Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 65: Anyone Who Dares to Take My Cake is My Enemy

When Yveste heard the sharp sound of glass shattering, she didn’t immediately lift her head.

She was entirely consumed by her emotions, enveloped in a mix of frenzy and disdain, so much so that she couldn’t perceive the world around her.

As she had said, scenes like this were ones she had experienced countless times. Yet some things aren’t easier to bear just because they happen repeatedly.

The scars of the past accumulate over time, weighing heavily on the heart.

It only takes the slightest touch for those wounds to bleed anew.

During her childhood, before she had fully awakened her powers, Yveste’s siblings neither fear nor rejected her to the extent they did later.

Disliking her appearance, they often secretly played pranks on her.

After all, even Saint Roland VI himself had little affection for Yveste at the time.

Although they shared the same blood, her siblings had never truly considered her family.

At royal banquets, they would “accidentally” rip off Yveste’s mask in public, scattering quickly as they laughed, watching as the guests’ faces filled with fear and disgust.

Surrounded by whispers and judgmental glances, she could only cover her face and cry.

In the end, Saint Roland VI never took meaningful action against those pranksters.

The only thing worth reprimanding, in his eyes, was the fact that their actions frightened the guests.

Looking back, perhaps the shadows of her past were the reason why, despite her current immense strength, Yveste still found such situations unbearably suffocating.

But in the end, she could never truly kill all the nobles present who despised her.

It didn’t matter.

Taking a deep breath, Yveste tried to suppress the desire to destroy everything that surged within her.

After all, from the beginning until now, she had always been this way.

Always...

“Duke Tyrius, you seemed to be discussing some rather interesting topics just now. Might I, as an outsider, join in for a delightful discussion?”

At that moment, a familiar voice reached Yveste’s ears.

Instinctively, she lifted her head and spotted the figure.

For some reason, the heavy weight pressing on her heart suddenly disappeared the moment she saw the young man in the raven mask.

...

After hearing the response from the raven-masked youth, Duke Tyrius initially wanted to lash out.

But upon realizing the underlying meaning of his words, he froze.

The last one to take a piece of the cake?

At first glance, it sounded trivial—like a response meant to grab attention.

Yet, on deeper thought, it carried a certain logic.

As he had mentioned before, human greed knows no bounds.

Once the person dividing the cake takes control, they inevitably prioritize their own interests.

Much like the Divine Order Church, which siphoned off most of the city's tax revenue for itself.

But if they were the last to take a share, fairness would be unprecedented.

Because following the usual order, the larger pieces of cake would have already been snatched away, leaving only scraps for the last taker.

It was an intriguing idea, but merely that—an idea. It couldn’t be applied to reality.

In the end, real outcomes depended not only on the cake-dividers but also on those vying for the cake and the hierarchy among them.

Nonetheless, for the sake of this lighthearted discussion, the youth’s response was undeniably perfect.

Yet Duke Tyrius didn’t reveal his thoughts. Instead, with a neutral expression, he looked at the youth. “So this is your answer? A dreamer lost in his own idealistic world?”

“Of course. But applying it to reality is impossible,” the youth chuckled. “This answer only pertains to the act of dividing cake. The actual situation would be different.”

Duke Tyrius stared at him. “Then what would you do, faced with a similar real-world problem?”

At this, the crowd exchanged curious glances.

How could anyone fail to notice that Duke Tyrius’s question was a deliberate test for the young man?

Perhaps the guest for tonight’s private discussion in the duke’s study had already been chosen.

For a moment, the onlookers’ gazes brimmed with envy and curiosity.

The envy stemmed from the possibility that the fortunate youth was about to gain the duke’s favor.

The curiosity arose because no one in Orne City had ever heard of such a remarkable young man before.

At the same time, the crowd eagerly anticipated the boy’s response.

Without hesitation, the youth answered Duke Tyrius’s question, “In reality, the first thing I’d do is distinguish between enemies and allies.”

