Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 53: An Explosion of Will

“Miss Milanie, how skilled are you in alchemy?”  

“Are you questioning me?”  

“Well… can you make me a potion that looks, smells, and tastes like Water Ghost Toxin Essence, but lacks its deadly toxicity?”  

“Oh, so you’re planning to deceive someone?”  

“Damn, women’s intuition is terrifying… So, can you do it or not?”  

“Yes.”  

The icy, slightly sweet liquid slid down Lynn’s throat, sending a faint numbing sensation through his body. It spread gradually, mimicking the effects of Water Ghost Toxin Essence, a common Extraordinary potion used for surgical anesthesia.  

When overdosed, the toxin caused cardiac paralysis, leading to death.  

After surviving the system’s torment, hypnosis experiments, and Yveste’s machinations, he wasn’t about to throw it all away.  

Not for this.  

So, he enlisted Milanie’s help to concoct a harmless imitation. Whether Yveste discovered the truth later was a problem for the future.  

For now, his priority was to drastically increase her plot deviation, ensuring that his actions reverberated across time to reach the Witch of the End.  

To make his performance convincing, Lynn activated the Lie Eater again.  

The skill had become so second nature that even creating false perceptions—like the belief he had ingested a deadly toxin—felt seamless.  

Now, with his pale complexion, unfocused gaze, and trembling body, Lynn looked like a man at death’s door.  

As his body swayed, he let himself fall backward.  

But before he could hit the floor, a mass of crimson Thorns surged from every direction, catching him in their grasp.  

Yveste’s sharp eyes widened, disbelief etched across her face.  

Lynn, despite his apparent frailty, smirked. His smile was laced with a strange mix of resignation and triumph.  

“Shall I start the countdown for you?” he asked, reclining against the Thorns as if he had accepted his fate. “Sixty… fifty-nine… fifty-eight…”  

Before he could finish, an icy wave enveloped his body.  

A thin mist of frost coated his skin, lowering his metabolic rate, heart rate, and blood circulation.  

The sudden chill left Lynn shivering uncontrollably.  

At least she has some common sense, he thought, biting back a wince.  

“Did I say you could die?” Yveste’s voice was as cold as her expression.  

She strode forward, gripping his neck with one hand. For a moment, it seemed she might snap it.  

But her fingers relaxed, her rage tempered by a sliver of reason. She couldn’t kill him—not yet.  

Anger and confusion clouded her mind, but her rationality whispered a stark truth: without an antidote, he would die within minutes.  

And she didn’t want him to die.  

She had no interest in losing the one subordinate who had told her something truly shocking earlier:  

“With my help, you have a 70% chance of winning the Succession Ceremony.”  

Even if that number was a gamble, it was a glimmer of hope she couldn’t afford to lose.  

She needed to win. To earn the recognition of Saint Roland VI, to crush her sister Shirina, and to command respect from nobles and commoners alike.  

If Lynn died, she would lose this chance—and regret it for the rest of her life.  

She had to act quickly.  

Her thoughts raced to Milanie, the only person in the manor who could concoct an antidote on short notice. Without hesitation, Yveste prepared to tear through space itself to retrieve her.  

But before she could act, a voice interrupted her.  

“Are you looking for this?”  

Lynn raised a small vial containing a pale blue liquid—the antidote.  

Yveste froze, her gaze locking onto the vial.  

“Give it to me,” she demanded coldly.  

“I refuse,” Lynn replied with a defiant grin, tinged with mockery. “Why, is it that important to you?”  

“Interesting,” he continued, his voice dripping with venom.  

“A wicked, arrogant, self-centered woman like you… actually cares about something? How touching.”  

“Oh, wait—I get it. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared that if I die, there won’t be another genius like me to save you from your sister Shirina. Scared that you’ll end up a pathetic loser, begging for scraps at her feet.”  

Lynn’s laugh was wild and unrestrained, a sickly flush coloring his pale face.  

It was cathartic—a release of all the frustration, humiliation, and anger he had bottled up. The sting of failure at the Pantheon, the suffocating pressure of survival, all poured out in this moment.  

“Are you insane?” Yveste demanded, her voice laced with anger.  

“No,” Lynn shot back. “You’re the crazy one.”  

His grin widened. “And stop with the tricks. I know you’re thinking about using force to snatch this from me. Go ahead, try. I’ll smash the vial before you get the chance.”  

“And for your information,” he added, his tone flippant, “this is the last vial in the entire manor.”  

The blood-red Thorns creeping toward him halted in their tracks.  

“What do you want?” Yveste asked, her voice icy but her expression tense.  

“If you have demands, name them.”  

The situation had spiraled far beyond her expectations. For the first time in years, she felt a twinge of absurdity.  

This boy was threatening her—with his own life.  

Such audacity was almost laughable.  

Feeling her gaze bore into him, Lynn spoke, his tone calm but firm:  

“I want an apology. For everything you’ve done to me.”  

Yveste’s eyes narrowed.  

“Not only that,” Lynn continued, his words deliberate, “I want you to admit that you’ve lost to me.”  

“I bet a proud woman like you has never bowed to a man before, have you?”  

“I want you to remember this night for the rest of your life, Yveste. Burn it into your memory.”  

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