Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 113: I Want to Withdraw from the Succession Ceremony

“It’s been a month now,” Greya glared at the estate guards before him, his eyes brimming with frustration. “It’s been an entire month since that incident!”

“A living, breathing man caused such a commotion. There’s no way he could’ve vanished into thin air without a trace!”

“So why is it that you lot… you can’t find even the slightest clue?!”

“S-sorry, Young Master Greya,” one of the guards stammered, his face drenched in sweat as he felt the weight of Greya’s anger. “But we’ve scoured the entire Soren Mountain Range and every surrounding area, and there’s truly no sign of him.”

“Even with the use of Sealed Artifacts, it’s the same. It’s as if… as if Young Master Lynn simply disappeared into thin air.”

“Keep searching!” Greya roared. “I don’t care! Alive, I need to see him. Dead, I need his corpse!!”

Normally mild-mannered and humble as the second son of the Augusta family, Greya had never before shown such a volatile side.

“Don’t work yourself up too much,” Morris, who had quietly approached from behind, placed a reassuring hand on Greya’s shoulder. “After all... wasn’t this the kind of outcome we should’ve prepared ourselves for from the beginning?”

He didn’t want to admit it.

But Lynn was one of the few true friends he had in this world.

And more than that, Lynn had saved them all.

Yet in the end, neither the empire’s honor rolls nor its military commendations recorded his name.

The last bloodline of the Bartleon family had been quietly erased from existence by the invisible hand of the despicable nobility.

Greya’s gaze fell to the bronze medal of honor hanging around his neck, and he let out a long sigh.

After the Wishing Jar incident was resolved, all participants, including him, had received imperial recognition.

The awards were so widespread that they reportedly caused a stir even in the distant Imperial Capital of Glostein.

The nobility loudly protested, arguing that the recipients’ rapid rise in status violated military protocol, especially given that most of them had never even set foot on a demonic battlefield.

In the end, it took a strongly worded letter from Duke Tyrius to Saint Roland VI himself to settle the matter.

It was laughable, really.

Had the central figure of the incident been any one of the princes, the Imperial Capital would never have reacted so strongly.

But because they served the Third Princess, Yveste, the backlash was inevitable.

“How is Her Highness now?” Greya asked suddenly.

Morris shook his head lightly. “She’s begun regaining consciousness, but... her condition isn’t good.”

“She’s completely closed herself off emotionally. Apart from the occasional words exchanged with Afia, she doesn’t respond to anyone else, no matter what they say to her.”

Physical wounds healed easily, but mental ones... were another matter entirely.

To be honest, Morris had never imagined that Her Highness Yveste, the princess to whom he had pledged his loyalty, could ever fall to such depths of despair.

And all because of one man.

It was clear now: that guy was different from everyone else in her eyes.

The two men fell into a heavy silence.

It was apparent that both had grown significantly in the aftermath of the Wishing Jar incident.

Greya no longer dreamed of a quiet life, marrying a baron’s daughter and living out his days in peace.

He had come to understand the depth of his weakness, which was why he’d followed the advice of his father and brother Rhine, joining the Church of Abundance to become an Extraordinary.

His goals had shifted; he no longer sought a leisurely life in the southern plantations.

Now, Greya felt a growing urge to visit the Imperial Capital.

He wanted to see those high-and-mighty noble lords for himself, to understand just how their hearts could be so filthy.

How they could be so despicable.

As the two men stood in silence, a maid’s voice suddenly called from behind.

“Young Master Greya, Young Master Morris! There are two guests outside the estate claiming to be from the Saint Oak Institution. They’ve requested an audience with Her Highness!”

The Saint Oak Institution?!

Hearing the name, both Morris and Greya exchanged looks of surprise.

They’d anticipated this visit, but not so soon.

“Come on, let’s see what’s going on,” Greya said, striding forward.

Afia gently pushed the wheelchair forward along the corridor, her movements slow and careful.

