Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 61: Hey, I Have an Idea

When Lynn finished changing into his formal attire and joined Greya at the estate entrance, a luxurious and spacious four-wheeled carriage was already waiting in the middle of the road.

Judging by the thorn emblem engraved on the carriage, it was clearly the exclusive ride of that woman.

“Gentlemen, please board. Her Highness has been waiting for some time,” said the elderly housekeeper Kesha calmly, gesturing toward the carriage.

Hearing this, Greya suddenly froze in place, his expression shifting as if struck by a thought.

“Ah, my stomach hurts all of a sudden. How about you and Her Highness go ahead? I’ll catch up in another carriage.”

He spun around, already starting to walk away.

No way he’s putting himself in the same confined space as that terrifying woman.

But Lynn had no intention of letting him get away.

Being alone in a carriage with Yveste was a sure recipe for trouble, especially if her hypnotic antics came into play again.

With a firm grip, Lynn clamped a hand around Greya’s neck, ignoring his protests, and dragged him onto the carriage.

From the outside, the carriage already appeared oversized and lavish.

But as Lynn stepped inside, he realized the interior was four or five times larger than it looked, likely thanks to some kind of spatial-folding Extraordinary ability.

Seated by the window on a plush sofa was a tall woman in a rose-pink fringed gown. She rested her chin on her hand, gazing idly at the street outside.

Tonight, Yveste had traded her usual black-patterned mask for a butterfly-themed half-mask that revealed her snow-white chin and glistening red lips, exuding a sultry and seductive allure.

Hearing movement, she turned her head, her gaze landing immediately on Lynn.

In an instant, she took in the striking sight of the black-haired youth.

Dressed in a refined, high-quality double-breasted formal suit paired with a white lace undershirt, he exuded an air of elegance and nobility that was hard to ignore.

Yveste was quite pleased with her own taste.

“Not bad. You look presentable, at least,” she remarked nonchalantly after studying him for several seconds.

After all, the suit had been her personal selection.

Traditionally, a tailor would have brought a selection of designs for the wearer to choose from.

But Yveste, finding the process tedious and driven by her own desire for control, had skipped consulting Lynn altogether, picking something she liked instead.

“You look stunning tonight as well, Your Highness,” Lynn replied with a graceful bow, his eyes alight with admiration.

Greya’s face was a picture of horror as he watched the exchange, certain Lynn was courting disaster.

Yveste smirked coldly. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

Yet in the end, she didn’t deliver any tangible punishment.

Perhaps it was because they had an extra “lightbulb” in the carriage.

After the brief exchange, Yveste cast an imperceptible glance toward Greya, frowned slightly, then shifted her gaze away.

Did Her Highness just find me annoying?

Greya’s legs nearly gave out as he scurried to a corner, ducking his head like a quail.

He resembled a guilty schoolboy, afraid to make a sound or even breathe too loudly.

His only hope was that the princess’s attention wouldn’t settle on him for the rest of the ride.

Fortunately for him, his concerns were unfounded.

Lynn chose a seat across from Yveste and settled in.

The carriage door closed slowly, and the vehicle began moving smoothly.

Resting her chin on her hand, Yveste glanced at Lynn. “What are your thoughts on tonight’s banquet?”

“If Your Highness wants to build closer ties with the Tyrius family, the best approach is to cater to their needs,” Lynn replied thoughtfully. “They want money, so why not give them money?”

Yveste let out a light scoff. “If it were that simple, why would I bother asking you?”

“To feed the three great legions under Duke Tyrius, even my fabulously wealthy elder brother would struggle to make ends meet.”

“With a rough estimate, the initial amount alone would be at least 500,000 gold coins,” Yveste remarked nonchalantly. “And besides, alliances formed purely on financial transactions—how reliable are they, really?”

So basically, you’re broke, Lynn thought, silently critiquing her.

Of course, he kept such thoughts to himself.

After a moment of contemplation, his eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey, Your Highness, I’ve got an idea!”

“Let’s hear it.”

Seeing his eagerness to offer advice, Yveste’s expression softened slightly, and she nodded for him to proceed.

“A healthy adult male has a blood volume of about 8% of their body weight, or roughly 80,000 drops,” Lynn began, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Now, based on my earlier tally, there are over 5,000 clergy members from the Divine Order Church in Orne City alone. If we rounded them all up and tossed them into the Greed Box’s containment chamber, then maybe—”

“Alright, stop. Don’t say another word.”

