A Desirable Attitude to Live as an Heiress of a Chaebol Family

Episode 20: What Fate Is (VI)

“What’s the matter?”

It’s up to me to recognize her status as a distinguished guest. The Duke wiggled his feet and responded calmly.

“Miss Ronell is a distinguished guest of the House of Duke Richard, therefore it is my role to take responsibility for her safety, right?”

“Your Highness!”

“You’re noisy. I’d rather hear a pig squeal.”

“No, Your Highness. Your Highness—!”

“Aside from that. Didn’t Miss Aicila Duncan advise that Miss Ronell’s return to the House of Count Artes may be risky?”

Didn’t you, Aicila returned his look as she calmly answered.

“That’s right. How could I return an abused child back to an abusive family.”

“Then I, as part of the House of Duke Richard, must do whatever it takes to prevent Miss Ronell from returning to the House of Count Artes?”

“That’s correct, Your Highness the Duke.”

It sounded like they were playing around rather than engaging in a serious conversation. Bertrand grinned, having set the stage for this interaction brilliantly, while the Count, on the verge of insanity, let out a strident exclamation.

“Do you trust the words of Duncan and not Artes!”

“Isn’t it perfectly natural to have more faith in a close confidant?”

The Duke continued, pointing out the reason.

“As a matter of fact, Miss Aicila Duncan is my prospective aunt*, and in addition, the Duncans and the Richards have been close for a long time. Of course I would trust the Duncans more.”
(TL/N: Since Prince Frederick is his uncle and is Aicila’s lover, that makes her his aunt.)

Aicila frowned slightly at the expression he used on her, but she said nothing. The Count’s pleading voice broke the momentary quietness. His desperation made it look like he was having a tantrum; it wouldn’t have been shocking if he had begun spewing up blood.

“Your Highness, have some common sense. How could you give such hospitality to someone you’ve never met before—!”

“Abuse and neglect must have also been common sense.”

“I-I promise. I’ll do my best not to allow Ronell to be abused—”

“I don’t trust your words, Count. Not that you can’t be trusted as much as Miss Aicila, but rather, that you’re the issue.”

This is why the normal behavior you exhibit is important, Bertrand was quick to ascertain the truth based on what he saw in front of him. Nearby, Aicila smiled gently at his expense.

“Now. What are you going to do now, Count?”

At her provocative tone, the Count grabbed the handles of the chair so tightly that he felt like it would break. He was unable to think clearly since his mind was in disarray. He started rambling nonsensically, so without pausing for consideration, he blurted out whatever came into his head.

“If Your Highness the Duke objects, I shall take her back nonetheless. This is not right. Ronell Artes is under Artes’s family register, hence this is undeniably kidnapping—”

“Could you lend me some money, Miss Aicila?”

Bertrand abruptly cut off his speech as he casually rested his chin.

“The Count is trying to dishonor the House of the Duke, so what can I do.”

“…Your Highness.”

“It’s terribly regrettable, but we have no choice but to wage a territorial battle.”

A war between two noble families. A war to uphold the Rules of Hospitality would be recognized by all the nobles of Artes.

It follows that the reasoning of the House of Duke Richard was adequate. Now the f*cking prerogative belongs to Richard, not Artes.

If the Houses of Duke Richard and Count Artes got into a battle, everyone could see who would come out on top. And what if the Duncans, the richest family in the empire, provides the funding?

“Stand down, Count. You can’t get any uglier than the conduct you’ve shown so far.”

The Duke sternly ordered.

“I cannot stand by and allow my family’s honor to be sullied, therefore I will put the safety of my distinguished guest before anyone else.”

Isn’t it about time you get lost?

The Count, who had been mentally devastated like a broken doll, was brought out by Aicila. She bowed to the boy, then seized the Count and hauled him roughly out the room.

The Count only managed to regain his sanity after nearly being taken to the 1st floor. His teeth were gnashed together as he shrugged off her strong grip.

“Richard, why!”

“You came in here with a cause, and I only defended it with another cause. Is there a problem?”

The Count smashed his fist against the wall, and Aicila did not bother hiding the contempt that shrouded her face. What she detested most about him was his tendency to turn to physical violence whenever he felt stuck.

“She’s my daughter! My daughter! She’s the child I’ve raised so far, how dare you—”

“Your daughter?”

Aicila’s voice grew even lower.

“She’s my daughter!”

“Really?”

Deep in the night, her voice was as dreary as a choir of specters singing a funeral dirge. The Count, who was hitting the wall hard, flinched at the repeated question.

D-don’t tell me she knows. Unable to control their trembling, his pupils dilated. The rough and odious look on his face was mirrored in her frosty gaze.

Aicila took a step closer to the Count. One step, another step. Like the reaper of death itself was coming to take his life.

The Count tried to run away as she got closer, but he felt an awful grip on his collar and was forced back. Her deep crimson lips, like the petals of a scarlet flower that only blooms in the netherworld, parted serenely.

