Transmigrated Into A Tragic Romance Fantasy – Chapter 41

Ouch

  First, I sat next to Kyle’s empty seat.

  It was a seat with a good view.

  I could clearly see the faces of Deron and Blund sitting across from me.

  Despite the chilly air of the grand hall, both were drenched in sweat.

  Their eyes, having lost their focus, wandered aimlessly.

  Their faces, pale as if slathered with layers of makeup, looked somewhat pitiful, but since I had fulfilled my minimal responsibility through warnings and implications, there was no need to feel any trivial guilt or remorse.

  Front row 3D insight at the “Foofy-seat” (spectator section for dramatic events).

  For this moment, I even preached self-reflection at the expense of becoming the butt of jokes among the trio of regret characters.

  Having fulfilled my duty as a possessed character, I only needed to anticipate what the dinner on the round table might taste like, and what the flavor of the women’s romance foofy-seat might be.

  ‘Will it be a monster dish again this time?’

  I’m eager to lift the lid and find out.

  What dish will be presented this time?

  My heart is fluttering.

  I’m excited.

  By the way,

  “Has Sir Kyle fallen ill or something?” I asked, looking at Blund.

  They were close friends, always seen together at the academy.

  If Kyle hadn’t turned into a runaway ninja or a sickbed keeper, he surely would have come with Blund.

  Instead of a response, a question filled with anger was thrown at me.

  “Elden, you knew about this, didn’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Stop feigning ignorance. You realized that the third princess was Erinysia and declared your withdrawal, didn’t you!”

  Again and again.

  Is he trying to vent his anger on something unrelated?

  I’m just a commoner chasing peace and romance.

  At Blund’s sharp momentum, I pouted my lower lip and shrugged my shoulders.

  “I only found out today as well.”

  Bang!

  Deron, who was listening, slammed his fist on the round table.

  Then he glared at me, his eyes full of resentment and injustice.

  “If you knew, you should have shared it with us too! How can you abandon your colleagues and disembark alone after being in the same boat!”

  …Hmm.

  In the original Elden’s memories, there wasn’t anything worth calling ‘colleagues.’

  They always ignored and used Elden, yet they brazenly talk about colleagues.

  Can they still blame others before blaming themselves even at this moment?

  They really are something.

  “As I said, I only found out today myself. I was quite surprised too.”

  “Moderate your deceit. You’ve been in cahoots with Erinysia from before, haven’t you?”

  What kind of nonsensical accusation is that?

  I declared my withdrawal because I didn’t want to be involved.

  “Yeah. There was a reason you were favored. What did you offer in return for sticking with her?”

  I’m just curious about the meal on the round table.

  I just want to taste the follow-up to the grilled hind leg of the red long deer.

  Why does everyone only make things difficult for me?

  Why does everyone treat me so badly?

  “Tell us what Erinysia and you are planning. What does Erinysia want from us—!”

  It seemed like a tedious back-and-forth was about to begin, so I was about to take out the mana record.

  It seemed they had forgotten what they were reprimanded for just a few days ago, and I intended to remind them.

  But then.

  “Lady Grand Duchess Remian is entering.”

  A voice announcing the start of the main event made me stand up to greet her.

**

  Remian entered the grand hall dressed in a blood-red dress and shoes, heralding the beginning of her revenge.

  “Everyone, please sit down.”

  I sat down following Remian.

  For some reason, her eyelids seemed slightly swollen, but I decided to consider it an illusion.

  The already cool air of the grand hall turned colder with her arrival.

  Or rather, it became eerily silent.

  It felt like a harsh snowstorm was blowing through, yet it was disturbingly quiet.

  Deron and Blund, since Remian’s entrance, kept their heads down, unable to even meet her gaze.

  They had been loud and assertive towards me, but now they were like puppies who had encountered a tiger, their tails tucked.

  Watching the two, Remian broke the silence.

  “After sending off father, I found that Sir Kyle Bellarion had disappeared. He left his family, belongings, and honor behind.”

  Oh…

  Could it be that Sir Kyle Bellarion was struck down by shock?

  Had he indeed switched to becoming a runaway ninja?

  A display of great determination and initiative, without a hint of caution or repentance—worthy of admiration.

  Of course, such mindless fleeing was a natural progression, considering the offenses he had committed.

  Deron, the instigator, was villainous, but Kyle, who stuffed Erinysia’s mouth with bugs, assaulted her mercilessly, and spat on her after she fell, mocking her, was no less villainous.

  No.

  From Erinysia’s perspective, Kyle was the most villainous.

  More hated than Deron, who always enjoyed her pain from afar, because Kyle directly inflicted that pain.

