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Chapter 4
The Aphelemion family was one of the founding houses of the Empire and regarded as one of the noblest bloodlines in existence.
They possessed abundant resources, vast territories, and immense prestige—everything others envied.
Yet there was one thing they lacked: descendants.
My father had been the sixth only son in direct succession, and the few daughters born into the family had mostly married abroad, leaving virtually no close relatives behind.
After my parents died, that was precisely why Julius Fenton—something like the stepson of a daughter from a collateral branch of the family—had been able to step in claiming to be my uncle.
Put simply, decades ago, Julius inherited a barony his stepmother had brought as part of her dowry, along with the title of “closest surviving relative of Aphelemion.”
And five years ago, he seized the opportunity of a lifetime and occupied the Aphelemion estate. Naturally, he had also bribed the right people and obtained an authorization bearing the Emperor’s seal.
However, as long as I existed, Julius was nothing more than a temporary acting head of the family.
If he wanted to claim Aphelemion permanently, he would need another plan.
“Father already explained it to you, didn’t he? We’re practically engaged already, and in a few months we’ll have a grand wedding.”
Barthol cleared his throat as he continued speaking.
The fingers gripping my chin twitched slightly, sending a shiver down my spine.
“Father told me to forget childish things and start behaving with dignity worthy of the future Duke of Aphelemion. He said I should get along with you properly.”
Whether I pulled away or not, he kept talking.
“So I’m willing to become a kind husband. Your life will be much easier from now on. Isn’t that good?”
Barthol’s gaze carefully scanned my face.
The gleam in his eyes, his flushed cheeks, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed—I noticed all of it.
He was different from when we were children.
Whether it was because of his father’s persuasion or simply because adulthood had changed him, he genuinely seemed to see me as a romantic prospect now.
“Barthol, remove your hand before you speak.”
“Let’s be honest. You have no reason to refuse either, do you?”
He leaned closer toward me.
“You’ll become the Duchess of Aphelemion. You’ll live in a room far better than this one. I’ll even let you have four maids serving you. Clothes, shoes—you’ll lack nothing. Realistically speaking, do you think there’s a better option for you?”
He spoke as though he knew exactly what I wanted.
Showing off with my own house and my own wealth—it sounded absurd at first glance, but objectively speaking, his proposal was actually quite realistic.
Over the past five years, the servants and even many retainers of the ducal household had been replaced. It would be difficult for me to immediately drive out the Fenton family and manage the territory myself.
And finding another husband was impossible as well. Julius held the ducal seal, and there was no way he would approve. Even if I argued that I was now legally an adult and demanded the seal back, no one would support me. There were plenty of noble precedents where heirs remained under regency until twenty-five or even thirty years old.
Meanwhile, although I personally found Barthol repulsive, objectively speaking, he was not unattractive.
In other words, most women in my situation would have accepted Julius and Barthol’s proposal.
In my first life, unable to find a way out of this situation, I accepted the engagement temporarily and later fled in the dead of night. The memories of smiling while calling Barthol my fiancé became the greatest humiliation of my life, haunting even my dreams.
I had no intention of creating that kind of dark history again in this life.
“I said no—”
“Alright, you want to attend the ball, don’t you?”
Ignoring the way Demeira narrowed her eyes from the side, Barthol raised a brow and asked.
“What?”
“This upcoming imperial ball is supposed to be incredibly luxurious. Haven’t you heard? Her Majesty the Empress introduced the shaman who cured the daughter of the Serbe Duchy.”
At the mention of the Serbe family, my mind suddenly turned cold.
The Serbe family had only one daughter.
“…You mean Grace Serbe?”
“Yeah, Lady Grace. I heard the duke commissioned a golden statue of the Second Prince and presented it to Her Majesty as thanks for healing his daughter. This ball is basically to show it off. It’s also meant to encourage the knights exhausted from the border wars… you get it, right? The imperial family is pouring money into this event.”
My engagement with Barthol completely vanished from my thoughts.
My mind felt startlingly clear—almost awakened.
Grace had transmigrated.
There was no doubt.
In my first life, Grace Serbe had died around this time in an accident.
The point where my first and second lives diverged was exactly here.
In the second life, Grace survived thanks to the help of a shaman. After recovering, she came to the capital and debuted in high society.
