Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 66: Kill, Kill, Kill!!!

Ten minutes earlier.

In the grand banquet hall, where noblemen and women dressed in opulent attire mingled gracefully, Sherlock stood with a glass of champagne in hand, a smile on his face.

From time to time, familiar guests passed by, nodding and greeting him warmly.

After all, having spent nearly two decades in Orne City, Sherlock had become widely recognized as the de facto representative of the Bartleon family.

Even though the family was currently in decline, the saying held true: a starved camel is still bigger than a horse. The Bartleons remained more influential than many present.

Moreover, rumors suggested that this resourceful butler had recently established ties with the Bartleons’ long-time rivals, the Mosgra family.

Though his disloyalty earned disdain, the wealth and assets under Sherlock’s management made him a valuable associate for many.

Over time, his role as a mere butler had blurred, and some even forgot his servant origins. After all, not everyone could claim the riches he had accumulated—though those riches had come at the cost of bleeding his own employers dry.

For years, he had diligently served the Bartleons with the singular goal of elevating his status to what it was now.

When the marquis was alive, Sherlock could never fully escape his servant’s identity.

But now that the head of the family was comatose, Sherlock had truly stepped into the upper echelon of Orne City society.

The ability to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the nobles felt exhilarating.

But... it wasn’t quite enough.

He wasn’t a true noble. His position was only maintained by leveraging the Bartleon name.

Fortunately, an opportunity had presented itself—one that could potentially elevate him from a mere butler to a minor noble in his own right.

“Don’t worry, Young Master Dallion. I’ll track down that boy’s hiding place and deliver him to you for your personal judgment.”

Sherlock spoke obsequiously to the arrogant young man beside him.

This man was none other than Dallion Mosgra, the Mosgra family’s representative at tonight’s banquet, sent all the way from the Imperial Capital.

He also carried another prestigious title: younger brother of Irina Mosgra, the Valkyrie herself.

That connection alone was enough to make most nobles at the banquet bow before him.

Sherlock’s groveling, however, did not seem to win much favor.

Dallion sneered coldly. “A pig like you should consider it the honor of your miserable life to associate with the Mosgra name. Don’t think your scraps from the Bartleon family will earn our recognition. You’re not even close.”

“Yes, Young Master, your criticism is well-deserved,” Sherlock replied, lowering himself further.

Under the eaves, one had no choice but to bow.

Dallion, still irritated by the missing boy, decided to let it drop for now.

Shifting his gaze to the distant Duke Tyrius, currently leading the charity auction, a sharp glint flashed in his eyes.

Here stood an Elector Count.

Dallion’s presence in Orne City was ostensibly to take over the Bartleon family’s assets. However, his true purpose was to establish a connection with the embattled Duke Tyrius.

The Mosgra family had deep ties with the Divine Order Church, both of which were closely aligned with the Empire’s Second Prince.

In their eyes, this radiant prince was the most promising contender for the throne.

All other rivals, including Princess Shirina, fell far short.

Thus, the Mosgra family had decided to spare no expense to win over Duke Tyrius.

If a partnership could be forged, it would pave an unimpeded path for the Second Prince’s future.

As things stood, there seemed to be no obstacle to extending their olive branch to the duke.

Although the unexpected presence of the Third Princess, Yveste, was puzzling, Dallion couldn’t imagine the so-called “Princess of Sin” gaining Tyrius’s support.

After all, the Mosgra family’s offer was too enticing, even for a duke wielding real power.

Just as these thoughts crossed his mind, a commotion broke out in the distance.

Under Dallion’s and Sherlock’s watchful eyes, a youth wearing a raven mask stepped forward, shielding the Third Princess from ridicule.

Not only that, but he seemed to have gained Duke Tyrius’s favor.

Who was this boy?

The same question formed in both men’s minds.

“I’m Lynn, Duke Tyrius,” the boy’s casual introduction rang out.

Sherlock froze in shock.

He never could have imagined that Lynn, who had disappeared from the estate for more than half a month, would openly show up at tonight’s banquet!

Feeling the murderous glare coming from Young Master Dallion beside him, Sherlock broke into a cold sweat.

At that moment, all he wanted was to rush over, grab the boy by the neck, and demand to know what he was trying to accomplish.

“L-leave it to me, Young Master Dallion,” Sherlock stammered, wiping his sweat. “I’ll drag him back to the estate immediately and hand him over for your judgment.”

“Useless trash!”

Dallion snorted coldly.

Once the commotion in the crowd settled somewhat, Sherlock hurriedly quickened his steps toward Lynn.

His heart was brimming with loathing and anger.

This brat was the reason he’d lost his chance to impress Young Master Dallion.

The noble dream he had worked so long for might now be shattered!

The thought drove Sherlock to the brink of madness.

It had never occurred to him that Lynn was, in fact, his master.

