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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Worn-Out Male Lead Picked the Wrong Opponent
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While the marriage preparations proceeded smoothly.
The second son of the Queensguard Count family, Edford, heard the news of Cynthia's wedding and flew into a rage.
"Damn it!"
He was slow on the uptake and rather dim-witted.
"Father must have caught on to our relationship. That's why he's trying to ship Cynthia off as a rich old man's second wife."
Edford had long harbored feelings for Cynthia.
And he was deluded into thinking that Cynthia liked him too but couldn't show it because of Karos.
"Karos, you mad bastard. Scared I'll steal Cynthia away, so you pull this cheap stunt?"
He immediately went to find Cynthia.
"Cynthia."
She was surely crying her heart out, forced into a marriage she didn't want.
But contrary to Edford's expectations, Cynthia turned to him with a bright, radiant smile.
"What brings you here?"
Edford grabbed her hand and got straight to the point.
"Run away with me. In two days, at dusk, meet me in front of the bell tower."
He admired himself for being willing to give up everything for love.
Expecting her to be moved to tears, Cynthia instead widened her eyes and asked,
"Why would I?"
Thrown off by her unexpected reaction, Edford faltered.
"Father and Karos are trying to force us apart."
Cynthia's red eyes blinked rapidly.
"Were we the kind of pair who couldn't be separated?"
"You actually like me, not Karos. You've been too mindful of others to show it, poor Cynthia."
"Huh," Cynthia let out a short exclamation and quickly shook her head.
"That's not it."
"No need to hide it anymore. They're trying to marry you off to some ugly old geezer."
"No, I'm marrying a handsome, wealthy officer."
Cynthia saying something so materialistic? Edford felt like he'd been struck on the head.
Then he remembered she was innocently naive like a child.
"You're being fooled. It's all talk, but in reality..."
Cynthia opened her mouth with a gentle smile.
"Suppose we run away together. But sooner or later, we'll get caught or hit a dead end, right? You'd have somewhere to return to then, but I wouldn't. I'd end up suffering horribly for seducing and fleeing with a noble's son."
She pointed at Edford as she continued.
"In the end, it means you lose nothing."
Is this the Cynthia I knew? Her tone was as kind as ever, but he'd never seen her speak so bluntly before.
To the flustered Edford, Cynthia added,
"Are you just drunk on how cool you think you are for giving up everything for love? Think it over again."
Like any man whose pride was wounded but had no comeback, Edford began insulting her in anger.
"So you've been playing innocent to use me all this time? Taking everything you could and only now showing your true colors. Then why did you smile at me?"
Cynthia, who had ignited the spark of anger in Edford's heart, responded with the very same smile he claimed she'd given him.
"Who asked you to? You're the naive one."
Edford was dealt a massive blow.
He rushed to his family to tell them about her vicious true nature, but no one believed him.
They only looked at him with pity, like, 'Obsessed with a mere maid, even resorting to such lies...'
"Edford. Don't do anything stupid. If the marriage falls through, I'll kill you first."
Instead, he was threatened by the furious Count.
On the day of departure for the capital for the wedding, Helen, the Count's daughter, visited my room.
With her lush amber hair and blue eyes, she was a beauty who smiled gracefully and said,
"Cynthia, will you give me some time to say goodbye? It makes me sad to see a little sister-like girl leaving so far away."
Her princess-like demeanor and speech were the result of long education and pride in her royal bloodline.
She took my hand with a kind expression.
"Cynthia. Forced into marriage by Father's greed... It must pain you. Is there anything I can do to help?"
"What hardship? From my position, it's a blessing."
"Brother Edford said you two were involved?"
Edford was so not my type. And he was too dense to understand even a polite rejection.
Please don't interfere with my sweet romance plot!
I shook my head.
"No way, even if the sky falls."
She looked at me with a still-worried face.
"I looked into your fiancé. Viscount Vicente is a 70-year-old man, and he's in dire straits financially too, apparently. I heard he borrowed a fortune using his title as collateral. And his temper is said to be brutal and cruel."
"That's different from what the Queensguard Count told me."
"We're far from the capital, so information lags here."
She made a pitiful expression.
"It'd be nice if you could marry a fine man like I did."
There was a hint of bragging disguised as concern.
Reading her true intentions, I smiled brightly and said,
"Don't worry. I trust my choice."
A weakling like the Queensguard Count wouldn't gamble on a 'sham marriage' without knowing information even his daughter did.
"So naive and worldly-unwise."
Helen still smiled kindly.
I returned a similar smile.
Refuse the marriage and die, run away and die—when all paths lead to death, betting on fate is the only option.
"You'll soon be heading to the ducal residence in the capital too, miss? Could you pre-write an invitation in your name for me?"
"Why? Besides, you can't even read the formal language used in invitations."
"In case I need to seek help, so I can meet you secretly."
"I'll write it in everyday language for your sake."
Having a sample of Helen's handwriting would come in handy someday.
In truth, I could read and write the formal language.
Playing dumb and innocent helps in many ways.
People let their guard down around easy marks, revealing weaknesses and true faces.
As she stared at me and smiled, writing out the invitation to hand over—
Knock knock—
A servant entered, announcing that soldiers sent by Brigadier General Vicente had arrived.
Edford loitered near the luxury vehicle, eyeing the uniformed soldiers.
'The old coot marrying Cynthia isn't here, I guess.'
Edford sneered slightly.
'Cynthia's right to accept the marriage—she's such a gold-digger. Wonder what her reaction will be when she learns the truth.'
Edford imagined Cynthia coming to him in tears, begging.
Soon, he approached a young man in a long coat.
The rank insignia was hidden by the coat, but being at the front suggested he was a direct subordinate of Brigadier General Vicente.
"I guess the Brigadier General didn't come?"
At Edford's question, the young man quietly looked down at him. He was tall and well-built.
'A soldier? He looks like a gigolo.'
The refined man brushed back his platinum blond hair and smiled faintly.
"Which Brigadier General?"
"The highest among the staff officers, so..."
"Ah, the Chief of Staff."
The man said it without enthusiasm.
Feeling an odd pressure, as Edford opened his mouth to speak—
A middle-aged man in uniform stepped out of the car.
'Is that old guy Cynthia's marriage partner?'
Not in his 70s, but still at least thirty years older.
Edford felt both defeat and triumph as he looked back at the pretty boy.
"Why the informal speech? I'm about to be the Chief of Staff's brother-in-law, the man you serve."
Edford puffed up with pointless pride.
In the current post-war era, high-ranking military officers held great influence and social status.
'This guy's at best a fresh-commissioned officer or NCO.'
Edford smirked triumphantly at the expressionless man.
"It'll definitely be a remarriage, so he'll have to be polite to the wife's family."
"It's not a remarriage."
The man shook his head while removing his gloves.
His luxury watch hinted at wealth, and the cufflinks on his sleeves looked expensive too.
As Edford found it odd—
"You've arrived."
The middle-aged man saluted stiffly toward them.
Seeing the salute directed at him, Edford's shoulders puffed up.
"See that? Even the staff officer salutes me politely, and you dare..."
But the middle-aged man's solemn gaze wasn't on the smug Edford—it was directed elsewhere.
"Colonel Reib of the Northern Command. Snowfall was particularly heavy in the area, causing a slight delay in snow removal. Please understand generously, Chief of Staff Masera del Vicente."
Behind the platinum blond young man called 'Chief of Staff', a path cleared of snow piled as high as a person's waist stretched out.
All the way into the distant horizon.