Just as expected, she had come to this world again. Almost simultaneously with my own regression, her transmigration had begun once more.
I recalculated the dates in my head.
It would take several months for Grace to recover physically and travel to the capital. Before then, I had to finish all my preparations.
My two highest priorities were clear.
First, reclaim my family from Julius.
Second, save Karsiel from his impending death and turn him into my ally.
And for that, I first needed to meet Karsiel.
“Fine.”
Interrupting Barthol, who was enthusiastically describing the layout of the imperial ballroom while spitting everywhere, I spoke.
“…What?”
“Let’s go. Take me to the ball.”
Demeira frowned deeply, while Barthol’s face flushed red.
“Y-you mean… as my fiancée—”
“Don’t say something so stupid. I will never be introduced that way. I’m going as Lady Aphelemion.”
I spoke coldly.
I had no time to waste on someone like Barthol. If I wanted to minimize unnecessary trouble, I needed to force reality onto him quickly.
“What are you talking about?! Didn’t you hear what I said earlier?”
Barthol glared at me.
“If you just want more time to develop our relationship, I can give you about a month—”
“I refuse.”
I looked him directly in the eyes as I answered.
After living through two lifetimes, I had associated with all kinds of people, from beggars to merchants. Which meant that unlike a typical noble lady, I could be quite rough with my words.
“W-why would you refuse…?”
“Your spiteful face, your empty head, your tasteless clothes that scream ‘money makes everything luxurious,’ your vulgar obsession with wealth, your incompetence that leaves you incapable of doing anything without your family name. Want me to keep going?”
As I rattled off the insults without pausing for breath, both Demeira and Barthol stared at me with mouths hanging open.
“W-when did you start having such improper thoughts…?”
“Brother may be lacking, but… even so…”
I saw Barthol’s left hand curl into a fist.
The confusion in his eyes instantly transformed into rage.
“…I’ll make you regret those words for the rest of your life.”
He muttered darkly before sliding the hand that had still been gripping my chin down to clutch the back of my neck tightly.
“As your future husband, I’ll discipline my woman myself! Marie, bring the whip!”
Without even turning his head, he extended his hand backward. I saw Marie, who had been standing by the door, flinch.
But I felt no fear.
In my first life, I had feared Barthol. But now, after years of experience, everything about him seemed transparent.
Even in his anger, he was clumsy.
His bloodshot eyes tried to appear intimidating, but even his tone sounded like he was imitating someone else, and his wandering gaze constantly checked my reaction.
“…If you’re going to threaten someone, decide whether you want to grab their jaw or cut off the blood flow in their neck.”
Using my right hand to pry away his thumb, I calmly recited knowledge I had learned from the hunting guild in the past.
Barthol’s brow twitched.
“If you’re going to close the distance this much, first confirm that your opponent is fully restrained.”
“…What?”
“The first priority is checking whether the other person can still use both hands. For example…”
Thud.
While Barthol stood there stunned, I shot my left index and middle fingers forward like lightning and jabbed him in the eyes.
“AAAAAGH!”
I hadn’t even struck deeply, yet he screamed and covered his eyes with both hands.
“Y-you crazy bitch…!”
“Your eyeballs didn’t even burst. Stop overreacting.”
I massaged my neck where he had grabbed me moments earlier and stepped back.
“You think you’ll get away with this? I’ll call the knights right now—no, I’ll call Mother—”
“Should I tell Aunt that the necklace around your neck is fake, and that the real one she gave you is sitting in a pawnshop?”
“…What?”
Barthol lowered his hands from his face and stared blankly at me.
So I was right.
The color of the necklace had looked strange for something supposed to be top quality, so I’d simply thrown out a guess.
“And should I mention how you gambled away household funds, sold off heirlooms from your mother’s family, and even borrowed money at interest from Viscount Gideon?”
Barthol’s face turned deathly pale. His trembling lips seemed to ask how I knew.
Demeira and Marie both looked equally shocked.
How do I know?
I laughed inwardly.
During my second life, while organizing the documents and belongings left behind by the fleeing Fenton family, I had found records related to all of this.
Grace Serbe… I think I finally understand, just a little, why you were always so confident.
Knowing the secrets of the world truly was a powerful weapon.
“If that scares you, then you’d better quietly escort me to the ball.”
