After Being Reborn, My Wife Sapped Away the Game's Female Lead - Chapter 2

“Lilica is really something, running off so fast.” Carlo sat in front of the tea table, still muttering complaints. “It has been many years since I last saw you, yet who was it telling me just a couple of days ago that they wanted to visit you?”

Cynthia set down her teacup and took a dainty sip, her posture so elegant it could serve as a model for an etiquette class. “Lily is a good child. She was very well-behaved, cute, and quite clever when she was little. If not for her truly poor health, perhaps she would have entered the Royal Academy to study as well.”

“Well-behaved and cute.” Carlo’s tone sounded a bit odd. “You are talking about that fellow Lilica?”

The butler standing behind him gave a low reminder, “Please do not use that fellow to refer to a lady, Young Master. You are a noble, after all.”

Carlo looked at his butler with a ghost-seen expression. “In a situation like this, you really do not need to mind my etiquette, Dell.”

Dell smiled. “At least in front of Miss Cynthia, please maintain proper etiquette.”

Carlo stretched out his hand toward Dell and made an extremely vulgar gesture, then leaned back against the sofa and asked Cynthia, “Tell me, what are you going to ask me about this time? Let me guess first: is it about what Mita has been fond of eating lately? If you ask me, you might as well go straight and ask the royal chef.”

Dell smiled without a word, because in his experience, Miss Cynthia would not understand sign language involving such vulgar gestures among commoners, so there was no need to stop his young master from embarrassing the Marquis estate.

In reality, Cynthia, who had long since grown accustomed to all sorts of vulgar gestures, insults, and physical conflicts, lowered her eyelids, pretended she had seen nothing, and then said, “You are right. The issue of food is better left to the chefs to worry about. I should focus on what is right in front of us, such as the Saintess entering the royal capital tomorrow.”

“The Saintess.” Carlo appeared thoroughly uninterested in the matter. “I do not understand why we have to make such a grand fanfare to welcome just her alone. I had originally planned not to return before the start of the semester, but my father refused.”

“Please do not say that,” a flawless, polite smile graced Cynthia’s face. “After all, the Saintess is the key to defeating the demon army.”

Carlo turned his head to look at his butler. “Can you not go and find something else to do?”

“If you give the command,” Dell replied, “I would be more than happy to be at your service.”

Hitting a soft wall, Carlo turned away and rolled his eyes.

Cynthia set down her teacup, feeling immensely grateful that Aila did not manage her in such a fashion.

“Fine, then I will just say it directly.” Carlo straightened up a bit, and although his posture remained lazy and casual, his tone turned much more serious. “I do not believe the outcome of a war will be decided entirely by any single individual. I once suggested to my father that we increase soldier training and moderately expand the army, but both proposals were rejected.”

“Because of the Saintess?” Cynthia asked.

“Because of the Saintess,” Carlo answered.

The two fell silent for a little while, each sipping some tea and eating a few pastries.

Cynthia spoke up once more, though the topic remained unchanged: “In your opinion, without the Saintess’s blessing, what percentage of a chance do we have of winning?”

“According to historical records, the Saintess’s greatest function is twofold: boosting morale and casting large scale blessing magic.”

Carlo spoke on and on continuously for about fifteen minutes, ultimately drawing a conclusion: “As long as the demon army does not undergo any drastic changes, we have at least a sixty percent chance of victory or higher. If we have an outstanding commander presiding over the strategy, perhaps it could reach seventy percent.”

Cynthia looked thoughtful. “What if we could know the approximate size of the demon army in advance?”

“Then I have the confidence to win.”

“Even without the Saintess?”

“Even without the Saintess.”

The two exchanged a smile with profound tacit understanding, and the atmosphere relaxed once more.

“However, are you truly not going to ask me about Mita today?” Carlo could not help asking again. “Did you not hear that he went to attend the Marquis of Cernan’s ball yesterday?”

“Is that so? It was merely a ball, however, so that is unimportant.” Cynthia responded with complete indifference, then smoothly shifted the topic to someone else. “How did Lily come to be at your place? I recall that her family estate is quite a distance from yours.”

Just as Carlo was about to reply, he spotted a servant running in from outside the doorway, who reported to Carlo, “Young Master, the young lady of the Cernan family has come to visit you.”

“That is truly ghost-like,” Carlo asked in disbelief. “Are you certain it is Fiona that peacock who has come?”

Dell gave a dry cough. “Young Master, please watch your phrasing.”

“It is her.” The servant glanced briefly at Cynthia, then lowered his voice. “Word is that she caught sight of Miss Cotton’s carriage, so she came to pay a visit.”

Carlo slapped his forehead. “Splendid. It turns out I am merely an unfortunate soul dragged right into the middle of your tempest.”

Cynthia, however, did not display her usual combative spirit; on the contrary, her demeanor was remarkably calm. “Do not blame matters unrelated to you onto my head, Carlo. If you truly detest Fiona, I suggest you can simply toss her directly out and stuff her back into her carriage later.”