  It’s only natural, considering he was the only one who fainted during the face-to-face meeting.

  The eldest son of the Bellarion count family, once soared as the hope of his family, had now deserted that hope and fled.

  “You all look quite pale. Sir Deron, Sir Blund? Are you worried about Sir Kyle?”

  Remian asked with a smile, looking at Deron and Blund.

  Only then did they raise their heads.

  But soon, under Remian’s chilling threat, they had to bow their heads again.

  Deeper.

  Heavier.

  “Don’t worry. He will return on his own. I personally sent a letter to the head of the Bellarion count family. I think you all know what it contains.”

  That meant that the head of the Bellarion family would learn of the terrible acts his hopeful son had committed.

  And that was, threatening to carry out her revenge in earnest while her father, Duke Logan Winterfell, was away.

  Declaring that without her permission, no one could leave this grand duchy.

  Dreaming of an unauthorized escape would only bring greater disaster.

  If I had attempted to escape immediately after declaring my withdrawal, she would have bound me in another way.

  With my parents’ death and my inheritance of their titles, there would be no one left to inform.

  Such a method would have been impulsive and radical, surely bringing pain to both parties.

  Carefully planning my escape was not foolish, as it has now been proven.

  “Don’t worry too much. As long as you don’t just run away from your sins like Sir Kyle, everything that happens in this grand duchy, all that happened at the academy, will be buried in the past.”

  A strategy of instilling fear followed by showing hope.

  Thus, more brutally crushing them.

  “So, don’t give up, everyone. There has never been a ‘winner’ in the long tradition of the engagement battle.”

  Having suffered through that strategy herself for three years, no one knew it better than Remian.

  “And to that ‘winner,’ I will give everything they desire along with forgiveness. Honor, money, love—all of it.”

  By promising a hopeful future that could even overcome overwhelming fear, she encouraged participation.

  Gaining hope with the promise that the harassment would stop if not caught within five minutes, she had to desperately flee, always having her hopes crushed, plunging deeper into despair—Erinysia was encouraging others using the same method.

  And that was.

  “Hehe. Erinysia? Don’t forget the ‘life lessons’ we taught you for three years. You must live strongly~ You got that?”

  Returning the advice of Deron’s group who told her not to forget three years of teaching.

  Moments later.

  Thud!

  A pair of knees hit the floor of the grand hall.

  “Er, Erin…! No! Grand Duchess Remian! I have committed a crime worthy of death! Please forgive me!”

  A younger brother overshadowed by his capable older brother.

  The second son who had never received recognition from his father.

  Deron Kelrid, the younger son of a duke, had to prove his worth by winning.

  The instigator, always behind the scenes, was the quickest to intervene in the situation.

  Of course, it was because he was the quickest to bite the bait thrown by the heroine.

  Tap tap.

  Remian, having risen from her seat, approached Deron.

  Then she opened the lid of the dish placed at Deron’s spot.

  The veiled dish was revealed.

  “Oh!”

  A dish that looked quite delicious, excerpted from the Monster Cuisine Encyclopedia I had read while traveling by carriage with Rachel for the second evaluation.

  The dish I had even asked Rachel about how it tasted.

  Specifically.

  “Drake tail salad?”

  Though not visually appealing due to the random bubble-like holes in the tail meat, the texture of the drake’s tail was reputed to be excellent.

  However.

 Just as my saliva was about to drip.

  Remian abruptly dumped the dish on the floor in front of Deron.

  Splat!

  The red seasoning spread widely on the floor.

  It must have looked just like blood.

  By the way.

  Why would she throw that away?

  It’s said that throwing away good food brings divine retribution.

  “…?”

  Deron, looking down at the food spilled in front of him, raised his head to look up at Remian.

  Pleading for mercy, with a pitiful gaze that Erinysia might have worn in the old days.

  Remian gave a chilling smile.

  “The floor of this grand hall is cleaner than you, Sir Deron. So, lick it up completely without leaving any behind. If you do so cleanly, perhaps I could forgive you.”

  Soon, a mix of astonishment and futile hope filled Deron’s eyes.

  His gaze was eerily similar to Erinysia’s.

**

  A truly pitiful scene unfolds before me.

  Just minutes ago, Deron and Blund, who were trying to devour me, are now picking up and licking the food spilled on the floor.

  To prove their worth.

  To be of use to their family.

  And.

  To be forgiven by Erinysia.

  They discarded their pride and authority, retching as they licked the monster cuisine for each of their ideals.

  Additionally.

  The image of Erinysia, who used to pick up bugs to escape the pain in the original Elden’s memories, vividly comes to mind—an ironic turn of events.

  Looking back, there was no enjoyment in Elden Raphelion’s memories of tormenting Erinysia.

