We Will Get Divorced: The Perfect Divorce Plan of the Sacrificial Daughter and the Cold-Blooded Soldier - Chapter 39

“Have a wonderful day, my lady! You look absolutely beautiful today.”

“Thank you, Amy.”

Sent off by Amy, who was more energetic than any rooster announcing dawn, I left the bedroom.

Another beautiful day. The morning sun streaming through the windows cast a veil of light across the hallway. Drawn by it, I stepped forward and saw the green highlands spread out below, glittering with morning dew as if showing me the path ahead.

Julian and I are finally approaching the climax of our amicable divorce plan.

We’ve successfully won over Nadine and Arcadia, and now all that remains is to break through the main fortress—Chrislan.

We’ve come this far without a hitch; it’s bound to work out. And then, I’ll receive a hefty sum labeled as “compensation expenses,” putting an end to this temporary married life.

“It’s tough, but let’s do our best.”

I muttered those words to myself as I reached for the dining room doorknob.

…Wait, what’s “tough” about this?

I shuddered at my own unconscious remark.

What am I saying? There’s nothing tough about this.

Once the new venture begins, Eirondale will be secure. If we can suppress the rebellion, even Vraogone will be saved. My misogynist husband will be freed, and everyone should be happy.

So, what exactly is “tough” about that?

“Good morning, Sierra.”

Entering the dining room, I found Julian already seated and waiting as usual. Just seeing his face made me feel like crying for some reason.

“Good morning, my lord.”

Forcing back the tears welling up, I put on my brightest smile and took my seat.

“Well, that takes care of the outer moat.”

Julian’s first words at our breakfast meeting, after wetting his tongue with an aperitif, were solemn.

“All that’s left is for the three of us to demonstrate that we have no intention of rebelling. Once isolated, Father won’t be able to take drastic measures. Ideally, we could even persuade him to step down as head of the family.”

“Indeed.”

“Huh, so that was the plan all along.”

Two voices responded simultaneously to Julian’s explanation—one tense, the other relaxed.

The former was mine, while the latter belonged to Arcadia, who was still lingering at the Harrop estate mansion. Not just his voice, but even the way he leaned on his cheek and tilted his wine glass lacked any sense of tension.

“I’ve explained this repeatedly. Why haven’t you grasped it yet?”

“Who knows? Maybe your explanation just sucks?”

“…”

Oh, how I miss peaceful meals.

Once again, the Vraogone brothers are at odds.

More importantly, how long does Arcadia plan to stay here? His injuries should have healed enough for him to walk by now, yet he keeps refusing to return home under the absurd pretext of “monitoring” to ensure our marital relationship doesn’t deepen further.

It doesn’t harm me directly, but having to worry about them arguing every time they’re together is a bit of a hassle.

“Since the outer moat is taken care of, does that mean we’ll finally be heading to Vraogone? To persuade Lord Chrislan?”

Trying to steer the conversation forward and dispel the tense atmosphere, I noticed a faint frown crease Julian’s brow.

“That was the plan, but circumstances have changed. If Arcadia’s information is accurate, we can’t afford to take our time.”

“Information?”

Glancing beside me, I saw the hedonist sipping wine since morning now plucking a lettuce leaf with his bare hands and nibbling on it. What part of this man’s words could possibly be trusted?

“Arcadia, you’re sure about this, right?”

Julian voiced the doubt both Zach and I shared, and in return, received an utterly charming wink.

“Of course. Don’t underestimate my intelligence network. The assassination plot isn’t limited to just your wedding. Father always has multiple plans running simultaneously—some take years to execute, others as soon as next month.”

“Next month?”

“The beginning of next month.”

The beginning of next month—that would be…

“The Harvest Festival?”

“Yep. On the final day of the Harvest Festival, they’ll deploy an assassination squad targeting the King’s ‘Prayer Ceremony.'”

Arcadia made a finger gun to punctuate his words, miming a “bang.” It was pretentious, but he pulled it off so well it was irritating.

But targeting the Harvest Festival? Blasphemous, yet it might indeed be the perfect opportunity.

In the Vishka Kingdom, the Harvest Festival is held once a year to pray for a bountiful harvest. The ‘Prayer Ceremony,’ where the King offers prayers at the Divine Spring, is considered a sacred ritual that must not be defiled. Of course, it’s heavily guarded, with the duty rotating among neighboring lords.

“If I recall, this year’s guard is…”

“Yep, Vraogone (us).”

No wonder Chrislan detests even the slightest hint of suspicion—he’s determined to seize this perfect opportunity at all costs.

“If you had such precise information, why didn’t you take action?”

“Because that’s not the Military Police’s job. And besides, it’s the usual problem—lack of evidence.”

“The Military Police’s intelligence lacks evidence?”

“Who said anything about the Military Police? Listen carefully—I said ‘my’ intelligence network.”

Ah, women.

It’s true that women’s information networks are incomparable to men’s, but tangible evidence is often lacking, as is common in this world.

“What should we do, my lord? Even now, if we leak this information anonymously, Vraogone might be removed from guard duty, preventing the atrocity.”

“Unlikely. Without evidence, it’s just hearsay. Women’s rumors may be accurate, but the state won’t act on them.”

“You’re right…”

Evidence—it always comes back to that.

“Moreover, His Majesty Dimitris is a suspicious monarch. If Father becomes suspect, it could endanger all of Vraogone. The King must never suspect Father of disloyalty.”

Then what should we do? As I pondered, Julian flashed a startling grin.

“In that case, why don’t we make use of that conspiracy ourselves?”

“Make use of it?”

“Yes. Actually, there’s one thing that worried me about our divorce plan. If the three of us—me, Nadine, and Arcadia—directly petition Father to oppose the rebellion…”

If we petition him?

“…There’s a chance we’ll end up arguing among ourselves, completely ignoring Father.”

“Surely not—”

What could I say? I couldn’t deny it outright.

“Ahahaha! That’s totally possible! We might not just argue—we could end up drawing swords! Worst case, our cooperation could collapse right then and there.”

Please be quiet. If that happens, you’ll almost certainly be the cause.

“Well, jokes aside. I’ve been thinking we need a mediator of some standing when we confront him directly. This works out perfectly. If we’re in charge of the Harvest Festival guard, there should be a final meeting with His Majesty on the first night. The other dukes will likely attend as well. Let’s make our declaration in front of them.”

So that means?

“Prepare, Zach. We’re attending the Harvest Festival.”