The faint sunlight streaming through the windows cast a warm glow on her.

Looking at the woman sitting in the wheelchair, Afia felt a sting in her chest and her eyes grew misty.

She had cried countless times over the past month—sometimes for Lynn, sometimes for Her Highness, and sometimes for herself.

The woman in the wheelchair was stunningly beautiful, with an almost ethereal presence.

But what stood out most was her snow-white hair.

Since waking from her coma, Yveste’s once jet-black hair had turned pure white, unstained by even the faintest blemish.

This change added an icy elegance to her already silent demeanor.

Gone was her usual sharp, commanding aura.

Gone was her proud, imposing demeanor.

She radiated no trace of her former edge.

To Afia, Yveste now felt like a stranger, her transformation in just a month stark and unsettling.

She seemed utterly disinterested in everything.

The only thing she did each day was sit by the window, silently staring toward the Soren Mountains.

Anyone who spoke to her received no response.

Every evening, she would ask Afia if there was any news about Lynn.

And every evening, disappointment awaited her.

Now, even that disappointment seemed to have faded from Yveste’s expression.

It was terrifying.

Afia would rather see her explode with anger, harbor hatred, or even go on a killing spree—anything was better than this.

Yet, Afia could understand her reaction.

Yveste was like a little girl who had grown up with nothing: ignored by her father, bullied by her siblings, surrounded by scorn.

Her life should have been dull and bleak.

But then Lynn had appeared, changing everything.

His unparalleled support and undeniable charm had been like a treasure, illuminating her dim world.

Her siblings scoffed at this, finding the treasure trivial compared to their countless riches.

But to Yveste, it was her one and only precious gem.

Her obsessive possessiveness drove her to protect it fiercely, though at times, she seemed unsure how to care for it.

It was, after all, her first treasure—and possibly her last.

Now, even that treasure had been destroyed, leaving her with nothing once more.

She had returned to her dark, broken room.

But when she eventually stepped out again...

What kind of person would she become?

Afia didn’t know.

“It’s been a month now,” Greya said sharply, glaring at the estate guards before him. His eyes were alight with anger. “A whole month since that incident!”

“A man, alive and breathing, caused such a massive commotion—there’s no way he could’ve disappeared without a trace!”

“So why is it that you lot… can’t even find the slightest clue?!”

“S-sorry, Young Master Greya,” stammered one of the guards, sweat dripping down his face as he felt the weight of Greya’s fury. “But we’ve searched the entire Soren Mountain Range and all surrounding areas. There’s truly no trace of Young Master Lynn anywhere.”

“Even using Sealed Artifacts didn’t help. It’s as if… as if he vanished from the world entirely.”

“Keep looking!” Greya roared. “I’ve already told you—alive, I need to see him. Dead, I need his corpse!”

As the second son of the Augusta family, Greya had always been known for his mild and humble demeanor. This kind of outburst was completely uncharacteristic of him.

“Don’t let it get to you too much,” Morris said softly, walking over to place a comforting hand on Greya’s shoulder. “After all… wasn’t this the kind of outcome we should’ve prepared ourselves for?”

Greya’s expression faltered, his anger giving way to a heavy sadness.

He didn’t want to accept it.

Lynn was one of the few true friends he had in this world.

And Lynn had saved them all.

But in the end, the empire’s honor rolls and military commendations didn’t even include his name.

The last heir of the Bartleon family had been erased from history, wiped clean by the invisible hand of those despicable nobles.

Looking at the bronze medal of honor hanging on his chest, Greya let out a long sigh.

After the Wishing Jar incident, everyone involved—including him—had been recognized by the empire.

The commendations had been so widespread that they even caused a stir in the distant Imperial Capital of Glostein.

Nobles there were outraged, accusing the military of breaking protocol by promoting those who hadn’t even set foot on a demonic battlefield.

In the end, it had taken a scathing letter from Duke Tyrius to Saint Roland VI himself to secure their recognition.

It was almost laughable.

