~Chapter 101~
“No!”
In the silence, the Countess screamed like a shriek.
“That can’t be! The reagent—yes, the reagent must be wrong!”
She trembled like someone splashed with cold water, then spotted me and glared.
“It’s you, isn’t it? You must have tampered with the reagent! I should have known the moment you started strutting around pretending to be a magician! Dear, this is a trap. Think back to when you first held Charlotte in your arms! You said her eyebrows resembled yours! Charlotte is your daughter!”
“Silence, Madam! The reagent is never wrong!”
The court magician’s veins bulged at his throat. To say the reagent was flawed meant admitting he had failed.
But the Count wasn’t on his wife’s side.
“You shameless woman! How dare you shout so brazenly? You staged this filthy trick and feel no shame?”
“Order.”
The judge banged the gavel, silencing the uproar.
“Since the truth of Abigail Mihlun’s deception has been revealed, I hereby declare the divorce granted.”
“Lies…! This is a lie!”
“Yes! Now this is a real trial!”
At the judge’s words, their fates split.
Abigail, once the Lady of Mihlun, collapsed weakly, while the Count grinned ear to ear.
He seemed to think that by pinning all the blame—my adoption, the tea party poisoning—on Abigail, he could walk away clean.
Instead of mocking him, I raised my hand.
“Your Honor, may I speak?”
“Go ahead.”
“The focus of this case is my guardianship, but its roots lie in my adoption papers. We cannot ignore that document.”
I pulled out the prepared papers.
“As many here know, this document was drawn up when I was four years old. At that time, I was the sole heir of the family. But because I was too young, the Count took guardianship of my inheritance. The condition was—adopting me.”
“So? What of it?”
The Count’s eyebrows twitched.
“But as proven in this court, the Count failed his duty to raise me.”
“I already said, I knew nothing—”
“Neglect is still a crime. If you don’t beat a child but starve her, is that not abuse?”
I didn’t accuse him of knowing everything. That would be hard to prove and only waste time.
“And that is not all. As Lord of the East, the Count also neglected his duties. He evaded taxes for years, imposed cruel levies on his people, and during famine, gave no relief—letting many starve to death.”
These weren’t empty words. I had proof.
Lady Hilton, who oversaw the estate, had helped secure the evidence.
“Furthermore, I am now twenty, a legal adult, fully able to declare my will.”
I paused, not out of nerves, but to remember this moment clearly—this air, these people, this time.
The words I had practiced countless times. The ones I had carried in my heart for years.
The moment I reclaimed the rights that should have been mine.
“As the rightful daughter and sole heir of House Rohiltern, I petition for the title of Wilhelm Rohiltern to be stripped away.”
The courtroom erupted like a storm.
“Stripped? What nonsense is this?”
“Exactly as it sounds. The Count wielded power but never fulfilled his duties.”
The Count slammed the table and shot to his feet.
“This seat is mine! I inherited by imperial law after my brother’s death, and I have guarded it faithfully! Do you think a girl’s silver tongue can steal it away?”
“Sit, Count. The trial is not over.”
Baron Milson, the presiding judge, frowned, but the Count could not calm down.
“This trial is wrong! It is about restoring my daughter, not judging my right to rule!”
“You yourself agreed to consolidate the cases, Count. Did you not sign the consent form?”
The Count remembered. Carelessly, he had signed papers that simply said “overlapping cases will be handled together.” He had been too focused on divorcing Abigail.
Now he realized why.
‘That wench tricked me—so I couldn’t prepare!’
But glaring at me changed nothing.
The Count had to listen as the judge read his charges.
“You truly never once provided famine relief?”
“Why should I feed beggars? Their poverty comes from their laziness, not my fault!”
“…And what do you think of your subjects then? Cattle that hide quietly until tax season? Even worse, do you not know a 50% tax rate is illegal?”
The Count’s face burned red. He couldn’t answer without worsening his crimes.
‘Damn it…!’
Charlotte didn’t even look at him. His downfall was obvious.
Her eyes were fixed on me—calm, waiting for his ruin.
‘Why… why does she look like that?’
If I had laughed cruelly, she could have scorned me. But instead, I showed no emotion, simply waiting, as if this outcome had always been natural.
And around Charlotte, the whispers grew louder.
“So she wasn’t even noble? Lied to Lady Retene and still attended tea parties?”
“No, she hasn’t been noble since two years ago. Her name was erased from the registry.”
“Still, she lived as Lady Rohiltern for years, feasting in luxury. That won’t disappear.”
“Creepy though. How did she hide it this long?”
“So who’s her real father?”
“Don’t know. But since they won’t say, probably a commoner.”
Their voices mocked like hungry predators circling prey.
Charlotte bit her lip and lowered her head.
She had always known her father was that lowly slave trader, Malcop. But she had never considered him her father. Malcop had treated her the same—like a stranger.
Even though everyone who knew the truth had stayed silent, Charlotte often dreamed nightmares.
In them, the Count abandoned her and Bella took everything.
Each time, she woke drenched in sweat, then went to see Bella—curled up in a cold, shabby room. Only then could she breathe, telling herself:
“Whatever the truth, I am still the winner. Nightmares are just nightmares.”
But now?
She was discarded, penniless, stripped of her noble name. Bella had taken not just the money, but even the title of Rohiltern.
And Bella also had the Grand Duke. Nothing left.
Though rage boiled to the top of her head, Charlotte didn’t lash out. She had expected this, in part.
Just yesterday, Marquis Blancia had come.
[I tried in every way, but the Count’s chances of winning are slim. Title stripping is certain, and prison is likely.]
[Why tell me? I’ve already cut ties with my father.]
[He is still your father. And depending on the verdict, you too may be affected.]
[…]
[I know your circumstances. Life in the Empire will be impossible. So I prepared this.]
He had given her an old book.
[There is only one way for you and your family to escape the Empire—chaos. Create disorder in a crowded place. Only then can you avoid pursuit.]
He explained briefly how to trigger the magic circle, and what would happen if it did.
Why he offered such “help,” she didn’t know. Maybe it was a trap. But one word stayed with her.
‘Chaos.’
If the world had to fall, this was the moment.
Charlotte lifted the dagger she had prepared and pressed it to her wrist.
