She is the Daughter of the Villainess in a Ridiculous Novel - Chapter 117

The conversation from that day suddenly flickered through Sigmund’s mind.

The saint had first brought it up before Sigmund—who was visiting her—had even managed to take a seat.

In other words, without any context or explanation, the Saint had abruptly thrown a proposition regarding “death” at him. Having heard something so logically incomprehensible out of the blue, Sigmund…

“What kind of bullshit is that?”

The words left his mouth before they could even pass through his brain.

The air around them froze instantly at the Crown Prince’s crude reaction, but fortunately, that atmosphere didn’t last long.

Upon hearing Sigmund’s response, the Saint burst into laughter as if she found it genuinely amusing. Naturally, the gaze Sigmund leveled at the laughing saint was ice-cold.

‘Is she out of his mind?’

Otherwise, why would she be laughing after being cursed at?

It was a rather blasphemous assessment of a saint said to have received the power of God, but Sigmund didn’t care.

Part of it was because his faith wasn’t devout—having grown up learning black magic in the Raven’s Den—but mostly because, no matter how he thought about it, this situation was objectively bizarre.

‘Besides, wasn’t Goddess Miette supposed to govern the balance and flow of the world?’

He was fairly certain his history teacher had said as much while explaining the connection between history and theology…

Recalling the faint information lingering in his memory, he quirked an eyebrow.

The saint, observing Sigmund’s grumpy expression, spoke gently.

“I understand. My words were far too sudden. And it makes little sense for a saint, who speaks of providence, to discuss ‘ways to defy a predestined death.’”

“…To say the least.”

“However, Your Highness, not everything that is ‘predestined’ is a natural providence. Especially so in human society.”

The saint’s eyes shimmered with an inscrutable color.

“It is a predestined outcome that one dies when they fall ill. In that case, should we refuse to save that person even if a cure exists?”

“……”

“If someone’s murder is prevented and their life is saved, is that an act of distorting their destiny—or was even that intervention part of providence?”

The saint’s words were like a riddle. Sigmund offered no answer, but the Saint didn’t seem to mind.

“Humans have evolved that way. By navigating around the things that are set in stone. And the Goddess has accepted all of that as part of the flow.”

“So your point is that I should take an interest in ‘how to defy a predestined death’?”

“Precisely.”

At the saint’s clear response, Sigmund crossed his arms and furrowed his brow.

“I assume you aren’t telling me to use forbidden magic like Nox does… but does such a method actually exist?”

“Of course.”

“Then, is it my death you’re talking about, or someone else’s?”

“You will know naturally when the time comes.”

‘Right, that’s what the Saint said.’

And Idel, who hadn’t heard the Saint’s words, had sent him a note like this:

[Sigmund, Nox is after you.]

Sigmund flopped onto his bed, chewing over Idel’s words written on the palm-sized scrap of paper again and again.

“Ugh, so is Nox trying to kill me, or what?”

If that were the case, how on earth was he supposed to tell her this?

‘She’s such a pushover that her reason for fighting Nox isn’t even her own life—it’s the safety of her family.’

If it were her, she would clearly worry herself to death whether it was his life on the line or not, even if there was nothing she could do about it.

‘I’m absolutely not telling her.’

The saint said there was a way, anyway. In other words, he just had to find that solution before a problem occurred.

‘I should at least send a reply for now.’

Getting up from the bed, Sigmund grabbed a pen and scribbled a response in the most brazen tone he could muster.

[There wasn’t much to it with the Saint. She said she just called me in to introduce herself since it was our first time meeting.]

[…Oh? Really?]

[Yeah. And just as a bonus, to make sure there was nothing wrong with my body.]

[Well, that’s a relief then.]

[Took me forever to read the rest of your notes. But honestly, I can’t really tell what you’re talking about through text alone. Let’s talk about it when we meet later.]

[Sure. I need to set up a detailed plan anyway. I’ll be in touch.]

Sigmund finally caught his breath after seeing Idel’s characteristically concise reply. For someone who could usually lie through his teeth without blinking, this level of nerves was rare.

Sigmund looked back at the Idel standing before him, shifting his thoughts away from those events years ago.

‘In the end, I still haven’t told her what the saint said.’

To be more precise, it was something he had deliberately hidden.