The day the boy was exiled to Orne City, Sherlock had watched his defeated, broken figure—like a stray dog with its spine snapped—and realized his opportunity had arrived.

This was a soft target he could crush and shape however he pleased.

With that in mind, Sherlock impatiently slapped the boy’s shoulder.

“What are you doing here, boy? Get back to the estate right now!”

He barked his command, his tone imperious and condescending.

He fully expected the youth to respond as he always had—silent obedience to his orders.

But to his shock, something entirely unexpected happened.

Under Sherlock’s watchful gaze, the boy stared at him, stunned for a few seconds, confusion flickering in his eyes.

Then, without warning, Lynn fluidly drew a revolver.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t ask any questions.

Calmly, he leveled the weapon at Sherlock’s throat.

Bang.

Without hesitation, he fired.

“Gh-ghahh—!”

Sherlock staggered backward, clutching his throat as blood sprayed out, collapsing to the ground in convulsions.

The crimson liquid spread across the marble floor like spilled paint.

As his life ebbed away, Sherlock couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

What had become of the downtrodden, gloomy boy who had once seemed no better than a beaten dog?

And the future he had dreamed of—his long-awaited riches and glory—was it all about to shatter, just like that?

In the final seconds before his consciousness faded, Sherlock caught a fleeting glimpse of indifference in Lynn’s eyes.

It was as though he’d casually swatted aside a stray dog on the street.

So that’s how it is.

In the eyes of these nobles, I was nothing more than a servant from beginning to end...

...

“You—you just killed him?!”

The instant the gunshot rang out, Greya flinched, her entire body trembling. Then, with mounting agitation, she confronted Lynn.

To her, this kid had always been calm and collected, not the type to act rashly or impulsively.

“What, should I have let him keep barking in front of me for a while longer, waited for the tension to build, and then dramatically turned the tables with some triumphant speech before kicking him to death?”

Lynn shrugged nonchalantly.

"That's just too much trouble," Lynn said casually.

"And besides, if I were going to put on such a dramatic display, it would depend on the audience. If it were my fiancée standing here, I might actually play along—throw in a few lines about 'don’t bully the poor youth' to create some flair, and then latch tightly onto Her Highness's support."

"But this guy?" Lynn glanced at Sherlock’s lifeless body. "He’s just a butler—a nobody."

Lynn even felt a pang of regret over wasting a bullet on him.

The onlookers, however, didn’t seem to share his nonchalance.

The gunshot had caused a wave of panic. Many instinctively dove to the ground, while several ladies screamed in terror.

It wasn’t until the guards arrived that the chaos began to subside.

“Duke Tyrius, are you alright?” one of the guards asked anxiously.

“I’m fine,” the duke replied, his expression dark as he turned to Lynn. “But you, boy, you’d better give me an explanation.”

Before Lynn could respond, an arrogant voice interrupted.

“Allow me to explain on your behalf, Your Grace.”

A young man with a haughty demeanor emerged from the crowd.

“First, let me introduce myself. I am Dallion Mosgra of the Mosgra family from the Imperial Capital.”

Though his eyes were filled with condescension, Dallion bowed formally.

“And as for this individual, his full name is Lynn Bartleon. Surely, you’ve heard of the... history between our two families.”

“Call it a misunderstanding or the rightful punishment of a traitor—this is an affair that was judged and concluded by Chief Justice Nidro himself.”

“But now, this man has the audacity to attend such a dignified and respectable banquet, using it as an opportunity to settle personal scores. He even went so far as to kill my butler!”

“This is nothing less than a flagrant insult to you, Duke Tyrius!”

“I strongly suggest that this person be arrested immediately for murder and imprisoned to await trial.”

Dallion’s words were calm and methodical, expertly shifting public opinion against Lynn with just a few sentences.

Hearing this, Duke Tyrius furrowed his brow deeply.

He turned to look at the youth who had just earned his favor minutes ago, only to find Lynn’s expression eerily calm.

This made the duke pause in thought.

Seizing the opportunity, Dallion stepped forward and stood before Lynn.

Gazing at the boy’s absurd raven mask, Dallion couldn’t suppress a mocking sneer.

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, Lynn?”

“Once the top star of the academy, reduced to such a sorry state... If our classmates, led by Isaily, were to see this, they’d probably be left speechless.”

Lynn remained silent in the face of Dallion’s taunts.

This only made Dallion smirk even more. “Oh, by the way, my sister Irina asked me to pass on a message.”

“Your Divine Factor? It’s been very useful.”

“But if you want to stay alive, don’t ever return to the Imperial Capital in this lifetime.”

Having delivered his message, Dallion straightened up and looked down at Lynn with disdain.

But in the next instant, his pupils contracted sharply.

The revolver in Lynn’s hand was now aimed squarely at his heart.

And then—

Bang!

A second shot.

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