A hint of exasperation flickered in Yveste’s eyes as she raised a hand to her forehead.

Meanwhile, Greya, who was huddled in the corner like a quail, broke into a cold sweat.

This guy is a living devil!

For the first time, Greya felt like the previously terrifying princess beside him seemed merciful and kind by comparison.

“I’ve thought of something similar—using condemned prisoners to extract some funds,” Yveste said after a moment’s consideration, then shook her head. “But the Greed Box isn’t as simple as you think.”

“As it consumes more blood, the ancient entity sealed inside begins to awaken… Let’s just say, it becomes a major headache.”

So you’ve already considered it! Greya silently retracted his earlier thoughts.

The atmosphere returned to silence, and the group didn’t exchange another word.

Ten minutes later, the carriage rolled to a stop on a spacious street, and the door opened.

Night had fallen, and the street was illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns.

Ahead was a noble estate—not ostentatious, but refined and understated. While the property covered a significant area, it lacked the gaudy display of wealth typical of Orne City’s nouveau riche. Instead, it exuded a quiet sophistication.

However, the street was now jammed with carriages of every shape and size, clogging what was normally a wide thoroughfare.

Elegantly dressed nobles, escorted by their servants, strode into the Tyrius estate in all their finery.

“Let’s go,” Yveste said as she stood gracefully. “Also, I’m attending this banquet incognito, so be mindful of your words and actions.”

Dressed in a crimson gown, she radiated regal elegance, like a queen ready for a grand occasion.

Given how few people in Orne City were aware of her presence, and with her wearing a mask, it was highly unlikely anyone would associate her with the notorious Third Princess.

Lynn nodded in acknowledgment, following her lead.

Under Greya’s watchful gaze, Lynn pulled a sharp-beaked raven mask from his pocket.

“What’s that for?” Greya asked softly, looking puzzled.

Lynn’s expression turned solemn as he responded loudly, “If I don’t wear this, wouldn’t Her Highness be the only one wearing a mask at the event? At the very least, I can help her share some of the attention and deflect some of those curious stares.”

He paused dramatically, adding, “And you—how can you, as a subordinate, lack such awareness?”

Before Greya could react, Lynn decisively placed the raven mask over his face.

Greya stood stunned, as though he had just glimpsed the depths of human cunning for the first time.

Damn, this was aimed at me, wasn’t it?

He glanced around but found nothing suitable to cover his face. His expression darkened as he reluctantly resigned himself to his fate, his inner thoughts brimming with frustration.

This guy is an expert at sucking up.

No wonder Her Highness favored him.

Sure enough, Yveste, walking ahead, paused briefly as a fleeting smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Your Grace, at tonight’s banquet…”

In a discreet carriage parked at a street corner, a hushed conversation was taking place.

“I’m aware,” a middle-aged man referred to as the bishop replied calmly. “We, along with the other local factions led by the Divine Order Church, will likely face Duke Tyrius’s accusations. It’s expected.”

“If he’s wise, he’ll accept the olive branch we’re extending. That way, he can pocket some money and leave. If not, he won’t get a single coin.”

The subordinate seemed puzzled. “But he’s still a duke, and he commands an army…”

“The Saint Roland Empire has more than one duke with real power,” the bishop replied with a cold smile. “Besides, the border cities are far more complex than they appear. He’s been a provincial governor for less than a year—he has no interest in wading into these muddy waters.”

“If he did, don’t you think he would’ve used his army to enforce taxation already?”

“I see… Wait! Your Grace, look over there—do you see that?”

The subordinate’s gaze flicked out the window, catching sight of something unusual.

The Bishop of Orne City, Mozel, followed his line of sight and peered outside.

“Is that… the infamous Third Princess, Yveste?” Mozel frowned. “She’s attending the banquet? But I didn’t see her name on the guest list.”

“She’s probably come incognito,” the subordinate speculated.

Mozel’s expression turned contemplative.

After a long silence, a glint of malice flickered in his eyes.

“Tell me,” Mozel said, his voice laced with intrigue, “what do you think would happen if someone were to accidentally reveal the identity of the ‘Vile Princess’ during the banquet?”

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