<Chapter 32>

The warm remnants of tea splashed over the Earl of Bechdelrace’s crown, dripping onto the floor.

The round-faced earl, unaccustomed to such brazen disrespect, remained frozen in shock.

Viretta managed to hold her teacup delicately, while Lanken was less fortunate, spilling his tea onto his pants.

“To flirt with Viretta, knowing that I am her fiancé, is a challenge to me personally.”

“N-no, it was just a polite remark…”

“Y-yes, merely a compliment, my lord. Please excuse him; Iola is from another country.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, then, I suppose I must understand!”

The Earl, with his hair drenched in tea, forced an awkward smile, clapping his knee in acceptance.

Despite having grounds to be furious, he knew his opponent was the son of the infamous Dusk Mercenary Corps.

Aware of the mercenary’s fearsome reputation, the Earl laughed obsequiously, dabbing at the tea with his handkerchief. Viretta, laughing heartily, helped wipe up the spill.

“Iola, please! The Earl meant absolutely nothing by it. It was an innocent mistake.”

“Understood. I’ll be somewhat lenient. But as her fiancé, I do have a reputation to uphold.”

“You don’t need one.”

This so-called reputation was just making everything increasingly awkward for everyone.

“Look, Lanken is nearly in tears.”

“Oh, heavens, why did you bring Iola into this world after Viretta?”

Lanken was on the verge of tears himself, feeling utterly defeated.

After days of relentless chaos, his stomach was in knots.

While he had grown accustomed to Viretta’s antics, the complications Iola introduced were of an entirely different kind.

Arguments with bandits, provoking with words, impulsively dousing the Earl in tea—this man had no qualms about causing trouble and making enemies.

Where Viretta’s actions were whimsical, Iola’s were bold and unfiltered, backed by his formidable skills. Skilled mercenaries and wizards often acted unfazed by nobility, much like Moslin, who showed no particular fear toward the Earl.

Iola was no different. As a skilled magician and expert swordsman, he feared no one.

Coming from a noble family himself, Iola saw no reason to feel intimidated.

But this very disposition kept landing him in trouble.

At this point, even Viretta was beginning to notice the pattern. While she usually initiated the problems, lately, it was Iola who was escalating them.

“Iola, you may not realize this since you’re of noble blood, but Lanken finds nobles intimidating. Every time you act brashly toward them, he gets terribly anxious. Look.”

As she pretended to flick the Earl’s forehead, Lanken shivered.

“Eek! Quit it!”

“Is that so…? Alright, then.”

“Ahh!”

Iola brandished a fork playfully toward the Earl, causing Lanken to shriek and bite down on his teacup.

“Please… enough. Look at Viretta’s poor mercenary trembling.”

After several rounds of this, the Earl of Bechdelrace intervened, urging them to stop. Viretta and Iola both retreated, coughing lightly in feigned embarrassment.

Iola lowered his head, his brows drawing outward apologetically.

“I apologize. I acted rashly, forgetting proper etiquette. Seeing another man approaching my fiancée, I felt a stir in my… chest area. It’s quite uncomfortable.”

“Are you referring to your heart?”

“It seems I’m experiencing temporary angina. I don’t typically suffer from this condition, so it’s surprising.”

“So, you mean your heart is racing?”

Viretta deftly grasped the point of his intellectual phrasing, her habit of paying close attention to his every word paying off.

“Academically speaking, yes.”

“Your heart races when another man approaches me… Could it be some kind of… special feeling?”

Viretta blushed, gently touching her cheeks, asking with a demure tone.

Iola’s expression remained intensely serious.

“Indeed. Likely the dread of losing my position as your fiancé.”

“Perhaps a feeling starting with ‘L’?”

“Lament—a relic of Sapien.”

“….”

Viretta abandoned her attempt to extract the word “love” from him; catching a dragon would likely be easier.

Sitting across from her, Moslin patted her shoulder comfortingly.

Viretta trembled with frustration, humiliated.

Iola sighed and took a sip of his now-cold tea.

“Once again, my apologies. I was so focused on Viretta that I acted inappropriately.”

“Oh, no, no. You’re from another country, after all. When customs differ, etiquette does too, right?”

“Precisely. In Saha, if you were to make a remark like that to a woman with a partner, they’d split your head open immediately.”

