BVIB 21

Chapter 21

“…I can hardly believe it.”

Roselyn shook her head.

Gilbert was nothing like she remembered—he’d grown even more rotund. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and offered a slow, pleasant smile as she spoke.

“Did your family get into livestock farming, by any chance, Baron Gilbert?”

In other words, he’d put on even more weight.

“Hm? Oh, but I’m not Gilbert, Lady Bellion. The name’s Gil Robert.”

“Ah, right. Silly me—forgot for a moment.”

“No need to worry, not at all. Ha ha! It must be that you spend so much time quietly at home that you missed the latest gossip.”

“…”

“You probably wouldn’t know, since you stay home so much, but our family actually specializes in textiles and minerals these days,” he said, dabbing at the sweat on his brow as he inched closer.

Roselyn’s smile widened, her eyes glinting.

“Oh, is that so? My apologies. I suppose my memory has its limits—I am only human, after all.”

She laughed lightly, reaching for a wine bottle on the nearby table.

“Of course, of course,” he replied, grinning magnanimously—completely missing the implied insult that he simply wasn’t worth the memory space.

“Being a bit sheltered just means you’ll make a good wife someday. I prefer a demure woman to a hasty, reckless one myself.”

Ahem! He cleared his throat, glancing around as his hand crept steadily toward Roselyn.

“I could’ve sworn the Gilbert family was in livestock. I keep seeing pigs everywhere,” Roselyn remarked, her smile never wavering.

“It’s, uh, Robert… not Gilbert…” he stammered.

“Oh, I keep forgetting,” she said airily.

“Pigs? I’m not sure what you mean… Anyway, Lady Roselyn, do you have a fiancé or a lover? I heard you haven’t received a single proposal yet. If you’re available…”

Emboldened, Gilbert leaned in closer, lowering his voice as his hand crept toward her.

A few people nearby clicked their tongues quietly. None of them expected the famously mute, stammering Bellion lady—who usually just glared in silence—to stand up for herself in a situation like this.

And then, just as Gilbert’s hand brushed her waist—

CRASH!

“Aagh!!”

Gilbert howled, stumbling backward as a wine bottle shattered against him.

Roselyn eyed the broken bottle with regret, disappointed she hadn’t managed a direct hit. With a scowl, she spoke, her voice clear:

“A walking pig who doesn’t know his place dares to put his hands on people.”

“M-my blood… I’m bleeding… Dad, Dad! I’m bleeding!”

Though the blow had only grazed him, it was enough—blood trickled down Gilbert’s head as he shrieked and flailed in panic.

Roselyn scoffed, looking down at him with cold amusement.

For a moment, silence fell over the ballroom. Then, all at once, every eye in the room turned their way.

“You—you—you…! You shameless woman! How dare you lay a hand on a man! You must be insane!” Gilbert wailed, sitting on the floor, his face pale but his voice still shrill.

Roselyn just sneered, staring down at him with open contempt.

Men are heaven, huh? Just like they teach those frogs in a well. Looks like the uptight Baron Robert ended up raising trash himself.

As she thought this, Roselyn pressed the heel of her shoe firmly down between Gilbert’s legs.

“Agh! Aagh!! Aaagh! Dad!!” he shrieked.

Roselyn glanced over to see Baron Robert, mouth agape, staring at the scene in shock.

“Gilbert, you’re the one who needs to learn how to behave, not me.”

“Eek…! I told you to stop!!”

After struggling for a moment, Gilbert finally used his bulk to shove Roselyn aside and scramble to his feet. The force sent her stumbling—and then his large hand came swinging down at her.

SMACK!

Roselyn’s eyes widened, stunned from the blow as she glared at Gilbert.

“…Roselyn.”

Before she could fall, Cherty was there, catching her and steadying her with a firm grip.

And in front of Roselyn now stood…

“His Highness, the Third Prince…?”

It was Arma Dianitas, the Third Prince, his head turned so that his hair fell across his eyes, casting them in shadow. His expression was unreadable.

Roselyn, caught completely off guard—she never imagined anyone would step in on her behalf—stood frozen in rare confusion.

“Y-y-your Highness?!”

Gilbert—no, Gil Robert—was now pale as a sheet, his lips trembling.

The prince slowly turned his gaze toward him.

