Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 67: Why Did I Provoke Him?

For Dallion, as well as many other nobles, life had been handed to them on a silver platter from the moment of their birth.

A privileged family background, the best education, the power to treat commoners as nothing more than livestock, and a circle of equally privileged friends—

It was a wonderful existence, so wonderful that even minor imperfections could be overlooked.

Yet, even with all these blessings, their lives were far from completely free.

Because there were rules.

These rules weren’t the laws of the Saint Roland Empire but an unspoken code that governed interactions among the nobility.

For example, leave room for maneuver.

At the very least, maintain appearances.

Even the Mosgra family, despite its persecution of the Bartleons, had spared Lynn’s life, choosing instead to exile him to the frontier.

As for the subsequent attempts on his life, those had been carried out by a small faction within the family, acting in secret.

Dallion, steeped in these traditions from birth, had internalized the nobility’s code.

And up until today, he had faithfully adhered to it.

Until now.

The moment the gunshot rang out, Dallion felt as if someone had struck him square in the chest with a sledgehammer.

Staggering backward, a searing, excruciating pain consumed him, leaving him utterly stunned.

He... fired?

He dared to fire?!

He dared to publicly shoot a Mosgra family heir in front of everyone?!

As he collapsed to the ground, his strength leaving him, Dallion struggled to distinguish reality from delusion, convinced for a moment that this must be a nightmare.

But through the eyeholes of the raven mask, Lynn’s calm, indifferent gaze reminded him of one harsh truth.

I... I’m going to die.

As one of the most promising successors to the Mosgra family’s title, he had barely begun to enjoy his life, and now he would die—here, at a backwater banquet.

No crowd to honor his death, no flower petals scattered in tribute.

All of it, because he had made a few careless provocations in front of a madman.

Dallion’s consciousness began to fade.

In his final moments, the emotion weighing on his chest wasn’t hatred.

It was regret.

Damn it.

If I’d known he was a lunatic, why did I provoke him?

Why did I provoke him?!

Darkness engulfed his vision, and his head slumped to the side.

The last thing he saw was Sherlock’s still-warm corpse not far away.

The man he had regarded as little more than a dog.

So that’s it.

In this madman’s eyes, there’s no difference between us.

...

“You scoundrel!” Duke Tyrius’s furious roar echoed through the hall the moment the second gunshot rang out.

“What exactly are you trying to do?!”

The air itself seemed to ripple and distort under the weight of his rage.

The guests were frozen in shock, utterly dumbfounded by what had just unfolded.

No one could have anticipated that this boy, already brazen enough to kill a butler, would then dare to publicly shoot a Mosgra family heir!

Feeling the duke’s wrath, Lynn looked down at the revolver in his hand.

Somehow, it had transformed into a heavy, iron lump, crashing to the floor with a resounding thud.

It was the duke’s gravity manipulation—a masterful technique that hadn’t so much as grazed Lynn’s hand while disarming him.

Unfortunately for Duke Tyrius, Lynn’s actions had been too swift to prevent.

Even he hadn’t anticipated that, after killing the butler, the boy would then aim and fire at Dallion without hesitation.

The duke’s fury was now boundless.

Any prior favor or appreciation he had felt for Lynn was utterly obliterated, replaced by an overwhelming desire to tear him apart.

Dallion’s death wasn’t the issue.

He could have died anywhere else—struck by a stray arrow, mauled by a wild dog in an alley, or even succumbing to poison.

None of that would have mattered.

But of all places, he absolutely could not die at a banquet hosted by Duke Tyrius.

No matter Duke Tyrius’s stance, this incident made it impossible for him to wash his hands of the matter.

It wasn’t that he feared a newly rising noble family like the Mosgras.

Rather, he saw no need to unnecessarily create an enemy.

After all, the Mosgra family was deeply tied to the Divine Order Church and maintained an extraordinary relationship with the Second Prince. That alone was enough to give Tyrius a headache.

To make matters worse, his primary purpose for attending the banquet was to discuss taxation.

He hadn’t even had a chance to hear the Mosgra family’s offer before allowing their emissary to die so easily.

Even if Duke Tyrius himself had no such intent, this would undoubtedly be seen as a hostile act by the Mosgras.

In a flash, extraordinary power surged through his body, the sheer force shattering the marble floor beneath his feet.

His tiger-like eyes blazed with fury as he raised his right hand, prepared to crush the perpetrator where he stood.

At that critical moment, Lynn suddenly shouted, “Duke Tyrius, I know you’re angry... but regardless, the man is already dead!”

