Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 117: Turning the Tide—A Stunning 600 Points!

Though the deadline was said to be two weeks, it was, in reality, just ten days.

At the Augusta Estate, those days flew by in a whirlwind of chaos and anxiety.

On the final day, Greya, dark circles under his eyes, finally set down his pen amid a mountain of paperwork strewn across his desk.

In these ten days, he had worked tirelessly, sacrificing sleep in a desperate bid to help Her Highness earn the crucial 576 Succession Ceremony points.

And yet, this grueling experience only deepened his awe for the feats Lynn had accomplished.

In less than a month—barely more than half a month, in fact—Lynn had somehow amassed an astonishing 3,000 points from the Saint Oak Institution.

Even in the entire history of the Saint Roland Empire, few could claim to have achieved something so extraordinary.

Compared to Lynn, Greya couldn’t help but feel his own inadequacy.

No one knew what actions would increase or decrease points or how scores were weighted.

Each prince and princess had intelligence networks dedicated to piecing together patterns, groping their way through trial and error to uncover the rules.

But such information was strictly confidential and never shared.

Naturally, Yveste lacked such a network.

After all, not long ago, her score had been a staggering negative 3,000. If she had access to any insider knowledge, things wouldn’t have been so dire.

For the Augusta Estate, their only option was to perform significant public works or reforms in Yveste’s name, hoping to earn points.

Though the actual score impact was uncertain, doing nothing would effectively forfeit the Succession Ceremony altogether.

With Her Highness still unwilling to see or speak to anyone, her supporters were left with no choice but to act on her behalf, doing whatever they could within their means.

For Greya, that meant making the Augusta Family bleed financially.

The destruction caused by the Level 0 Sealed Artifact incident had left much of Orne City in ruins. The city was still reeling, its recovery hampered by staggering death tolls and widespread devastation.

Rebuilding required funds—lots of them.

The wealthy and noble families, protected by Sealed Artifacts and the churches, had largely escaped unscathed. Few of them even lost a single servant.

But for the impoverished masses, the disaster was an unmitigated catastrophe.

Over 200,000 homeless refugees now wandered the city, displaced by the calamity.

Their immediate survival needs, especially food, presented an enormous logistical challenge.

When hunger became unbearable, dark and destructive impulses often took root.

In just these ten days, reports from the city council indicated that robberies and murders had surged by hundreds of times compared to normal levels.

The city, outside the high-class districts reserved for the nobles and wealthy, had essentially devolved into chaos, becoming a breeding ground for lawlessness.

Even the city’s security forces were overwhelmed. In many cases, they simply chose to ignore crimes altogether.

Amidst this bleak and oppressive environment, the nobles looked down from their lofty perches, watching the misery of the “common rabble” like an entertaining spectacle.

Privately, they hoarded the city’s resources, driving up the prices of essential goods and profiting off the suffering of the poor in the most despicable way.

The Augusta Estate, however, chose a different path.

Rather than exploiting the situation, they spent a fortune purchasing food from merchants and nobles, then resold it to the public at a fraction of the cost.

In some cases, they distributed free relief supplies under the name of the Third Princess, feeding thousands of destitute refugees.

It was the only solution Greya could come up with.

The city’s order had completely collapsed, but at least he could address some immediate needs.

Still, Greya knew all too well that his actions were nothing compared to the monumental feats Lynn had once accomplished.

These efforts were a drop in the ocean, far from enough to fill the 576-point deficit.

The thought filled him with a restless anxiety.

Nothing has gone right since you left, Greya thought, massaging his temples as he let out a long sigh.

At that moment, the door opened abruptly.

Morris entered, looking just as exhausted as Greya. Clearly, he too had been working tirelessly on Her Highness’s behalf.

“Have you seen the Duke recently?” Greya asked, a glimmer of hope in his weary voice.

It was clear that Tyrius Duke was their last hope for turning things around.

Morris paused for a moment, a trace of helplessness flashing in his eyes.

“No,” he replied. “Since he left ten days ago, he hasn’t come back to see Her Highness. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

“Though,” Morris added with a grimace, “rumors are circulating that he’s the one who pushed through the New Grain Act and has been raking in obscene profits. Some say he’s preparing to flee with his newfound wealth.”

