Chapter 109
“You have a habit of exaggerating, Sir Quendel.”
Miss Brentano quickly composed her expression and pointed out.
“No, if anything, I’ve toned it down. There aren’t many casinos that can give you this much excitement. It’s not just about the money… um… it’s hard to explain. You’ll have to see it yourself to understand what I mean.”
Damien shrugged and mumbled, a gesture that piqued curiosity.
“It’s a fantastic place. It felt like stepping into a world that captured the romance and dreams of card players. Compared to Ulrich Casino—ah, I’ve been rude. Lady Odette is right here.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
I lightly shook my head at the con artist who worked so well in sync.
“If there’s a place of decadence one should experience at least once in a lifetime, I’d choose Wolfgang Casino. I’ve already told my steward that it would be the perfect place for my final moments.”
Damien winked with a playful grin, adding a touch of exaggeration.
Some in the room seemed already enchanted by Damien’s words.
“Well, I must see it for myself.”
Even Baron Vogel at this table swallowed hard, responding as if mesmerized.
Miss Brentano’s face remained stern, but she didn’t scold Baron Vogel. Instead, she wore a bitter expression.
‘The Brentano family probably doesn’t even have small gambling funds to waste on fun.’
Gustav Quendel, Marquis. Contrary to rumors, he was strikingly handsome, spoke kindly, and had a firm intent to marry. Owner of the Quendel Marquisate, rich in fertile lands and massive assets.
Recently, he was the most sought-after man in high society for marriage prospects.
Ladies considering marriage to him would naturally be interested in Wolfgang Casino. Or they might visit just for amusement.
In any cultural enterprise, attracting female consumers first is essential for it to be recognized as sophisticated and entertaining. Where women gather, men inevitably follow out of curiosity.
At that moment, a status window appeared before my eyes:
[ ▶ Rumors about the arrogant flower of high society are reduced. ]
[ 30 → 26 (▼4 decrease) ]
One of the four must be Baron Vogel at this table.
I feigned a casual expression and lightly revealed my hand.
“I had a one pair.”
“Haha, I’ve been taken! I shouldn’t have folded. Quite brave, aren’t you?”
Having sufficiently promoted the casino, it was time to win the favor of those in the salon.
‘Dolly’s expression is worth watching too.’
It paid off to act slightly flustered upon entering, pretending this place was unfamiliar and intimidating. Excitement is best when expectations are built up first.
‘But how terribly bad are these two at cards?’
Cheating, stacking, switching. In my past life, fleeing male leads, risking my life for a single card, scavenging bread in grimy places.
Winning against only one would spoil the atmosphere, so I gritted my teeth to lose to both.
Professional gambler Damien must be frustrated too, already swapping his fifth card to get a terrible hand.
Then Miss Brentano spoke:
“Let’s stop with poker. I’d like to have a more cultured conversation.”
She glared at me as she said it—a forced topic change.
‘As expected… Dolly must have made contact with her.’
Dolly had never looked at Miss Brentano, as expected. Avoiding noticing someone is proof that you do.
‘If he convinced the hostess to join his side to trick me, I suppose he can be confident.’
The salon’s rule of “no outside disclosure” existed solely because of Dolly. Whatever humiliation befell Odette here must not reach the Count’s ears.
He probably persuaded Miss Brentano along the lines of, “If you just set the rule of no disclosure, I’ll bring Odette and give her a chance to be embarrassed.”
Gentlemen who had been eavesdropping since we started poker gradually moved closer.
The Brentano family was renowned for scholarship and refinement. Even Miss Brentano had been called a pillar of high society from a young age.
Her request for a cultured conversation was like a summoning spell, drawing in those with a desire to flaunt their knowledge.
“Very well. I was just thinking it was a pity to play poker in the presence of the highly educated Miss Brentano.”
I smiled, meeting her gaze.
She bit her lip—a habit from the game, showing displeasure.
“I’d like to discuss theology. Lady Odette, what is your favorite book related to theology?”
“I—”
A gentleman tried to interject.
“No! Lady Odette, please answer first!”
Miss Brentano’s voice was firm, surprisingly loud.
Like a hero confronting a disaster, her expression was unwavering.
All eyes turned to me. Since I had never spoken in such a setting, everyone was eager to hear my words.
‘Perhaps my reputation as foolish helps too.’
I could see Dolly in the distance, grinning with satisfaction.
He was thrilled that I was cornered.
“Well… that’s difficult. I don’t have a favorite theology book.”
Dolly smirked at my response. He must think I can’t even read. Usually, his antics would be annoying, but in this situation, they were a gift.
[ Your current bad reputation: ]
▶ Wicked villainess (32)
▶ Selfish purifier (15)
▶ Arrogant flower of high society (26)
▶ Ignorant young lady (23)
“Don’t you like books?”
Miss Brentano’s voice trembled slightly—was it excitement? She clearly disliked me intensely, even I could sense it in my past life.
“No. Books are not at fault. What I dislike are the theologians—Faust, Ephraim, Linthheimer, Klettenberg. All of them.”
Those who had gathered for knowledge and to show off laughed aloud at my statement.
The tone carried genuine hatred for the authors, which resonated with anyone trained in academies or strict households.
“You listed them in order of authority.”
One gentleman replied with full sympathy.
“No, I listed them in order of hatred.”
Laughter broke out again.
“Then it would be hard to name a favorite theological book. Could you ask differently? I would gladly answer which book I hate most.”
I spoke cheerfully to Miss Brentano. By doing so, there was no chance anyone could verify if I actually knew the content. Pursuing the question seriously after a joke is a social taboo.
Moreover, no faults could be found in the theologians I mentioned. Any academically trained student would dislike these scholars. Miss Brentano herself, strictly educated, also hated them.
Miss Brentano bit her lip and stayed silent. Another gentleman tried to interject:
“I am also curious. Lady Odette, which theologian’s book do you dislike most?”
“Of course, The Commandments of God.”
“Good heavens.”
This time there was an audible gasp.
“Albertus? You even read the eccentric theologian’s book, The Commandments of God?”
It was written by one of history’s greatest theological geniuses. At the level of academy students, proper understanding would be impossible without reading such works. Only scholars like Faust, Ephraim, or Linthheimer could grasp it.
‘As if.’
Of course, Odette had never read it.