“No way! You’ve got it wrong! Elena’s the only one for me. I’d never consider Viretta, so there’s no need to worry!”

“Is that an acceptable statement in Fillian? Or may I proceed with splitting your head?”

“No escape route here! Viretta, save me!”

Finding himself cornered, the Earl clung to Viretta’s skirt in desperation.

Seeing him wail like a child, Viretta felt her mood improve, lifting her chin in satisfaction.

“Oh, Iola, the Earl was only clumsily expressing his respect and assuring me he’d remain proper. There’s no need to get angry over his poor choice of words.”

“If you put it that way, I understand. He seems to mean no harm.”

The Earl felt a sense of injustice swell within him. How did I end up in the position of seeking forgiveness?

“Still, such poor communication could be what led to your marital troubles. You might want to be more careful in the future.”

“Why, you! I’m already tormented enough going through a divorce! Elena loves me, I tell you!”

Unable to hold back, the Earl lunged at Iola, only to be easily restrained again.

Moslin, now amused by the farce, continued munching on snacks, occasionally glancing around and asking, “Is it over yet?”

“Are things not going poorly with your wife?”

Viretta helped the Earl up from where he’d faceplanted onto the table.

Listening to his words, she gathered that the Earl still harbored feelings for Elena.

That’s why, despite months of seclusion during the divorce and custody battles, he still uttered her name.

Clumsily, he rose, rubbing his reddened forehead.

“I still love Elena. That’s why this is so hard. I love both my wife and my child, yet I feel like I’m about to lose them both.”

“Why would you separate, then? Could it be…?”

“No, Viretta. It’s not what you think. Elena is a virtuous woman. We simply have a significant disagreement on how to raise our daughter.”

Straightening his posture, the Earl dismissed her suspicions immediately.

“Over what, exactly?”

“I just want Lucy—our eldest daughter—to grow up healthy. That’s all I wish for. I’d be satisfied if she grew up as a normal lady.”

“‘Healthy and happy’—a common enough parental wish.”

“Elena, however, believes that our daughter will become a great magician and is determined to support her fully. But it’s excessive.”

“Does she push her to study constantly?”

“Not exactly. She ensures Lucy gets rest and supports her hobbies. But she’s so convinced of her potential for success that she’s obsessed, to the point of being demanding.”

The Earl groaned, closing his eyes in frustration, as if unable to articulate the difficulty.

“Even during meals, she says, ‘This is a dish that great magicians enjoy.’ When Lucy sings, it’s, ‘A great magician can still recite spells while listening to music…’ If I were Lucy, I’d be driven mad.”

“Ah, so she’s ‘expecting too much, and is relentless about it,’ is that it?”

“Viretta, you’re a genius! Yes, exactly!”

With this precise summary hitting the mark, the Earl clapped enthusiastically. He continued clapping until his hands were sore, eventually looking abashed.

“When I told her she was going overboard, she argued that she couldn’t live with someone who didn’t care about the child’s future, and after half a year of fighting, she left.”

He sighed deeply.

“We can’t agree on anything regarding parenting. Talking to Elena makes me feel inadequate, as if I’m a terrible parent. She’s so eloquent that I keep losing in court.”

“Ahem, I understand the situation well. Trust me, my best effort will go into the trial—and if we fail, I’ll still see that your daughter returns to you.”

“Even if we fail? You’re not suggesting… taking drastic measures, are you?”

The Earl looked uneasily at Viretta, whose confidence seemed boundless. Considering her track record, including abducting him in broad daylight and attempting to crack his head, his unease was understandable.

Noting his apprehension, Viretta flashed him a dazzling smile.

“Haha! You jest, my lord.”

“It’s not, is it?”

“Haha! You jest, my lord.”

“It’s really not, right?!”

The Earl began to panic, while Viretta, her usual bright expression unchanged, rose from the sofa.

“To prepare for tomorrow’s trial, I must rest. Let’s all get a good night’s sleep; we may need our strength for tomorrow.”

“Viretta, you’re not serious, are you?!”

“Good night, my lord. Remember, I am the daughter of Medleridge.”

“Of Medleridge, the demon of wealth… his second daughter…”

Receiving a playful wink from Viretta, the Earl, overcome with dread, staggered, trembling with fatigue.