“What is the Duke up to?” Greya muttered, rubbing his brow in frustration. “Could he be planning to sever ties with Her Highness?”

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Both men knew the truth.

If anyone else were in Tyrius’s position, faced with a princess who had completely given up and the death of their key investment—Lynn Bartleon—they would have cut their losses long ago.

After all, Tyrius was an Elector Count. They had no right to demand anything of him.

Finally, Morris broke the silence.

“The Saint Oak envoy will be arriving soon. We should head to the reception room to wait.”

Outside the Augusta Estate, a silver-haired youth stepped down from his carriage.

He hadn’t expected to return here so soon—barely a month since his last visit.

The first time had been for Lynn Bartleon.

This time, it was for Yveste.

What a shame. That fascinating little scoundrel had perished in the disaster, even managing to pull one last prank on him before dying.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Felit wasn’t particularly angry about what had happened that day; what he felt most was regret.

He regretted not being more assertive in negotiating with Yveste for Lynn’s loyalty, or in offering a price hefty enough to secure it.

Interesting people like Lynn were few and far between—once in a lifetime, if even that.

As he followed the anxious maid into the estate, these thoughts swirled in his mind. Today, however, he wasn’t here as the main actor.

He was playing an unusual role.

Because of Orne City’s remote location, and as one of only two royal members currently in the area, the Saint Oak Institution had delegated him to serve as today’s witness.

His task: to officially preside over the elimination of Princess Yveste Roland Alexini, the first royal to be disqualified from the Succession Ceremony.

Only with this formality would the process carry divine and legal weight.

As the door opened gently, Felit caught sight of the white-haired woman sitting by the bed.

It had only been a month since he last saw his half-sister, yet she seemed almost unrecognizable.

Her appearance hadn’t changed much, but her aura—once sharp and unyielding—had dulled, leaving behind a hollow shell of a person.

Felit maintained a calm expression as he walked into the room.

“Dear sister, I’ve come to see you,” he said, his voice cool yet mocking as he moved to stand beside Yveste, gazing out the window alongside her.

Somewhere in the distance, faint sounds of chaos and shouting drifted from the wealthy district, but Felit paid it no mind.

When Yveste remained silent, he hesitated for a moment before speaking again.

“Have you truly decided to withdraw from the Succession Ceremony?”

The icy white-haired woman still didn’t respond.

Seeing this, Felit started talking to himself.

“Well, I suppose it makes sense. Scraping together over 500 points in just five days is no easy feat for anyone.”

“Even I would have to put in considerable effort.”

Yet Yveste continued to sit there, as still and silent as a piece of wood.

Felit sighed.

“So rude,” he muttered softly. “This is exactly why Shirina and I, as your elder siblings, find you so distasteful.”

“Despite being the ugliest of the Alexini family, you could at least smile once in a while. Little girls who smile tend to be liked.”

“But no, you prefer sulking in corners, crying quietly, and then pulling pathetic little tricks to get back at people.”

“With a personality like that, who wouldn’t bully you?”

“Oh, and by the way,” Felit continued, his tone casual yet cruel, “at your fifth birthday party, when someone knocked your mask off in front of everyone? That prank may have been Albert’s doing, but I was the one who suggested it.”

“Yveste,” he said, crouching down so that his cold gaze met hers directly, “there’s a belief I’ve held steadfastly since the day you were born.”

“You’re a monster who should have been strangled in the cradle.”

“The throne is a noble and sacred ideal, not something creatures lurking in the shadows should ever covet… not even in their dreams.”

“What do you think?”

“Get out.”

Finally, Yveste spoke, her voice calm yet chilling, laced with an icy finality.

“Get out?” Felit chuckled, leaning back. “And what qualifications do you have, in your diminished state, to order me around?”

“Oh, and as an aside,” he added, standing and brushing himself off, “Shirina recently recruited someone named Xiya. A rather interesting young man—he’ll likely make a name for himself soon. Even I feel a bit of pressure because of him.”

“Too bad, though. Such things will no longer have anything to do with you.”

