Chapter 114

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 114

Chapter Title: Debt Collection

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Ishak kicked open the door and stormed into the garden.

Life round four. Thanks to stuffing myself sick on nothing but dirty looks, my instincts—honed to a razor's edge—kicked in without fail.

'Something's not right.'

I shook off Young Lord Deriber's hand in a flash.

[Leblain, if some trash... no, if a man ever gets too close to you, hit him with this first.]

"You'd better realize we live in a world where a wrist can go flying if you can't keep your hands to yourself!"

[That's it, kiddo. Then follow up with this.]

"If you don't want to die, scram!"

[And cap it off like this.]

"The Duvereds draw swords faster than words. Especially the eldest."

I rattled off my brothers' lines in perfect order. The three of them nodded proudly, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief.

'Saved one life today.'

Then I sidled up to Dad and my brothers, zeroing in on the one thing he was always paranoid about.

"No crud under your nails, right?"

Not that it'd form from a mere touch anyway.

Dad's face soured, but when I tugged his arm, he came along with surprising compliance.

Just as I thought we'd wrapped it up—

"That's cold, my lady... What did I even do wrong? If I'd grabbed your waist, sure, but this?"

I flinched. Dad and my brothers—who'd been heading out of the garden—snapped their gazes back to Young Lord Deriber.

"Waist?"

"Whose waist?"

"Wai—st?"

"......"

Ishak toyed with his scabbard as Henri spoke up.

"Pick somewhere without witnesses. Less mess to clean up."

Ishak then slung an arm around Young Lord Deriber's shoulder.

"Let's take a walk."

"Me?!"

Young Lord Deriber—who had to be at least three or four years Ishak's senior—lit up like a kid at the private invite.

"Of course...... Urk."

His glee cut short with a grunt. Veins popped on the back of Ishak's hand clamped on his shoulder.

Ishak flashed a creepy grin.

"Smile. Go on, smile."

Young Lord Deriber finally clocked something was off, but too late.

He was already getting dragged away by Ishak—with Henri and Yohan bringing up the rear.

I bowed my head in silent prayer.

'Farewell, Young Lord. I did what I could.'

Back in the party hall, Young Lord Deriber was ghost-white and shaking like a leaf. He'd swapped his pants for a bright red pair, for some reason.

Our eyes met, and he let out a "Hiiik—!!" before bolting from the hall.

That's when it hit me.

This party had four walking hazards that had no business being here.

I shot them a glance.

"Leblain, juice?"

"Leb, tired? Head home if you want."

"Kiddo, wanna try that ride? Little bro's investment...!"

"Dress looks thin. I'll send for a coat."

......The four hazards beamed back innocently.

I hauled Zachary—who was deep in his brooding lone wolf routine—over to the Chairman.

And told him straight.

"Keep an eye on Dad and the brothers."

Zachary blinked in confusion.

"Your lordship and the young masters? Trouble?"

"No casualties."

"It's a party, not a war zone—what casua—"

Zachary trailed off mid-sentence as he glanced their way. His face twisted oddly.

Dad and my brothers were eyeing the room's crop of haughty young nobles like hunters sizing up game.

The Chairman spoke up.

"I've already briefed the vassals here. If Your Grace or the young masters kill anyone, rough them up, or beat them within an inch of their lives, they're to intervene at all costs—even if it means their own necks."

"Good man."

Now that I noticed, the vassals all wore wide-eyed terror, like they'd seen ghosts.

Zachary muttered under his breath.

"Total daughter-cons..."

"Not just that."

"Eh?"

"Isn't the number of my-age young nobles kinda... excessive?"

Zachary scanned the hall and nodded.

"You're right. Ah!"

Sharp as ever, Zachary—commoner or not—nailed noble instincts on the head.

"This mess convinced a ton of people I'm the real Child of Destiny. Papal Court's twitchy, temples too. And I'm the family darling?"

"Prime marriage material."

In Mina-world terms, I was the jackpot lotto ticket.

"Most here are angling for alliances. Tinheads included."

"......Bride-raiders, huh."

"Bingo."

"But who'd be dumb enough to touch Little One under the Duvered roof?"

The Chairman fielded that one.

"They figure it's possible because it's Duvered."

"Huh?"

