BOPE 42

Chapter 42 …

She had braced herself for it, but her heart still dropped with a loud thud.

This emotion, too, must be one that Chloe Grace’s body remembered.

Donghee calmly collected herself, then replied in a deliberately lazy tone.

“Tell him I’m not quite ready yet, so he’ll have to wait a little.”

“…Excuse me?”

Screwge thought he had misheard.

It was the first time the Lady of the Estate had ever made Viscount Patrasche wait. Normally, she’d be pacing restlessly the moment she heard he’d crossed the drawbridge, rushing out to greet him.

It had always been painful to watch, but who would’ve thought this day would come?

Donghee, facing the wide-eyed Screwge blinking in disbelief, repeated herself in a bored voice.

“Tell him to wait. As you can see, Anna’s still busy braiding my hair.”

“But… I’m done braiding it, ma’am…”

“What? This side still needs braiding? Geez, why do you love braiding my hair so much? Fine, go ahead and braid this side too.”

Pretending not to hear Anna, Donghee brought over the other side of her already finished hair.

Anna stood frozen, unsure what to do as Chloe so shamelessly offered up hair that had already been done.

Delma had been watching the scene blankly, then suddenly let out a short “Ah!” as if something dawned on her. She quickly undid one of the finished braids and gave Anna a subtle wink.

“Oh my, something’s a bit off here. Don’t you think?”

“Y-Yes!”

Only then did Anna catch on to the Lady’s intentions and began undoing a few strands.

“These parts are uneven in thickness. I’ll fix it up a bit, my lady.”

“Good. You know how important consistency is in braiding hair.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

While Anna rebraided her hair, Delma began humming a tune to herself.

The lands under Viscount Patrasche’s control stretched from the far end of Enol to the western coast where the land met the sea.

He looked out at his flourishing domain with pride as their carriage rolled on.

“Father, I think this bridge is really going to save us a lot of time and money.”

Aileen beamed brightly from inside the carriage, admiring the view. The Valunga Bridge had been completed just in time for the Viscount’s visit to Grace, and today was the first day it would be used.

True to his frugal nature, Patrasche had avoided holding a grand reopening ceremony. However, before crossing the bridge, he did give a memorable speech to the townspeople and received thunderous applause.

Valunga Bridge would become the longest and strongest bridge in the northern region.

To complete it, Patrasche had hired a famous architect from the Eastern Continent at great cost. The price had been steep, but he considered it a wise investment compared to the repeated losses from failed construction attempts.

Besides, this bridge lay on the shortest route to several inland countries. The route would be fully complete once the Grace region was fully absorbed—but that, Patrasche believed, would be no trouble at all.

“This bridge will be the new lifeline of our domain,” he said proudly, casting one last look at the receding structure.

To him, the future held no failures—only hope and success.

“I heard there was some resistance from the laborers,” Aileen remarked.

At that, the smile on his face instantly vanished.

“Those people are always complaining. They were starving in the streets before I saved them—and now they dare forget that kindness?”

Most of the laborers had originally been commoners from the Grace territory.

He had purposely excluded his own people from Falcona to instill a subtle belief in their superiority over the Grace folk.

Naturally, the loyalty of the Falcona natives toward Patrasche soared, while subtle discrimination against the Grace folk deepened.

There was conflict between the two groups, but it wasn’t yet a threat.

The Grace workers were still grateful to receive even one hearty meal a day. So what was the problem? For some reason, this project had sparked murmurs and ultimately led to organized resistance.

“Exactly. If we’d left them alone, they’d have died by now,” Aileen said, furrowing her delicate brows at the thought of the rebellious workers.

“What do you think we should do with them, Aileen?” Patrasche asked, hoping for a clever answer from his sharp daughter.

Aileen looked him in the eye and replied nonchalantly.

“Behead the ringleaders in front of their townspeople. As for their families—don’t kill them.”

“Spare them?”

That wasn’t the answer he wanted. He masked his disappointment and waited.

“Death’s too easy,” Aileen continued. “Cut off one arm and one leg from each of them. All of them. Right in front of the ringleaders before you execute them. That should send the right message.”

“Even the elderly and children?”

“Of course. There can be no exceptions. Besides, we’re sparing their lives. Shouldn’t they be grateful?”

“It’ll serve as an example too?”

“Yes. No parent wants to see their child mutilated.”

“And what about those who just participated, but didn’t lead?”

“Let them live. Just punish their families instead.”

“To make them regret it?”

“Yes, and to let them hear their family’s resentment. If they can’t take it, they can just kill themselves. What matters is that we showed mercy. We spared their lives, after all.”

Patrasche nodded slowly, satisfied with her response.

She was truly his daughter—his blood. It was a shame she hadn’t been born a son.

“Clever girl.”

Aileen responded to her father’s praise with a radiant smile on her doll-like face.

At last, the drawbridge of Grace Castle slowly lowered.

Every time Patrasche passed through it, he prayed that the day he became lord of the castle would come soon.

All the glory for the war—fought in place of the eldest son, Karl Grace—had gone to him. As did the credit for tirelessly managing the territory.

“I will grant you Falcona Province.”

That’s what Roysen Grace, the former Marquis, had said when he returned victorious from the war against the demons and conferred the title of Viscount on Patrasche.

“It’s a place full of potential. Go there and prove your worth.”

Which, of course, meant it was an underdeveloped backwater.

On his deathbed, the Marquis had cast Patrasche far away to protect his heir, Karl.

He never even wanted the title of heir. All he’d ever wanted was to be recognized proudly as a member of House Grace—to be allowed, just once, to call Roysen “Father” in front of the retainers. But even that had been too much to ask.

That was when the House of Grace stopped being something he needed to protect and became something he needed to destroy and take.

So Patrasche turned Falcona into a shining example of prosperity—by any means necessary—and amassed incredible wealth.

Snatching the Marquis title from his foolish nephew would be easy.

He wasn’t alone in this belief. As Chloe’s legal guardian, Patrasche was already seen by many retainers as the true head of House Grace.

Many had already sworn loyalty to him and openly claimed he was the rightful successor.

Everything was going according to plan.

Every time he bought land from Chloe at a dirt-cheap price, he’d used magical contracts as expensive as the land itself. With each signature, Chloe’s judgment would grow duller and her obedience stronger. Only five contracts remained.

If she signed five more times, the true ruler of Grace would be none other than Patrasche Grace himself.

Marquis Patrasche Grace.

Every time he imagined those words attached to his name, euphoria swelled in his chest.

He was proud of himself—for never giving up, for making it this far.

“Do we really have to move into this old, crumbling castle?” Aileen asked, clearly unimpressed with Grace Castle.

She admitted it was large, but that was about it. The walls, the structure, even the village inside the castle walls—it was all outdated and depressing.

“Just imagine,” her father said, pleased. “We’ll transform this place with our own hands. Besides, Grace is the heart of the North. Falcona is too far west. We need a central base to unite the region.”

“I understand that, but this place is just awful.”

Patrasche laughed heartily at her grumbling, then said kindly, “Don’t worry. I’ll rebuild it exactly the way you want. This will all be yours one day, Aileen.”

“Yes, Father!”

She looked up at the man who had never denied her a single request with pride and satisfaction.

“She said to wait?”

Not only had Chloe failed to greet them in person—she still didn’t show even after hearing they’d arrived.

It was unthinkable behavior for the Chloe he knew.

Even Aileen sensed something strange and shot a sharp glare at the elderly butler who had delivered the message. That old man always rubbed her the wrong way.

 “Did Chloe really say that?”