Chapter – 31
“Please calm down. What’s the matter?”
“What? What? Whaaaat?! It’s because you’re taking orders from Elena and trying to swindle the citizens, you wretched bastard! I won’t let you get away with this!”
“M-My lord! Do you believe in the apocalypse?”
Seizing a one-second opening, Viretta cut in.
“That’s enough of that—get lost! You’re not getting my daughter!”
The lord didn’t even look at her and instead clung to Iola. The sight of him lunging forward in tears was almost pitiful.
“Ah, I don’t need her either.”
“Who are you saying doesn’t need my daughter?!”
“I already have a perfectly proper fiancée.”
“My daughter is a hundred times cuter and more precious than that woman, obviously! I-I won’t give her to you!”
The lord, making no sense whatsoever, charged at Iola like a madman.
He clawed at his clothes and struck at his neck in a flurry of frantic attacks. Wearing the refreshed smile of a benevolent gentleman, Iola calmly executed a shoulder throw.
The very lord he was supposed to persuade crashed to the ground. Iola dusted off his hands and straightened up.
“‘That woman,’ you say? She is the finest of ladies.”
His decisive blow had worked perfectly—the lord fainted on the spot—and the surrounding crowd erupted.
“Waaaaah!!”
“That was amazing!!”
“The best!!”
“I’m in love!!”
“We’re doomed!!”
Amid the cheers for the unconscious lord, Rankin shrieked in despair.
He shoved past the clapping and whistling onlookers and rushed to Viretta and Iola’s side.
“What have you done?! You can’t just knock out the lord!”
“It’s… it’s according to plan. No problem.”
“Don’t lie! The guards are rushing over! What are we going to do?! I’m sorry! We’re sorry!”
Startled soldiers and servants were already charging toward them.
Fortunately, the enraged townspeople blocked the servants’ path, but they wouldn’t hold out for long.
The one who had caused the chaos only wore an “oops” expression. There didn’t seem to be any clear plan at all.
Viretta’s mind raced. Every second counted.
After whirling frantically, her brain arrived at a simple conclusion.
“Grab him and run!”
Eight minutes and twenty seconds.
That was how long it took Viretta Medledge’s group to kidnap Count Bekdelrace, who had been holed up in hiding for three months.
“Hey! You can’t just kidnap him!”
Only after they had run far enough away with the lord slung over their shoulders did Rankin finally protest.
Pointing at Viretta as if coughing up blood, he shouted,
“You moved just fine yourself… Heh. You can act shy all you like—I know how you really feel.”
Viretta steadied her breathing and gave a bashful smile. Her composure only irritated Rankin more.
“I’m looking out for you so you don’t get killed! Get a grip!”
“You are thinking of me, right?”
“Don’t conveniently skip the ‘get a grip’ part!”
Rankin’s blood pressure spiked, and he collapsed onto the ground, ending up lying side by side with the lord. The lord, whom Iola and Rankin had carried, was still unconscious and muttering for his daughter.
Moslin, who had ended up running with them by accident, clicked her tongue in admiration.
“Kidnapping a lord right from the start—how bold. You’re a master at raising your life’s difficulty level. I like it. What’s next? War?”
“There’s a plan, so don’t worry.”
Viretta said so, though cold sweat beaded at the nape of her neck.
If negotiations failed, she would immediately be wanted as a kidnapper.
Despite facing yet another major crisis, the one responsible seemed utterly fearless.
“Ah, as expected, Miss Viretta had a plan. Your speech earlier must have accounted for my interruption. If everything is calculated, then I will continue to trust your instructions.”
“By the way… is that guy a bit stupid?”
Moslin muttered, glancing at Iola. Rankin shrugged awkwardly.
“Let’s just say he has issues with trust.”
If they called someone from the Royal Academy of the capital “stupid,” they themselves would become even more foolish by comparison.
Iola simply had a very serious problem forming trust relationships.
“Ugh… Lucy… Lucy… I won’t give you my daughter…”
While the four pondered their next move, the lord awoke from his nightmare.
He looked around wildly and gasped.
“W-What is the meaning of this?! Even if you do this, I won’t hand over my daughter!”
After being cleanly knocked out by Iola, Count Bekdelrace turned out to be a relatively young man for a count.
Perhaps his father had died at a young age; he seemed about the same age as Iola and Rankin.
In appearance, he was the very image of a mild, bookish noble. Slightly plump, he wiped his sweat with a handkerchief, trembling.