  Instead, recalling those scenes often brought forth an inexplicable nausea.

  In male-oriented foofy-seat narratives, the severity of a female character’s misdeeds determines whether they can enter the so-called ‘washing machine.’

  Once inside the washing machine, they rise to the rank of heroine….

  Surely.

  It wasn’t planned in the original that Elden Raphelion would play such a role, enduring a vicious foofy-seat only to engage with the heroine in the end, was it?

  Given the excessive obsession with Elden, it seems a reasonable suspicion, but I chose to consider it an overblown conjecture.

  Whether or not, it wouldn’t interfere with my plans for a gastronomic journey.

  “Ugh…!”

  “Ew…!”

  Meanwhile, Deron and Blund’s retching continues unabated.

  Different from before, even as they vomit, they swallow the monster cuisine in hopes of mercy.

  By the way.

  Who would have thought that the moment Duke Logan Winterfell left, the brakes would be shattered, and a full-blown runaway would begin?

  The essence of a foofy-seat is unreasonably satisfying [cider], and the original author must have sent Duke Logan away to allow the protagonist to fully unfold her wings of revenge, but with the plot of the original work twisted and significant psychological changes in the heroine, it’s unclear whether the absence of the brake will prove to be a clever or poor move.

  ‘It feels… more like the latter.’

  Tap tap.

  After a while, Remian approached me.

  I stood up, maintaining etiquette.

  Even if I were to leave, I didn’t want to neglect the minimum courtesy due.

  It’s just an unfair situation for both of us.

  An unexpected swap of the aggressor’s personality causing a hiccup in the heroine’s revenge, and me, suddenly possessed by a villainous character, we are both victims.

  Just.

  I was merely curious about what my dish on the floor would be.

  However, Remian didn’t reach for the lid of the dish.

  She simply started talking.

  “You asked me once, didn’t you? Whether the confession I sent by letter was sincere.”

  …Wait a minute.

  Bringing up a confession in the presence of Deron and Blund?

  Just as the face-to-face meeting had concluded, just as the real foofy-seat drama was about to begin?

  “It was sincere.”

  “Yes?”

  “It was sincere. I supported you, my love for you was sincere.”

  No, wait a minute.

  ‘You’?

  Remian, who always called me Sir Elden, called me ‘you’?

  Did I miss taking some necessary medicine?

  Or did I take something I shouldn’t have?

  Why is this happening to me all of a sudden?

  Caught off guard by the sudden acceleration, I delayed my response, and soon, what started as a sudden rush began to derail.

  Remian extended her delicate hand towards me.

  “So, will you marry me?”

  …What?

  A sudden proposal?

Certainly, after a sudden proposal:

  Just after raising the stakes by offering hope to Deron and Blund, suggesting that they might still win this twisted game, she turns around and proposes to me in their hearing, effectively snatching that hope away. Was this her aim?

  I glanced towards Deron and Blund. They were looking at us, tears mingling with the vomit induced by their disgust, their eyes reflecting the shock of having their hopes so cruelly torn away. Their faces, smeared with the red sauce, were as marred as their pasts.

  The despair they felt, having just glimpsed a sliver of hope, was now being crushed. And Remian was pushing them further into the abyss—into the same kind of thorny pit she had once found herself in.

  “I promise you everything you desire,” Remian continued, her voice soft yet carrying a steely edge. “The revival of your house, honor, power, forgiveness, love—whatever you want, I promise it, on the honor of the Winterfells.”

  Was this proposal meant to demonstrate to Deron and Blund the kind of despair they should expect by snatching away their hope? Or was it a deadly threat cloaked in the form of an engagement, or perhaps a twisted obsession masquerading as affection?

  To me, who had been planning only for freedom and romantic escapades, this proposal felt bland and uninspiring.

  Moreover, the absence of Duke Logan Winterfell as a restraining influence seemed to serve not just Remian but also freed me from certain constraints.

  I bowed politely, my gesture indicating that my decision to withdraw was irrevocable.

  “I’m sorry, Grand Duchess.”

  I looked up just as Remian’s eyes filled with thick tears, and then my head snapped to the side.

  A sharp slap rang out.

  Crack!

  I had always wondered about the flavor of a female-oriented romance drama. After reading the original work and inadvertently finding myself in the midst of one, it seemed I wouldn’t truly understand the taste as I had been cast as a character destined to experience its bitterness firsthand.

  But now, I thought I understood something about the taste of the heroine of a romance foofy-seat—a sharply spicy, numbing flavor.

  Ouch.

  That was a powerful slap. Maybe I should have dodged a bit.

  .

.

.

 Ouch.