His words carried an unspoken meaning, making the duke’s eyes narrow as his hand paused for a fraction of a second.

But ultimately, anger triumphed over reason.

An invisible wave of crushing gravity descended from above, surging toward Lynn.

Sigh.

Why is no one ever willing to listen?

Even in the face of imminent destruction, Lynn showed no fear—just a faint sigh, as if he were waiting for something.

The next instant, the crisp sound of footsteps echoed through the hall.

A striking figure wrapped in a red dress appeared out of nowhere, stepping in front of him without warning.

“Uncle Tyrius,” Yveste said coldly, her voice devoid of warmth. “This will be the last time I address you as such.”

Her long black hair swayed gently as a crimson force field flared to life around her. Her presence radiated an overwhelming power that made the surrounding air seem frozen in place.

“Think carefully about whether or not you truly wish to attack one of my subordinates.”

Her tone was emotionless, devoid of any inflection, yet her sheer presence was suffocating.

It was as if a single step closer would cost Duke Tyrius his head.

Your Highness, you’re incredible!

Watching the breathtaking figure shielding him, Lynn silently gave her a thumbs-up in his heart.

The atmosphere became tense, frozen in a stalemate.

It was clear to any discerning eye that, during the brief clash of extraordinary power, it was Duke Tyrius—despite his seemingly dominant aura—who had been forced into retreat. His face had grown visibly pale.

Meanwhile, Yveste stood her ground, unshaken, her crimson aura effortlessly suppressing him.

“...”

A flicker of shock crossed Duke Tyrius’s eyes as he stared at Yveste.

She’s grown this much stronger?

Feeling the faint but unmistakable threat of death emanating from her, Duke Tyrius let out a cold snort.

“You would challenge me for the sake of a mere subordinate?”

“You’re welcome to try,” Yveste replied evenly.

“I never imagined that Her Highness cared so deeply for her subordinates,” Duke Tyrius said with a frosty tone, suppressing the pressure in his chest. “Though I wonder, is this care limited to...?”

“Silence.”

Yveste interrupted him without hesitation.

“...”

Her abrupt command was undoubtedly rude, but Duke Tyrius didn’t seem to take offense.

Instead, he glanced at Lynn, who had somehow managed to shatter his years of emotional composure so effortlessly.

That boy... truly a talent for provoking chaos.

As Duke Tyrius glanced at the boy in the raven mask standing silently to the side, the rage simmering in his heart gradually subsided.

It wasn’t that he had forgiven Lynn—it was simply because Lynn was right.

What’s done was done. The man was dead.

Rather than remain angry over an irreversible mistake, it was far more productive to think about how to salvage the situation moving forward.

After a moment of silence, Duke Tyrius slowly raised his hand, dispersing the extraordinary energy radiating from his body.

He then surveyed the cracked floor caused by the clash of their powers, as well as the guests who had retreated to a safe distance.

“My apologies,” Duke Tyrius said with a light cough. “There have been some unexpected events tonight. The banquet is over. Please take care on your way home.”

Hearing these words, the assembled nobles felt as if they had been pardoned from a death sentence. They quickly expressed their gratitude and left the hall in droves.

It was clear that tonight’s events were far more dramatic than anything most of them had experienced in their entire lives.

It wouldn’t be long before word spread throughout Orne City.

As the guests dispersed, Duke Tyrius issued another command to his subordinates.

“You there—see that his body is properly handled.”

“Yes, Your Grace!”

The guards carefully lifted Dallion’s corpse and carried it out of the hall.

Once everything was settled, Duke Tyrius closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment of reflection.

The first half of the banquet had gone smoothly. He had made his stance clear and applied appropriate pressure to the local nobles and the church representatives.

But the latter half had spiraled into chaos, thanks to Mozel’s meddling and the unexpected turn of events.

The true culprit behind tonight’s upheaval, however, was this boy—a young man who appeared reckless on the surface but was, in fact, disturbingly calculated.

It was only now, as he pieced together the evening’s events, that Duke Tyrius began to grasp Lynn’s intentions.

If he was correct, the boy had never truly been angered by Dallion’s clumsy provocations.

His actions weren’t born of impulsiveness—they had been premeditated.

“You insolent brat... Fine, come with me to the study. We need to talk.” Duke Tyrius let out a cold laugh before turning his gaze to Yveste.

“And you, Your Highness, have you calmed down? If so, I invite you to join us for a discussion.”

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