“Bark again, you son of a b*tch.”

“……”

“Your daughter?”

The trembling Count froze under the eyes that were like a sea of blood. His neck was being held with a terrifying amount of force.

What the hell is with this grip, the Count was flabbergasted, and then horrified, when he saw that Aicila had increased the power in her hand.

She’s going to strangle me. This woman would definitely do it.

“Bark. Whose daughter is Ronell?”

“……”

“I see, thank you for making things clear.”

She’s not my daughter. Ronell can’t be an Artes. She’s not an Artes, but a—

‘Duncan.’

The Count’s mouth hung open in a daze.

Even if he wanted to refute it, her grip was too strong. Her whole presence conveyed a desire to kill. She wanted to rip him apart to death and remove his bones while he’s still alive, just like that. Such barbaric violence.

Her unfiltered rage sent shivers across his whole body. Savoring his quivering appearance, like he had been pierced through by a harpoon, Aicila drew up the corners of her lips neatly.

“From my family.”

“……”

“What were you barking about after taking our family away from us, Count? You thought us Duncans weren’t aware? Are you trying to trick us Duncans?”

“……”

“After a lifetime separation, you dare to take away my family again?”

Crash. Aicila grabbed the Count by the collar once again and lifted him up, then dragged him down the stairs and opened the front door. She relentlessly threw the man to the floor.

The dust kicked up and caked on his expensive garments. The Count sat down and stared up blankly, unable to process what was happening, and as though she had just taken out the garbage, Aicila shook her hands.

“Don’t expect any mercy from me that you would expect from Bertrand, Count.”

I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.

She turned around, slam—! and the door flung shut with a loud noise.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I’m really looking forward to tomorrow.

That meant one thing. Aicila Duncan had begun her retaliation, and Artes’s doom would become evident starting tomorrow.

Whether it falls into the hands of the temple or the Duncans, the ending seems to have already been decided.

The Count climbed into the carriage, completely at a loss. Despite the Count’s miserable look, the coachman silently followed his master’s command to return to his house, which he had stammered out.

He could feel the carriage moving. Hearing the sound of the rolling wheels beneath him, the Count felt that he had finally begun to escape from the sickening Duncan Mansion.

He couldn’t accomplish a thing. Only a bleak and tragic ending lay ahead of him.

There was a bigger problem than Duncan’s retaliation…

“It was pretty funny, Count.”

Approximately 30 minutes into the ride, a woman arrived in the seat opposite to his. Seeing the golden light emanating from behind the hood, the Count slumped in despair.

“And in the end, you failed.”

A gentle voice glorified by God’s grace noted his failure. The Count made a hasty attempt to say something, but the woman with her legs crossed across from him spoke first.

“I don’t want excuses, Artes.”

“However—”

“You were the one who took Ronell and decided to hide her. Did we force you to do it? No.”

…It was the moment he regretted the most.

I shouldn’t have brought her. The Count sat there, chewing his lower lip, thinking about his blunder. I shouldn’t have brought that child.

To be momentarily blinded by the benefits, only to choose the worst outcome.

“There were several other families who volunteered besides you.”

“……”

“One was more noble than you, one was richer than you, and the last one was more religious than you. Nevertheless, we chose you.”

The Count naturally dropped his head. The woman’s words were like daggers, stabbing at him at every turn.

“You know, you only had to raise her as your ‘illegitimate child’.”

Yeah. Why did I agree to raise Ronell. That, that, that, f*ck, why the seed of tragedy. He was blinded by the glory and power the temple would provide him with for the rest of his life if he had raised the child until she turned 10.

As a matter of fact, after Ronell was brought into the mansion, things started to run more smoothly.

They were always acknowledged by the other noble families, their finances were bolstered after they had spent so much on upholding their reputation, and the southern granary area enjoyed abundant harvests year after year.

Even Lloyd grew up healthy without any common illnesses.

I’ll send Ronell back to the temple as soon as she turns 10. He grew complacent with the idea that sending her back and explaining the truth to his wife and his son would be a simple matter.

My wife will be hurt for a while, but after it is all over, she’ll understand that I did it for the sake of the family. He used to believe that.

The quiet carriage was pierced by the soft sound of a voice.

“Didn’t we shower countless benefits onto you as proof of the temple’s faith in Artes?”

“……”

“Count.”

He was afraid of the voice that called him, which was as sweet as poison.

The powers of the Ederka Empire can be broadly classified into three categories:

The nobility, who stand for dignity, the bourgeoisie, who rule through riches, and the priests, who control life’s major milestones.

The priests help people’s lives by bestowing upon them God’s blessings, and as a result of their devotion, the temple gained a strong prestige.

And the most powerful and noblest being in that temple is—

“I told you a few days ago, of course. All you had to do was hide Ronell from the world until she turned 10 years old.”

“……”

“But you failed, so I gave you another chance and yet you failed again.”

—Saintess Wirea. The woman sitting right across from him.