The Abandoned Villainess Decides to Take It All Chapter 37

Chapter 37

“Are you really that grateful?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve never been happier in my life than I am right now, Your Highness.”

“Hm. Really?”

Ah—so my sincerity wasn’t convincing enough.

I’d forgotten. Nobles were a breed that demanded proof of gratitude.
And if it was someone obsessed with utility like the villain, even more so.

“Hm… is that so? Then—”

“So I’ll prove my usefulness again this time, Your Highness.”

Lillian cut him off without even realizing it, flashing a confident smile.

I’ll be generous this time.

“I’ll bring the Favil family’s information guild over to your side. I’ll scrape together every advantageous piece of intelligence and deliver it to you.”

This was definitely the right answer.

…No. That wasn’t it.

Ebren frowned subtly at Lillian’s reaction.

He’d brought her somewhere she wouldn’t be harmed.
Had furniture chosen in advance that would suit her.
Even built a workshop so she wouldn’t have to leave the area for twenty-four hours.

At this level, any normal human would feel comfortable, right?

He’d been about to say something—to appear kind, like last time.

There are many kinds of kindness. Not just the kind you scatter around.

He was curious about the kind that belonged to him alone.

But before he could even open his mouth, she jumped straight to “usefulness.”

Ebren crossed his arms and turned his head away.

“Fine. If you want to prove your usefulness, what do I lose?”

“By the way, Your Highness—where do you stay?”

Ebren pointed casually.

“My quarters are at the far right end of the garden.”

Lillian’s room was at the far left.

The workshop cottage sat exactly on the line dividing the two.

Lillian nodded in agreement.

“That’ll be helpful in case of an emergency.”

“Good. Let’s respect each other’s privacy and get along.”

Ebren smiled, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“I’m counting on you, my capable lifeline.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Lillian smiled back.

It felt as if butterfly wings brushed lightly across her chest—
a ticklish, fluttering sensation.

Cedric was imprisoned in the underground dungeon of the First Prince’s palace.

Even if it was on the Second Prince’s orders, involvement with illegal mines left no room for leniency.

Jeanne stopped Lillian with concern.

“My lady, it would be better not to see him.”

“I’m fine.”

“If he begs, you might soften—”

“Unlikely.”

Rather than softening, she had business in mind.

Inside the cell, Cedric hung limply, wrists chained above his head. He raised his head dully.

“L-Lillian? Why are you here…?”

“Let’s skip the formalities and get to the point. Listen carefully, Jerard.”

“M-My name is Cedric—”

“Oh? You’re still clinging to that identity? You might die soon, you know.”

“…What?”

“You’re not Cedric Bain. You’re Jerard Russell of the Archive.”

“What are you talking about…?”

He tried to look innocent, but Lillian was unimpressed.

This was Pernies—a land crawling with espers.
Impossible things happened daily, and believing appearances got you killed.

“The real Cedric Bain died five years ago in an accident. A landslide, wasn’t it?”

“N-No, that’s—”

“The Archive bought that identity and used it very efficiently, didn’t they?”

“…!”

“An unmarried noble whose body was never found is extremely convenient.”

She didn’t bother explaining how she knew.

This was all standard background lore from the original story.

“After selling information, the Archive wouldn’t not monitor how things play out.”

“Uh…”

“And watching when and how a prince uses that information becomes part of your assets.”

“Uh—uh—”

“And when making dangerous deals with royalty, the best person to slip in and out would be a senior executive with top-tier disguise skills.”

“……”

“Jerard Russell. Well?”

At this point, denial was pointless.

She already knew everything. Rehashing it verbally was just a waste of brainpower.

Only then did Cedric—no, Jerard—smile shyly and roll his eyes.

“Damn… this is the first time I’ve ever been found out. Kind of exciting.”

“Does that excitement last when you think about dying?”

“…Ah. Good point.”

He sagged.

Even if the villain went easy on him, this man was likely to be killed by the Second Prince anyway—for the crime of embarrassing him.

“Well, how was I supposed to know he’d dump everything on me like that? Scary, right?”

“You were lingering and whining because you wanted an easy exit.”

“Heh.”

Jerard chuckled, then jerked his chin toward the Shadows.

“Hey, could someone peel off my face? Right here—see the seal at my temple?”

“…Oh.”

“It’s itchy as hell. People should talk face to face, you know?”

Sigh.

Jeanne casually dug her fingernails into his temple and tore the skin away like bark.

The sniveling man vanished.

In his place stood a sharp-featured man with gray eyes tilted upward and strands of red hair peeking through—
a weasel-like, roguish look.

Perfect. Getting tied to this man is exactly what I need.

She’d need him for what came next—with Tillard and Favil.

Jerard pressed his tongue against the inside of his sore mouth.

They’d dulled the pain as much as possible before starting.

Still—he’d nearly died.

“Damn… never thought that powerless Tillard girl would awaken.”

That alone was priceless information.

Possibly the most valuable secret in the entire empire right now.

“Listen, my lady. Even if you let me go, do you really think the Archive will side with your faction?”

“I helped you. If you betray me instead of responding appropriately, go ahead. Live like that.”

Her tone made it sound utterly unsurprising.

“I already know all your safe houses. If I let you go, I can name at least five places you’d run to.”

“…Huh.”

“I just explained how you stole Cedric Bain’s identity, didn’t I?”

Right.
She was frighteningly sharp.

And the way she kept people on edge—it was addictive.

Then Lillian dropped several sheets of white paper at his feet.

“What’s this?”

“Artifact drafts.”

Jerard tried to raise an eyebrow, winced in pain, then froze as he looked down.

The Archive dealt with artifacts constantly.
Small-time creators sold drafts all the time, hoping to strike it rich.

But this level… I’ve never seen this. Wait—

He forgot he was a prisoner, eyes blazing.

“This—this is Iris Tillard’s style, isn’t it? New designs? The way power flows through natural motifs—that’s her signature, right?”

“……”

“Did this come from House Tillard? Unreleased Iris Tillard drafts? That’s insane—these are even more refined. Look at those curves—”

“Thank you for recognizing my work so quickly.”

“…Huh?”

“It’s my first time being praised in a dungeon.”

Jerard looked up at her.

“Here are my terms. Approach Iris—and sell these drafts to her.”

“…!”