“Oh?” The duke seemed intrigued. “And how would you do that?”

Hearing this, the youth chuckled. “It’s simple... Anyone who wants a piece of my cake is my enemy. Everyone else is a friend.”

“Just as you said earlier, if there’s leftover cake, I’ll pack it up and take it home. Why leave it for anyone else?”

The atmosphere turned deathly quiet.

Even Duke Tyrius hadn’t expected this. The boy, who had just been advocating fairness moments ago, had abruptly shifted to such a self-serving stance.

The duke stared at him, astonished, scrutinizing him from head to toe before breaking into hearty laughter.

“What an amusing young fellow,” Duke Tyrius said, barely containing his mirth. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Lynn, Duke Tyrius.”

The boy raised his glass in salute.

“Very well, Lynn. Your answer pleases me. After the banquet, come to my study. Let’s have a proper chat.”

...

The tense atmosphere that had been hanging in the air dissipated entirely, and Lynn allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief.

These people were seriously reckless.

If they had truly enraged that madwoman, none of them would have been able to die peacefully, no matter how much they wished for it.

Though the current timeline was still in the early stages of the original story, Yveste already possessed power rivaling—or even surpassing—that of the former Archbishop of the Divine Order Church, who now lay in a coffin.

Later, her power would only grow, allowing her to slay gods and demons alike. Unfortunately, her opponents, the protagonist’s party, were even more ridiculously overpowered, leading to her eventual downfall.

Even so, killing everyone here would be a trivial task for her.

For his own survival, Lynn had no choice but to step forward.

“Didn’t you say earlier that you weren’t planning on becoming a target?” Greya suddenly asked from the side.

Hearing this, Lynn instinctively shot back, “What do you know? This is what we call showcasing talent. Didn’t you notice how Duke Tyrius was already captivated by my personal charm?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a moment of impulsiveness because you couldn’t stand to see Her Highness left completely isolated?”

“You’re overthinking it.”

Lynn rolled his eyes.

Greya didn’t argue further; she merely smiled at him.

Men are always creatures of contradiction.

It was a shame Lynn didn’t realize this. Instead, he sneered inwardly.

Feeling sorry for that woman? Don’t make me laugh.

She could kill everyone here with one hand tied behind her back!

Staring at the woman in the red dress standing silently in the distance, Lynn’s gaze met hers midair.

He thought he might receive a look of approval from her.

But to his surprise, Yveste simply stared at him, her expression unreadable.

Her gaze was piercingly cold, lingering on him without wavering, making it impossible to discern her true emotions.

After a long moment, she slowly closed her eyes, her thoughts a mystery.

Lynn felt a chill run down his spine under her unwavering stare.

Was this woman harboring resentment because he had ruined her chance to go on a killing spree?

But thinking more carefully, if something this significant had happened, surely it would’ve been mentioned in the original storyline, right?

His thoughts became a tangled mess.

Just then, he felt a heavy hand clap onto his shoulder from behind, the force laced with irritation.

Startled, Lynn instinctively turned around, only to see a figure that seemed vaguely familiar.

If he remembered correctly, this was the butler his family had assigned to Orne City—Sherlock, was it?

Lynn frowned, unpleasant memories from his predecessor’s life surfacing in his mind.

The servants back at the estate had acted with such impudence, all under this man’s tacit approval.

He hadn’t even had the chance to settle the score, and now the man had walked straight into him.

“What are you doing in a place like this, boy? Come back with me immediately!”

Butler Sherlock seemed oblivious to Lynn’s shift in demeanor. With a furrowed brow and a cold, disdainful gaze, he spoke with an air of condescension.

For a few seconds, Lynn’s mind froze.

The man’s commanding tone made him falter, as if, for a fleeting moment, he were the servant instead of Sherlock.

How had this guy thrived so well up to this point?

Lynn couldn’t help but wonder.

But his body reacted before his mind could catch up.

Effortlessly, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a revolver.

With smooth precision, he raised the gun and took aim.

“Bang!”

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