"Why would powerful heirs stoop to bride-napping? Honor's their lifeblood. Kidnap first, and touched or not, scum tongues will wag."

"Force a marriage by smearing her first? Insane...!"

It'd happened plenty in the old days.

Rates had plummeted lately, sure—but I knew greed turned smart people stupid.

Dad and the brothers must've figured as much. Overkill vigilance made sense.

"Congrats, Your Grace! Fine daughter you've got."

"Fine?"

"Sir?"

"Way beyond 'fine'."

......Okay, daughter-cons too.

"Anyway, watch 'em close. I'm ducking out of the hall for a bit."

"Where to, Little One?"

"Debt collection time."

Duke Ballua.

The Chairman got it instantly.

"Need backup?"

"Nah. You're too fragile—one tap and you'd fold."

"Back in my prime, I—!"

"Right, back in the day."

The Chairman deflated. I patted Zachary's armor.

"Guard my six."

Time to put Zachary to real use.

Ceriana's Chairman wasn't escort material. In a pinch, I'd be shielding Ceria and him.

Zachary gripped his scabbard and shadowed me.

We navigated the dim corridor to Duke Ballua's pre-scouted spot.

"Mind if I ask what this 'debt collection' entails?"

Zachary's tone was dead serious—miles from his usual goof.

Five years raising him, I'd watched close.

Could he handle my secret?

Zachary checked every box.

Loyalty.

Skill.

And desire—something he valued over me.

That's why no family or Lea.

They failed the last one.

Chairman yearned to reunite with Louis.

Ceria to track down Hope House kids.

Zachary burned to protect his orphanage pals and claim top knight on the continent.

If something mattered more than me, they'd ditch me in a crisis.

Meaning no hysterical blocks, fearing my corpse.

"Duke Ballua owes big. Story later."

"......Understood."

Foolish? Sure. But quick on the uptake, wise beyond.

We stepped outside. Zachary vanished into shadow, clocking the lamplit fountain. Duke Ballua raged into a comm stone.

"How the hell did you screw this up so bad......! Duvered lady."

He jolted mid-yell, stashing the stone.

"Party's guest of honor slumming it here why?"

"Came to see Your Grace."

Duke Ballua let out a thin snicker.

In the fountain's murky glow, only his footfalls closed in.

"Bold one."

He bent to my eye level, clamping my shoulder vise-like.

"Or just gutsy beyond sense."

"......"

"Torpedoing my plans, then waltzing up? So much for 'clever'."

"......"

"What to do with this pesky little mouse."

His grip crawled like bugs under skin—pure chills.

I still feared him.

Helpless days of beatings and flaying words scarred deep, trauma eternal.

Couldn't steady my quaking eyes or hands, try as I might.

Duke Ballua eyed me.

"Daddy's orders? Toy with me? Useless ploy. You're crumbling already."

[Worthless scum. Vile pest.]

"Fawned on as Child of Destiny—world's yours now, eh?"

"......"

"Truth is, we knowers see through it. Fake."

"......"

"Title-basked glory. Truth drops? Broke and banished."

"......"

"Masses' toy, winding up bridge-rat beggar. Humble up today. Hm?"

Forgiveness tempted, once.

Hate hurt me worse. Pardon might snap the throat-grip fear.

If he dropped to knees, begged mercy—owned greed's beastly sway—I'd quit.

Until now.

"Scared of me?"

"What?"

"Dad says cornered dogs snap. Desperate for blood. Dodging my terror."

"You...!"

"But now? Real fear incoming."

Duke Ballua's mug turned feral.

"Delusional drivel...!"

"Pay up."

"The 3 million francs you borrowed from Sir Rein. 5 million from your runaway wife. My money."

"Wh-what?!"

"Took over the full portfolio. Sold the long-range teleporter arrays. Killer ads jacked the price."

I beamed.

"Zero interest paid! Brother says that's grounds for foreclosure!"

Other houses kissed your ring. Not me.

"Deed over. Trash."

Face yellowed, Duke Ballua flapped wordless.

"N-no... Can't be!"

I thrust the papers under his nose.

"Like hell it can't."

He scanned them—face flushed crimson.

Anal-retentive type vetted his 3 mil fine-print.

His wife? Nah.

Miss interest? Assets seized.

No shot she coughs 5 mil—so that second-life mansion, secret study vault? All mine.