“I will formally bring this to court. Tell Elena not to try anything funny—M-Miss Viretta?”
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
“Huh?”
Starting with the lord, Viretta, Rankin, and Moslin each expressed their surprise in turn.
The most shocked of all was the lord himself. His round eyes darted back and forth as he quivered.
“Why is Miss Viretta on Elena’s side…? Could it be the Medledge family…? Ah, no. Miss Viretta has always ignored Elder Medledge—pardon, ahem—been independent. So you weren’t sent by Elena? You have business with me?”
“Ah, well, that’s true.”
“You hired guards Rankin and Lady Moslin and were traveling with your fiancé… No, with this combination, you must have run away from home again. Then the people of my territory asked you to persuade me, didn’t they? Haah, I see… I wondered what it was. Very well. I can let you stay for about a week.”
“……”
“……”
“……”
“……”
Faced with Count Bekdelrace’s smooth summary of the situation, the group could only stare in silence.
Even Iola’s expression suggested something was off, and the count wiped his sweat again.
“What? Did I get something wrong?”
“No, it’s just… too accurate.”
“People these days don’t like wasting time. Quick summaries are a basic skill for a lord.”
Still, they hadn’t expected him to guess Moslin’s employment and Iola being Viretta’s fiancé in one go.
Impressed by the count’s fortune-teller-like insight, Viretta cleared her throat.
“Well, that saves us the trouble of explaining. So, are you going to resume your duties as lord now?”
“I would like to, but the trial is imminent. Is the territory more important right now? Reclaiming my daughter is far more important.”
The count let out a heavy sigh.
How many times had he mentioned his daughter now? Piecing together his expression and everything he had said so far, Viretta arrived at the answer.
A lord who had rushed out after three months because of Iola’s comment about “mothers.”
His suspicion that Elena had sent them.
His repeated insistence that he wouldn’t give up his daughter—and that he must get her back.
Clue after clue came together.
Viretta clicked her tongue brightly and pointed at the count.
“You’re in the middle of a custody lawsuit, aren’t you?”
“Yeees! Elena took my daughter!”
Count Bekdelrace covered his face in anguish.
The Medledge name proved useful.
Upon learning that his kidnappers included the second daughter of the Medledge family, the count forgave her immediately.
They moved to the reception room of the count’s estate and chatted over warm tea.
“A custody lawsuit is a recently introduced law. The court decides who will raise the child. It’s all the rage among nobles and the wealthy in the capital.”
“The most depressing trend in the world.”
Rankin’s expression grew slightly gloomy as he sipped his tea.
“Indeed. Usually, it’s a lawsuit to push the child onto the other parent, so it’s truly dismal. It’s rare to see someone crying because they’re afraid they won’t be able to see their daughter, like you, my lord.”
“How can they be like that? Are they insane? The thought of losing my daughter makes it impossible to focus on anything. If I lose the case, I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything at all.”
Count Bekdelrace was in the middle of a custody battle with his wife, Elena.
Two months ago, she had left the house with their daughter and filed for divorce.
Since then, the delicate count had been unable to concentrate on his duties and had secluded himself in the estate.
He had only rushed out today because Iola’s “theory of mothers” sounded similar to Elena’s arguments—proof enough of his profound love for his child.
“I understand your circumstances, but you can’t trouble the people because of it. If I solve it for you, that’s fine, right? Leave it to me.”
How she would do it didn’t matter. Whether she could or not didn’t matter either.
If it had to be done, she would step forward somehow. That was the kind of person Viretta was.
The count clasped her hands, deeply moved.
“You’ll take my side, Miss Viretta? I’m truly touched. It’s pitiful that I’ve come to rely on you of all people, but even the smallest support means the world.”
There was a hint of rudeness in his words, but with tears in his eyes, there was no chance to call him out on it.
“Perhaps I made the wrong choice. If I had married you, Miss Viretta, none of this would have happened…”
With a swelling expression, the count kissed the back of Viretta’s hand.
In Philion’s high society, saying “If I had married you—” was either a conventional compliment or a provocation.
Among the unmarried, it meant simply “You are admirable.” Among those with partners, it was a challenge directed at one’s own spouse—a prelude to a duel.
Thus, the people of Philion present took no issue with the count’s words.
But there was one exception: Iola Jin, a man of Saha.
He poured the scalding tea straight onto the count’s head.
“That is not a remark I can overlook.”
The man who had moments ago seemed like a clear summer sky now smiled darkly.