In an instant, the cold, sharp gaze that had been fixed on Gil Robert now softened and turned toward Roselyn.

“…Are you all right, my lady?” asked the prince.

Roselyn, still stunned by the sting in her reddened cheek, nodded after a brief pause.
“Ah. Yes, thanks to you…”

Suddenly, a deep, furious voice rumbled across the hall.

“A wretch lower than an insect dares—dares to lay hands on my precious granddaughter?”

Thud.

Today, as always, Devon Bellion was dressed in a flamboyant red suit, adorned with several pieces of ornate jewelry. He let out a savage grin as he spoke, slamming his cane harshly against the floor.

“How dare you…”

Devon was just about to continue when someone moved even faster.

“You miserable wretch—how dare you lay a hand on my daughter…?”

It was Cherty Bellion.

Still holding Roselyn firmly from behind, Cherty’s face was twisted in pure, unrestrained fury. Every breath he took seemed to shimmer with a violet aura, and his eyes—so like Roselyn’s own, a deep, burning red—were filled with murderous intent and utter contempt.

Crunch—

Before anyone realized it, Cherty Bellion had seized Gil Robert by the throat.

“Guh—urk…!”

Cherty lifted the massive man effortlessly with one hand. Roselyn’s mouth fell open in surprise.

Her father always looked so slender and delicate—it had never occurred to her that he possessed such overwhelming physical strength.

“How dare you… How dare you…!”

Cherty Bellion’s eyes grew even more blood-red with rage. His pupils widened, and a poisonous mist seemed to seep from him, sending the onlookers into a panic as they stumbled backward in fear.

“S-she… she came onto me first…! She tried to seduce me—urk—Dad, help! Dad!” Gil Robert wailed, desperately pleading for rescue.

Cherty shielded Roselyn behind him, his glare wild and dangerous.

Gil Robert screamed for his father, but Baron Robert was frozen in place. He, better than anyone, knew just how terrifying Devon Bellion could be—the same Devon who, in his youth, was infamous for his ruthlessness.

The old tiger might have seemed tamer with age, but those who knew him understood the truth. And now, with the young duke—who possessed the dangerously unstable powers of the Poison Abyss—taking action, Baron Robert didn’t dare make a move.

“Don’t spew that filthy nonsense. Since when does a pig like you get to open your mouth wherever you please…?”

Cherty Bellion’s hand glowed with a dangerous violet light.

The poison spreading from Cherty’s hand began to seep into Gil Robert’s skin.

“She’s my daughter! My daughter!” Cherty roared, his voice echoing like the anguished cry of a beast protecting its young.

“How dare you—who do you think you are—!”

Ugh, he’s totally lost it.

Now living her seventeen-year-old life at the age of twenty-seven, Roselyn kept discovering unexpected sides to her father. Chief among them was the realization that Cherty Bellion’s mental fortitude was surprisingly fragile—especially when it came to anything involving her.

When she was involved, his resolve seemed to crumble, leaving only raw, unfiltered emotion.

“I’ll kill him.”

Cherty Bellion’s voice was low and cold as his grip tightened.

Without hesitation, Roselyn reached out and grabbed the hem of his coat.

Cherty jerked in surprise, turning to look at her.

“…Roselyn?”

“Yes. I’m fine, so please stop,” Roselyn said, showing him her fingertips, now tinged with the same violet hue as his.

If you make a bigger scene, the Emperor might use it as an excuse against us.

The moment Cherty saw the color staining her fingers, his face drained of all color.

“…No, you mustn’t.”

He shook his head, voice trembling.
“Don’t come near me. I—”

“Don’t worry, Father. I thought something like this might happen, so I made sure to bring plenty of antidote.”

Roselyn spoke calmly, pulling a small vial of potion from a pocket hidden in her sleeve.

“…What?”

“I tend to attract all sorts of attention, so I figured it was best to be prepared,” she said matter-of-factly, as if she’d expected this all along.

Cherty stared at his daughter, mouth agape at her nonchalance.

“So really, you don’t need to protect me in the future,” Roselyn added, turning her gaze to the Third Prince, Arma.

She spoke with her usual calm indifference, but inside, she felt strangely unsettled. The feeling had grown sharper the moment Arma stepped in to shield her.

Because, back then too—

Arma had stood in front of her, just like this.

To save her life.