“Come, dear sister,” Felit said as he moved behind her wheelchair and gripped the handles. “Let’s go greet the envoy from the Saint Oak Institution and await the arrival of your final judgment.”

“This may be the first—and last—time we ever walk together.”

As he pushed the wheelchair toward the door, Felit remained oblivious to the storm brewing inside Yveste.

Her hands, hidden from view, clenched so tightly into her flesh that blood dripped from her palms.

Withdraw from the Succession Ceremony?

Perhaps that was indeed what she wanted most right now. She could wait for her strength to return, then exact vengeance on this filthy and grotesque empire for the sake of her beloved companion.

Yet deep down, a small part of her still rebelled against giving up.

That was her dream—one she had clung to for over a decade.

And hearing that the woman she hated most was thriving only fanned the flames of her discontent.

But what could she do?

Life was nothing but a series of humiliations and helplessness.

When Felit wheeled Yveste into the reception room, the atmosphere turned heavy.

The Augusta Estate’s members stood at attention, their faces tense and apprehensive as they eyed the silver-haired prince.

“Relax,” Felit said, handing the wheelchair off to a wary Afia. “I’m just a ceremonial witness. Pretend I’m not even here.”

He didn’t bother to hide his disdain for Yveste’s subordinates. They weren’t even worth the effort of false politeness.

Whenever Felit found someone or something dull, this was the mask he wore—aloof and indifferent.

Taking a seat on an empty sofa, he crossed one leg over the other and gazed calmly ahead.

As if on cue, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

The thought of the Saint Oak envoy’s arrival had barely crossed anyone’s mind when the sound reached their ears.

All heads turned toward the entrance, and moments later, a brown-haired youth in a robe adorned with golden oak tree embroidery entered the room.

His expression was composed, betraying not the slightest hint of emotion.

The envoy’s gaze swept over the room before he bowed first to Second Prince Felit, then to Yveste in her wheelchair, mirroring the gesture.

“Since His Highness the Second Prince is present, I will now proceed to announce the updated Succession Ceremony scores,” he said, his tone calm and measured.

Felit nodded. “I will fulfill my role as witness and ensure that everything that transpires today is recorded without omission. Upon my return to the Imperial Capital, it will be presented to Chief Justice Nidro for judgment.”

The envoy bowed again, then retrieved a familiar roll of parchment from his pocket.

“Let us begin…”

But before he could utter another word, the sound of hurried footsteps resounded from the hallway.

Everyone instinctively looked toward the door, only to see none other than Duke Tyrius striding in, his expression unusually brisk.

“Apologies, Your Highness. I am late.”

He wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his brow and gave a respectful nod toward Yveste, who remained silent in her wheelchair.

In a corner of the room, both Morris and Greya felt a flicker of hope light up in their eyes—only for it to dim a moment later.

While Duke Tyrius’s presence indicated that he hadn’t abandoned their alliance, what could he possibly do at this point?

The situation was far beyond salvageable.

Greya sighed, his face clouded with despair.

Meanwhile, Felit rose from his seat and gave the Duke a courteous bow.

After all, Tyrius was an Elector Count and a powerful military leader. Leaving a good impression on someone of his stature was always worthwhile.

Yet, Felit couldn’t shake the peculiar feeling he had when Tyrius’s gaze briefly swept over him—a glance that felt oddly… strange.

Once the Duke had taken his seat, the envoy returned to his task.

Refocusing on the parchment in his hand, his eyes caught sight of something that made him freeze for the briefest of moments.

His gaze lingered on a particular figure, and despite his professional demeanor, a flicker of astonishment crossed his face before he suppressed it.

Clearing his throat, the envoy resumed his formal tone.

“I will now announce the updated score for Her Highness Yveste Roland Alexini.”

“In the previous round, Her Highness’s score stood at -576 points, placing her last among the nine royal contenders.”

“Following the latest evaluation, her position in the rankings remains unchanged…”

The familiar phrase caused the surrounding subordinates to visibly deflate, their hopes crushed yet again.

“…However, her score has undergone a change.”

The envoy’s voice carried an unexpected weight.

“Her current Succession Ceremony score is… 24 points.”