~Chapter 27~
“The star has arrived. Let’s make it a good night.”
The two men whispering beside Viscount Nerk slipped away. Nerk rose slowly and walked toward Lovelace.
The door clicked shut; he bowed so low it was almost comical.
“Welcome, my lady Count. Thank you for gracing our humble gathering.”
“If you know it’s humble, don’t invite. Or, if you do invite, at least make it not humble.”
Lovelace replied coolly, dipped the slightest nod, and stepped into the salon.
So this was it—just a pack of men tossing cheap jokes around after patting themselves on the back for “great deeds.”
Under a forest of chandeliers, card tables were in full swing. Men, their pride tossed aside, shouted to the god of victory. Empty glasses cluttered every edge. In one corner, cigars burned thick while money and power were bragged about.
Everywhere—preening or gambling—one thing was the same: courtesans on their arms. Men groped and teased while the women smiled broadly.
Lovelace hid her grimace behind a fan and sat where Nerk showed her. Baron James and Sub-baron Kunsak were waiting.
“It is an honor that the very busy Count of Harmelda deigns to mingle with us.”
The stench of liquor hit her.
She’d once heard never to deal with drunks. Their sneering tone made it impossible to let pass.
“I didn’t come to ‘mingle’ with you. I heard this was where the territory’s talents gathered. Looks like I came to the wrong place.”
When she stood to leave, Kunsak shot out an arm.
“Where are you off to? Talent here, talent there—this is exactly the right place. Allow us to introduce some.”
So much for the gentleman he pretended to be last time. He swaggered and pointed around.
She wanted to walk out, but most top students from the territory’s academy chapters were said to be members here. She sat.
“Sir Rebola!”
At Kunsak’s wave, a man leaning on a card table with chips stacked high sauntered over.
“This is Sir Rebola—second in last year’s Academy graduating class, and—”
“I’ll hear it from him. And Kunsak… did you brush your teeth? The smell—sorry—could you turn your head a little?”
The breath… was something else.
With rude people, she had no intention of being polite. And this wasn’t a place for manners anyway.
As expected, Nerk and James only snickered where they’d normally be scandalized.
Kunsak pressed his lips thin, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
Push a little more and he’ll cry.
Lovelace turned to Rebola.
“So, Sir Rebola? Will you introduce yourself?”
The explanation was nothing much. For someone who supposedly graduated second, his self-introduction was a mess—rambling about his family, incoherent.
She raised a hand. That was enough.
His wrinkled shirt half-tucked, his wandering speech—everything was lacking.
“Rebola, what are you doing? Don’t you know the Bell Boys’n custom? When you’re introduced, you offer a drink.”
Lovelace stared straight at Baron James until he set a glass in front of her.
“Ah, I almost forgot. Thank you for the reminder, my lord.”
If “custom” meant anything, Rebola chose a harsh liquor and filled her glass—then his own.
Clink.
Before Lovelace even lifted her drink, he clacked his glass to hers and downed his in one go.
So they have the ‘first glass bottoms-up’ tradition here too.
She looked at the liquor; the morning’s hangover flashed in her mind. She hated the thought of alcohol—
“Too strong for you? Right, Count Harmelda always sips champagne elegantly at parties. Hey, bring some champ—”
Nerk’s eyes went wide. In the middle of his sentence, Lovelace coolly emptied the glass.
“Think you can break me with booze? I won’t get drunk here—even if I have to revisit a week’s meals over a chamber pot later.”
Memories of grueling school retreats with pompous upperclassmen flared; Lovelace’s fighting spirit burned.
Good! The fool took the bait, Baron James smirked.
By the tenth “talent,” Lovelace realized things were going wrong.
With each introduction, she had to drink a glass. By then, she had finished half a decanter of punishing liquor.
Worse—only she drank.
She smelled the trap—but retreat was not an option. She would end this scene gracefully.
“There are many talents, I see.”
“Haha, indeed. Without us Bell Boys’n, Harmelda would stagger.”
“But the truth is… I don’t like any of them.”
Nerk flinched. First, she was steady after ten strong shots. Second, she was belittling men impressive enough to present anywhere.
“I prefer diligence over cleverness.”
“What do you mean…?”
“Clever men think my achievements are all my brilliance. Give them a sliver and they’ll climb to the top of your head. They never realize they’re being indulged.”
She laid out her view of true talent—an indirect slap at Nerk’s circle. Smiles vanished.
“You go too far, my lady.” Nerk muttered.
“You go too far. You dare serve this cheap swill to a Count?”
Lovelace tipped her glass and poured it between Nerk’s legs.
“Count!”
“If you want to drink with me, at least bring Bourgogne-level wine.”
