It was the night before the final evaluation match.
Rendler, the devoted butler, was still reeling from the unexpected declaration of withdrawal made by his lord, and he had just witnessed the shocking scene of his lord personally packing his things. He arrived at the office after being sent on an errand.
“Here it is. But, why is this all of a sudden…?”
What Rendler brought was none other than the [Betrothal Contest Participation Rulebook].
This was a rulebook personally signed by the Grand Duchy’s chief advisor and the participants themselves, detailing the rules and regulations that those partaking in the contest must adhere to.
It was a massive document containing over 100 rules concerning the moral ethics a participant should uphold and the laws they must not violate.
Of course, most of these items were things that, in everyday life, people would ‘naturally’ avoid or adhere to, so very few would meticulously check all 100 articles.
But important points would be summarized and conveyed by the butlers.
Anyway, it was odd for someone who had declared withdrawal to be concerned about this document.
“Ah, I need to check something.”
Elden picked up a pen and began reading through the rulebook, page by page.
Then, at a certain point, his pen halted.
Scribble, scribble.
He underlined two lines and made notes with a star next to them.
It was Article 12 of the legal regulations.
After checking it again, Elden set the rulebook down and leaned back in his chair.
Ultimately, any matters concerning withdrawal would be assessed by the Grand Duchy—if there was a point about it in the rulebook, it could serve as grounds for objection or as a point for consideration for approval.
It was wiser to prepare for the worst rather than just hope for the best.
And that was the role of Article 12.
Now, Elden needed just one more thing.
“Rendler.”
“Yes, My Lord.”
“I need to visit 25th Street.”
“Eh…? My Lord, isn’t going out after dinner prohibited?”
“I know. Only candidates can’t go out.”
“…Yes?”
At Rendler’s confusion, Elden stood up and approached him, placing his hand on the butler’s shoulder.
“But you can go out, right?”
“Y-Yes?”
“I need something from 25th Street. It’s crucial.”
“B-But My Lord, that place is a slum, and the black market only operates at night.”
Elden grinned mischievously and snapped his fingers.
Snap!
That sound pierced the air, and it was so bright, it practically made Rendler wince.
He knew exactly what that meant.
“Right. The black market that ‘only opens at night.’ Sorry, but you’re going to have to go on my behalf.”
“…But, that place is dangerous.”
25th Street was a slum, proudly showcasing its weak law enforcement.
That’s why it was a hotspot for black markets, where all kinds of shady characters gathered.
A dangerous place for an old butler to venture alone.
Of course, things would be different if he had a strong shield to rely on.
“Take a guard with you.”
Eventually, the elderly butler had no choice but to comply with his lord’s order.
“Understood. But, what exactly do you need from there?”
Something absolutely necessary.
An item only available in the black market, the same item that Deron Caelid secretly carried around in the novel.
One must prepare for the worst, and to evolve into a better person, one must flip the worst-case scenario into the best-case scenario.
Plus, when dealing with villains, one doesn’t need to worry about ethics.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.
If they attack you in a cowardly manner, then it’s only right to respond in kind.
For that purpose, he needed what Deron Caelid always had with him.
“I need a mana recording device.”
“Why would you need that?”
Elden smiled slyly.
“I’m done being on the receiving end.”
Deron Caelid was skilled at manipulating those at his disposal.
He knew exactly when to offer a carrot or crack a whip effectively.
One of his specialties was luring other villains into his cohort.
He was particularly good at extracting their unique villainous traits for his own benefit, all while deftly weaving his plans.
Of course, this ability was only possible due to the strict class hierarchy in place.
After all, he was the second son of a duke.
It was this talent that allowed him to reign as the hidden tyrant of the Royal Academy.
Kyle, the schemer, was adept at spreading rumors and causing discord.
Blund, a flatterer, provided fast intel and acted as ears for Deron.
And then, there was Elden, a battle maniac, willing to dirty his hands with blood on command.
Together, they formed a blend of distinct personalities, with Deron reigning over them as a Tyrant.
《Follow me, and I’ll grant you the glory of being a top graduate.》
A villain must always have an outlet for their wickedness.
The prey that caught Deron’s eye was none other than Erenscia Velroc, a girl who was inexperienced with social interactions, preferred solitude, and because of her academic zeal, was bound to graduate with brilliance -the perfect target.
He snatched the noble daughter of an obscure family from a border territory and tossed her into the lair of villains.
The epitome of villainy.
The waste reigning over the refuse was Deron Caelid.
Thus,
“Good.”
Seeing him take the bait filled me with a smile.
He was someone who enjoyed disciplining his subordinates.
This ensured that the other henchmen wouldn’t make careless mistakes.
In the memories of the original Elden, Deron was that type of person.
And Deron preferred using the whip over the carrot when managing the beast known as Elden Raphelion.
He knew how to efficiently train a beast.
Whoosh!
This must be it.
His old habits compelled him, leading to Deron unleashing his violence in the sacred battle known as the Grand Ducal Betrothal Contest.