‘Whether it’s good luck or bad, there simply hasn’t been time to talk.’

Sigmund’s schedule had been moving at a breathless pace—enough that Idel had asked, “Why are you here?” the moment she saw him in the prayer room. It had only worsened after his coming-of-age ceremony. Between the education required of a crown prince and the sudden surge in field-duty assignments, he barely had a moment to spare.

‘But it’s the same for Idel.’

The Duke hadn’t called Patrick’s curated collection “Imperial Palace teaching materials” for nothing. While Idel built up the skills Patrick demanded using Professor Hector’s recommendation letters, she had even managed to secure a temporary title as a “Pilgrim Priest” from the temple.

She had realized that chasing the clues in those books often required on-site investigations. Being a “Pilgrim Priest” was the perfect way to move around safely while avoiding unwanted attention.

‘Like this trip to Port Bay, for example.’

This was also the reason Idel hadn’t been active in high society at all. It was a stroke of luck that she didn’t have to make appearances before her coming-of-age ceremony; if she had, her schedule would have likely torn her into three pieces by now.

‘Well, our circumstances might be different, but we’re both staying equally busy.’

Deftly tucking his secrets away in the back of his mind, Sigmund spoke to Idel.

“If Nox has started moving again just as you said, does that mean their ‘Empire Takeover Project’—the one they paused for a while—is back on?”

“Most likely. Nox’s primary goal is total control of the Empire. Since they already tasted failure with the Clementine Duchy, they’ll probably pick a place where they can operate in a more classical, conservative manner this time.”

“A classical place… then there’s only one region Nox would target next.”

“The Grant Marquisate.”

“The Rose Marquisate.”

The two spoke simultaneously, different names leaving their lips as intrigued smiles played on their faces. They were referring to the same place: the Grant Marquisate’s nickname was the Rose Marquisate.

It was the territory of Marquis David Grant, who, over a decade ago, had ousted a tyrannical predecessor and gifted roses to the victims of that reign.

Resting one hand on her hip, Idel tilted her head slightly and spoke in a mischievous tone.

“You always said you were going to quit your lessons, but it seems you’ve actually studied your Imperial history and geography, haven’t you, Your Imperial Highness?”

“And you—you even skipped my coming-of-age ceremony. I take it you spent that time doing nothing but studying?”

“Well, something like that.”

Idel shrugged at Sigmund’s retort and lightly covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Perhaps because she had dressed too lightly at the harbor, she had been plagued by a persistent, dry cough for the past few days. Hearing her cough, Sigmund frowned, his eyes scanning her with concern.

“What’s this? Are you sick?”

“Hm? No.”

Shaking her head at his question, Idel added as if it were truly nothing, “I must have just dressed too thin at the harbor. The other priests looked me over and said there was no issue. I’ve been drinking herbal tea, too.”

“Well, that’s a relief—wait, no, it isn’t. Hey, if you’re coughing because you dressed too thin, why are you running around with nothing but a robe on again?”

“This isn’t the harbor, so what does it matter?”

“Do you have a special constitution that only catches colds at harbors?”

Sigmund snorted as if he’d just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world. He pulled off his outer coat and held it out to her.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Don’t give me that. Put it on before you end up bedridden and the Duke of Clementine bans you from leaving the house.”

The moment Idel heard that, she scrambled to take the coat and put it on. If she were caught coughing by the people at the Duke’s estate, forget the Duke—Sylvia and Gianna would be the first to bar her from ever stepping foot outside.

Once he saw Idel was bundled up properly, Sigmund rubbed the back of his neck and continued.

“So, what’s left is arranging a meeting with Marquis Grant.”

“Mmm… it’s a bit early to worry about, but I’ll try sending word using my coming-of-age ceremony as an excuse.”

It was common for young nobles nearing their ceremony to form connections by exchanging invitations or letters with various high-ranking families.

Idel moved forward with her plan—only to have it completely wiped clean just a few days later.

Unexpectedly, the Marchioness of Grant found Idel first.

“Hello, My Lady. This is our first time meeting, isn’t it? As it is our first encounter, I’d like to exchange proper, polite greetings… but I’m sorry, I’m in such a rush that I’ll get straight to the point. My lady, could you help my husband resurrect at his funeral?”

She had arrived with an utterly baffling request.