Had the key figure in the incident been one of the princes, the Imperial Capital wouldn’t have reacted so harshly.

But because they served the Third Princess, Yveste, the backlash was inevitable.

“How’s Her Highness doing now?” Greya asked suddenly.

“She’s regained consciousness, but…” Morris shook his head. “Her condition isn’t great.”

“It’s like she’s completely shut herself off. She barely speaks to anyone except Afia, and even then, it’s rare. No matter what anyone says to her, she just doesn’t respond.”

Physical wounds could heal easily, but psychological ones…

To be honest, Morris had never imagined that the proud and imposing Yveste would ever fall so far.

And all because of one man.

It was clear now: that guy wasn’t just anyone to her.

Both men fell silent.

They had both matured since the Wishing Jar incident.

Greya no longer dreamed of a peaceful life married to a baron’s daughter. He had come to terms with his weakness and, following the advice of his father and brother Rhine, joined the Church of Abundance to become an Extraordinary.

Now, his sights were set on something much higher.

He even felt a growing urge to visit the Imperial Capital, to look those high-and-mighty nobles in the eye and figure out just how their hearts could be so corrupt.

How they could be so filthy.

The silence was interrupted by the voice of a maid calling from behind.

“Young Master Greya, Young Master Morris! There are two guests at the estate gate claiming to be from the Saint Oak Institution. They’ve requested an audience with Her Highness!”

The Saint Oak Institution?!

Hearing the name, Greya and Morris exchanged startled glances.

They had expected the visit, but not so soon.

“Let’s go see what this is about,” Greya said, leading the way.

Afia gently pushed Yveste’s wheelchair down the long corridor, lost in her thoughts.

The sunlight streaming through the windows felt warm on her skin, but the weight in her chest was inescapable.

The woman in the wheelchair was stunningly beautiful, but her snow-white hair—once jet black—made her seem otherworldly.

Yveste’s once sharp, imposing presence was gone. Now she exuded a cold detachment, devoid of any edge or vitality.

Afia had lost count of how many times she had cried over the past month—for Lynn, for Her Highness, for herself.

Yveste was unrecognizable.

Each evening, she would ask Afia the same question: “Is there any news of Lynn?”

But disappointment was the only answer.

Now, even that disappointment seemed to have faded from her face, leaving nothing but emptiness.

Afia would rather see her furious, hateful, or even murderous—anything was better than this.

But Afia understood.

To Yveste, Lynn had been her only treasure in a world that had given her nothing. And now, that treasure was gone.

What kind of person would she become when she stepped out of this darkness?

Afia didn’t know.

“Your Highness,” Afia whispered, leaning close to Yveste’s ear. “The Saint Oak Institution has sent someone to see you.”

Yveste remained silent, her gaze fixed on the distant Soren Mountains.

Ten minutes later, Afia pushed Yveste’s wheelchair into the reception hall.

The room was packed with people: Greya, Morris, and many Augusta Estate staff, even Duke Tyrius himself.

Standing in the center was a brown-haired youth, dressed in impeccably tailored noble attire embroidered with the Saint Oak Institution’s oak tree crest.

He was here to announce Yveste’s updated Succession Ceremony score.

“Your Highness Yveste Roland Alexini’s previous score was -3576 points, ranking last among the nine candidates,” the youth read aloud, his voice steady.

After accounting for her recent contributions, her updated score was announced: -576 points.

The room fell into stunned silence.

But Yveste remained calm, her voice cold and detached as she finally spoke:

“Tell the Imperial Capital—I’m withdrawing from the Succession Ceremony.”

Soren Mountains

A faint ripple of spatial distortion appeared in midair, and a figure wrapped in a blanket tumbled unceremoniously to the ground.

“Witch! Next time, can you pick a smoother spot for a landing?!”

The boy groaned, clutching his sore backside as he clambered to his feet.

He looked around, bewildered by his unfamiliar surroundings.

“Uh… where the hell did you drop me this time?”

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