It was the fist raised for a sacred fight.
The beast that had been tamed trembled in anger at the humiliation delivered to it.
Of course, all plans were made for this purpose, serving as a splendid catalyst to turn the worst into the best.
Phew!
I caught that punch that seemed to move in slow motion.
The battle maniac Elden Raphelion endured the lashings from the weakling only for the honor of being the top graduate.
He simply wanted to feast on the scraps under the shadow of the cowardly tyrant, and since I needed nothing from him, there was neither a reason nor justification for me to take that slow-moving punch.
I painted a wicked smile.
“Did you think I would willingly take a hit from you like before?”
Deron’s pupils shook wildly.
The tyrant, who intended to use Elden as an example, would now find himself as the one being exemplified, plunging into discord.
“W-what?”
I fully released the fist I had caught.
Kyle and Blund, who were eager to join the fray, swiftly approached and stood by him, true to their nature as loyal lackeys.
I couldn’t help but wonder how long their paltry loyalty would last though.
“Lord Deron! Are you alright?”
“Elden! Have you lost your mind?!”
I replied to Blund’s question as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“To survive in this mad world, one must indeed become mad. But it seems you all worry excessively about losing your dreams to a ‘mad beast’.”
I then casually slid my hand into my trouser pocket and pulled out a round, flat object.
“Don’t worry. I could repeat this dozens of times, but even if, by some rare chance, I did earn the Duchess’s favor, I assure you, I will not snatch away your dreams.”
I’ve said it multiple times already, but repeating things is a necessity for those who don’t listen.
My withdrawal declaration isn’t part of a grand scheme, and even if postponed, the outcome wouldn’t change.
To a modern person reincarnated in a medieval fantasy, being the son-in-law of a noble family feels more like a troublesome chain than a romantic adventure.
Deron, humiliated by the beast he once controlled, fell silent, letting Kyle take over the conversation.
“How can we trust you? Your actions don’t match your words.”
“Perhaps this could serve as a response, don’t you think so, Lord Deron?”
I called out to Deron.
Then, I raised the round, flat object, shaking it like an unfolding fan, its deep black sheen shimmering under the light—a device that could record the user’s surroundings once.
The faces of the regretful trio turned pale upon realization.
《Don’t tell me you found that revolting food delicious?》
《You might want to brace yourself. There are no ears here to hear your cries.》
《It seems you have completely forgotten your time at the Academy.》
《Whoosh! Thwack!》
Naturally, it was to be expected that Kyle and Blund would distance themselves from Deron.
A villain’s flimsy loyalty is like a sandcastle, easily washed away by a single wave.
As I slipped the mana recorder back into my pocket, I announced, “If my withdrawal were part of a scheme, you’d find me rushing to the advisor to expose your true selves. But for now, I’ll just cherish this recording.”
“What? What on earth are you saying?”
“As long as you don’t bother me, this recording will remain unseen. I merely ask for your cooperation.”
Unless my withdrawal is approved, staying at the Grand Duke’s castle is my only option.
If a participant suddenly announces their withdrawal and vanishes before the competition ends, it ends up being a social death sentence.
Particularly in this world of strict class systems, the Winterfell Grand Ducal family wields power that even the mightiest duke would tremble before.
The Grand Duchy enjoys unwavering support from the king.
Having already made an unpleasant mark in history as the first person to withdraw from the contest, it’s only wise to lay low and watch for an opportunity to escape.
Only 13 days remain.
Just 13 days to endure before I can finally set off on my long-awaited healing journey; thus, patience is surely the righteous path.
Moreover, the heroine is actively opposing my withdrawal.
Running away now would only strengthen her resolve, potentially complicating my future enjoyment in culinary explorations.
I didn’t declare a withdrawal just to engage in such foolishness.
For now, all I hope is for my withdrawal to be approved, or for the betrothal contest to conclude, all while I create the perfect environment for healing and peace.
My resolve to leave is unshakeable, that much is clear.
At long last, Deron, who had been frozen in place, came to realize his circumstances and spoke.
“…Everything has gone according to your scheme, hasn’t it?”
“Haha. I merely wished to inform you that there’s no need to waste your efforts unnecessarily.”
“You insolent cur! Have you failed to consider the consequences?”
Of course, I had already contemplated the repercussions.
I smirked at his ignorant threat, clearly from someone who hadn’t even properly read the participation rules.
“Ah, it seems you haven’t had the decency to review the rulebook.”
“What?”
On the first night, I had underlined Article 12 twice and even added stars beside it so as not to forget.
“Any retaliation against another participant for events that occur during the Betrothal Contest, for any reason whatsoever, will be deemed retaliation against the House of Winterfell.”
I will no longer kneel to the injustices of life.
I will never again shed tears of resentment.
“Is it possible you haven’t read Article 12 of the rulebook?”
The plans I devised to uphold these promises were simple—no more yielding to injustice, no more long nights weeping over unfairness.
Shall I start enjoying my new life now?
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