“I shall leave that opportunity entirely to you.” Having said that, Carlo stood up and walked toward the exterior. “First of all, I still need to go and welcome the visitor inside.”

Fiona fully lived up to Carlo’s description of her as a peacock. Standing alongside Carlo, whose training uniform still bore traces of mud, she looked as delicate and exquisite as the most precious piece of jewelry in the royal palace.

She wore a magnificent long gown supported by whalebone hoops, layered with endless tiers of shimmering lace and ribbons, dotted with fragments of crushed diamonds that sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight. Both her head and hands were adorned with various luxurious accessories, and even though she carried a parasol, the jewels hanging from her person refracted the sun’s brilliance from every possible angle, making her appear almost like a walking miniature sun.

Carlo, walking shoulder to shoulder with Fiona, was contrasted into looking all the more as though he had just been dug straight out of the dirt.

Truth be told, outside of formal balls, Cynthia had never witnessed anyone dress in a manner quite so expensive.

Although she cared little which household’s banquet her fiancé had attended yesterday or whom he had danced with, it was abundantly clear that someone else cared a great deal.

Fiona arrived before Cynthia, holding her small parasol, and offered a greeting with a sweet and affected voice. “My, how wonderful it is to see you, Your Highness the Crown Princess-to-be.”

Carlo whispered to Dell, “Did you see that? From now on, you are forbidden to say my etiquette is poor.”

Cynthia set down her teacup, showing no intention of returning the greeting. “Good day, Miss Fiona. You appear to be in exceptionally high spirits.”

“That is likely because love is as sweet as honey,” Fiona flashed a triumphant smile and seated herself opposite Cynthia. “After all, as you are aware, I spent yesterday dancing one dance after another with Prince Mita at the banquet. For nearly the entire evening, the two of us remained together.”

“That is wonderful.” Cynthia wore a smile as well, and she even gave a light round of applause for Fiona. “I am overjoyed that my fiancé could bring you such happiness. He has left you with a brief yet precious memory, and that is a truly splendid thing.”

Carlo, sitting nearby, listened with his face scrunched up in discomfort. He drew in a sharp breath and whispered to his butler, “Dell, why do I feel their conversation is somewhat peculiar?”

“That is merely your imagination, Young Master,” a flawless smile rested on Dell’s face. “However, I would advise you not to involve yourself in it.”

Carlo thought: Very well, I shall remain silent.

Fiona was driven so furious by Cynthia’s words that her face twisted. The various pieces of jewelry adorning her head scattered glints of light in every direction with her facial movements.

“You may indeed be Prince Mita’s fiancée at present,” Fiona said through gritted teeth, “but you are, after all, not his wife. Moreover, to my knowledge, you have yet to establish a formal marriage contract with Prince Mita, have you?”

The Kingdom of Gogless held fairness and the spirit of contracts in extreme reverence. Agreements of all sizes required documentary proof, and formal or solemn matters demanded the addition of contract magic.

Among all these contracts, a marriage contract was considered quite solemn and sacred. Typically, when an engagement was finalized, both parties to the marriage would establish a formal marriage contract.

“Indeed, I have not.” Cynthia first nodded, then countered with a question, “And have you established one?”

Fiona: “…”

Cynthia thoroughly enjoyed Fiona’s colorful expression before stating, “If you ask me, Fiona, you still need to work much harder. After all, it is common knowledge that I, Cynthia Cotton, am not the most suitable candidate to be Crown Princess due to possessing an overly exceptional nature and a family peerage to inherit.”

“Since you bear none of these burdens and possess an innate advantage over me, I trust you can accomplish what I cannot.”

Fiona’s face flushed a deep crimson, whether from the warmth of the sun or sheer anger was hard to tell.

Had it been in the past, whenever someone used the matter of a marriage contract to provoke Cynthia, she would have most likely strived to prove herself fully worthy of the status of Crown Princess. Whether through her own lineage, scholarship, or her feelings for Prince Mita himself, she would have demanded of herself to far surpass everyone else.

Yet looking at it now, such an endeavor was entirely unnecessary. A remarkable individual such as Prince Mita was best gifted to maidens who were infinitely more devoted to him. The Saintess Betty made a fine candidate, and the Fiona before her was entirely suitable as well.

Carlo, listening from the side, drew in another sharp breath. Cynthia had never been capable of uttering such remarks in the past. He murmured to Dell, “Has Cynthia lost her mind?”

Dell came close to nodding in agreement.

Driven nearly insane with rage, Fiona let out a shrill shriek of “You acid-tongued wretch!” and lunged wildly toward Cynthia, attempting to teach her a lesson.

Aila was terribly startled and instinctively moved to shield Cynthia with her own body.

However, Cynthia had already reacted with lightning speed. She not only nimbly dodged Fiona’s fierce lunge, but also clenched her fist and delivered a heavy punch directly into Fiona’s tightly corseted stomach.

Before Fiona could utter even half a word, she collapsed softly to the ground.