Bourgogne was a luxury even among the Empire’s richest. To produce that here? Ridiculous.
“My palate’s ruined. Enough drinks. What’s next?”
They’d planned something else; fine—bring it on.
At her raised chin and refusal to drink anything below “Bourgogne,” they abandoned the booze trap.
“It seems we made a grave mistake. Clearly, you don’t need us. We’ll withdraw. Please enjoy the party.”
Nerk stood and tapped his men’s shoulders.
Ah—ostracism next. Classic move: make the target feel alone in a crowd.
Lack of imagination.
After they left, Lovelace sank into a comfortable sofa. Relaxing brought the buzz roaring back. Strong stuff.
She closed her eyes, lifting a cool hand to her brow—but a chilled cup touched her forehead first.
“Larvihan?”
It was Larvihan—in glasses.
Disguised.
Lovelace plucked off his glasses.
Why? his eyes asked. She clamped her lips shut.
She could never say: You look sinfully sexy in glasses. And that silver hair—perfect.
“You overdid it.”
He let a thread of magic flow into her body, and her head cleared.
What a convenient spell! Why hadn’t he used it this morning?
“Magic treatment has risks. Side effects can be random.”
She didn’t need to take that risk earlier.
“Have you been here the whole time?” she asked, steadier now. He set the ice water in her hand.
“I’ve been here—and I’ll be here.”
“I can handle it alone.”
“So I noticed.”
When she’d poured liquor into Nerk’s crotch, he’d realized it: this woman could handle most cliffs on her own.
It stung—and made him proud.
“Is that the Count Harmelda? She looks naïve. Why is she even here?”
Passing voices gossiped, trusting the music to drown them out.
Larvihan glanced at Lovelace.
“Shall I—”
“If you were about to say ‘kill them,’ don’t.”
She set her cup down and stood, walking straight toward the whisperers. Her sure, steady steps eased him.
She stopped at a table where one man kept winning. She’d noticed it earlier.
“I’ll join.”
“C-Count?”
“So you do know who I am.”
She smiled lightly as the room avoided her eyes. The dealer shuffled without a word.
“Players?”
Hands went up. Cards flew, neat and fast. Lovelace slid three cards to herself and peeked.
“Your stakes?”
She had no chips. Passing by, Larvihan slipped a stack between her elbow and side. She pushed half forward.
“All of that?” asked the courtesan on the left, clinging to her man’s arm.
Too much? Take some back?
“Haha, that’s pocket change for the Count.” The man flared his nostrils.
Good hand, is it? Don’t relax. I’m from the land of sharp players—I can’t bottom-deal, but I can read a flow.
Silently thanking the grandmother who had taught her cards as a kid, Lovelace focused.
As expected, the same man won again.
“May I shuffle?”
She held out a hand to the dealer. He hesitated.
“The Count shuffling for us? What an honor,” a courtesan smiled, urging him to pass the deck.
Reluctantly, he did. That round, someone else swept the pot.
“Next, the young lady who spoke up—would you?”
Lovelace passed the deck to the courtesan. Again, the usual winner lost.
Match-fixing.
She studied the faces—the “winner” and the dealer. Not their first time. With pots this large, this wasn’t a simple lapse.
I’ll dig into this later.
With the pattern broken, momentum swung to Lovelace.
“One more round?”
She beamed.
“Seems the goddess of victory favors you tonight, my lady.”
A courtesan raised her champagne toward Lovelace. She grinned back.
“Then why not stand with me instead of him? Better to sit by the winner—you’ll earn your game fee faster.”
Lovelace slid ten chips to her. The courtesan blinked, then smiled.
“Bold of you. Sorry, Sir Bonbon. My partner tonight is the Count.”
That was the start. Circling the tables, Lovelace lured courtesans away from the men’s arms, one by one.
“What is this, Viscount Nerk! I came for amusements, and the Count’s running the show!”
Nerk clenched his fists and glared. Lovelace had set up a separate table with the courtesans and made her own game.
They’d expected her to sit ignored in a corner, sulking.
But Lovelace was no girl who hid when Nerk glared. Wherever she stood, her proud bearing was that of a flawless lord.
The next day, Lovelace drafted documents dismissing Viscount Nerk, Baron James, and Sub-baron Kunsak from their administrative posts in the territory.
“My lady, is this wise? They’ve held those roles for a long time.”
“For a long time doing what? Eating the granary bare? Cut them off.”
“Then who will do all that work?”
“I have someone. I met a reliable person last night.”
She smiled.
“Who is it?”
“She’ll be here soon.”
Right as she finished, a knock sounded. A woman entered—the courtesan who had talked with Lovelace until dawn.
