a perfunctory response, as the matter held little interest for her.
Yet her eyes widened at what came next.
“I plan to begin with the villages of the Kudran people.”
Marquise Fersan had once held no interest whatsoever in places like Kudran Village. But now that she knew Luka, everything had changed.
She had developed genuine affection and compassion for the people of Kudran.
Noticing the sudden shift in her demeanor, I added to my words.
“Luka was absolutely delighted when he heard the news.”
Marquise Fersan took my hand.
“I’ll contribute as well.”
It wasn’t only Marquise Fersan.
Upon hearing the story, numerous noblewomen vied with one another to send donations.
“Please use this for the people of Kudran.”
It was far more than simple charity.
It marked the beginning of hope—that discriminatory attitudes toward the Kudrani people would transform in the days to come.
Not long after, Luka spoke to the women who had sought him out.
“Thanks to your generous support, our village now has a school and a hospital. My grandmother and all the villagers are overjoyed. I am as well.”
Luka’s eyes curved into crescents as he smiled.
“Thank you so very much.”
The noblewomen who witnessed this sight screamed inwardly with unbridled emotion.
‘For you, Luka, I would sell my mansion and do anything!’
Standing apart, observing it all, I smiled with quiet satisfaction.
‘Change always begins with something small, after all.’
It was then that the arsonist who had set fire to the Performance Hall was finally apprehended.
It was Madam Tinguere.

* * *

Madame Tungguel, who had been fleeing from loan sharks and those who harbored resentment toward her, sold all the gold and silver she had brought from the mansion and obtained a single mana stone.
“So with this one stone, I can burn anything I want, right?”
At Madame Tungguel’s question, the merchant grinned wickedly.
“Yes, ma’am. Whether it’s an object or a person, if there’s anything you dislike, simply chant the incantation and hurl it away.”
Madame Tungguel did exactly as the merchant instructed.
At dawn, seizing a moment when no one was around, she hurled the mana stone into the Montecro Theater.
Watching the massive flames engulf the building in an instant, Madame Tungguel screamed.
“Go to ruin, Artia!”
After that, she fled without looking back, but she didn’t last long before being captured.
Trapped in the Underground Prison, Madame Tungguel gripped the iron bars and shrieked.
“That woman Artia stole from me first! I did nothing wrong!”
When Bibi brought word of this to me, I murmured to myself.
“Where have I seen this scene before?”
Count Elysium and Uncle Crank, whom I had forgotten about, came to mind.
‘Count Elysium sends letters of apology to Frigia every day, I hear. And Uncle Crank’s temperament has become far more subdued than before.’
Indeed, it seemed that those who committed wrongs only came to their senses after receiving punishment.
That was the entirety of what I felt toward Madame Tungguel.
I had no desire to expend anything on her.
Except for one thing—what concerned Luka.
“I promised to accept Madame Tungguel’s apology before. What would you like to do, Luka?”
At my words, Luka shook his head.
“No, my lady. There’s no need for you to accept an apology. Instead, I’d like to settle things with Madame Tungguel myself. Would that be acceptable?”
There was not a trace of fear in Luka’s eyes.
I felt proud of him and answered.
“Of course.”
The next day, Luka went to see Madame Tungguel.
Madame Tungguel, who had been hurling curses at me, widened her eyes upon seeing Luka.
It was a face she hated enough to kill, and missed just as much.
Yet she could not call out his name.
Because Luka had thrust his hand through the iron bars and seized her throat.
“Gack, gack…”
Looking down at her gasping and writhing, Luka spoke.
“If you ever lay a hand on Lady Artia again, I will make sure you never draw another breath.”
His violet eyes were chilling.
The man before her was no longer a tail-wagging dog.
He was a wolf that would tear its enemy apart until death.
Terrified, Madame Tungguel nodded through streaming tears.
Luka threw her roughly to the ground and left the prison.
But the moment he stepped outside the prison, his face returned to its usual gentle expression.
He had merely mimicked the expression and words of the Northern Grand Duke as Mikhail had performed them—Luka’s heart remained as tender as ever.
Luka clutched his trembling hands and muttered under his breath.
“If I’ve made myself this clear, you won’t dare linger near my master again, will you?”
Days later, news of Madame Tungguel appeared in the papers.
Artia made no effort to suppress it.
Because Luka had wanted it that way.
The rising star actor who had recently captured everyone’s attention: Luka.
The story of the vicious woman who had driven him like a slave and, consumed by twisted obsession, had even set fire to the Performance Hall spread across the entire world.
“There will be people who speak ill of you for having served Madame Tungguel.”
Artia worried, but Luka didn’t care in the slightest.
After all, as someone from Kudran, he had no honor to protect.
Artia’s prediction proved accurate.
Most people clicked their tongues in sympathy, saying Luka had suffered because of a madwoman, but not everyone did.
“He was just her plaything. The nerve of that filthy wretch, now prancing about as an actor….”
The man’s snickering ceased abruptly.
A group of noblewomen rushed over and surrounded him.
They glared at him with blazing eyes and spoke.
“Don’t carelessly wag your tongue about matters you know nothing of. Unless you wish to pay a terrible price.”
The efforts of Luka’s fans did not stop there.
Their fury turned toward Madame Tungguel, locked away in prison.
“How dare you torment our Luka like that! We will never forgive you!”
They sought out the judge overseeing her case and pressured him to impose the harshest sentence upon her.
On the day of trial, the judge spoke with a deathly pale face.
“You will either rot away in prison for life, or step outside and be dragged away by those furious noblewomen to meet a terrible fate.”
Madame Tungguel’s expression twisted at the prospect of such a hopeless future no matter which she chose.
Her hair, now completely white from being unable to dye it during her time fleeing and imprisoned, made her appear decades older.
Madame Tungguel was sentenced to twenty years of hard labor.
She, who had never once cleaned anything in her life, would now spend her days shoveling accumulated filth at the Pig Farm.
Having deliberately cut off all interest in her, Artia heard the news only much later and muttered with an indifferent expression.
“Good.”
With that, Artia never mentioned Madame Tungguel again.

* * *

One month into the performance’s opening.
Killian von Orpheus came again today.
Those who had been startled by his appearance no longer reacted with much surprise.
Their expressions simply said: there must be something between them.

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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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