I'd Do Anything for My Villainess Niece
Riding in the carriage I'd practically wrenched from the main house, I headed back to my workshop—my home base.
"Heh heh."
A third-rate villain's chuckle slipped out of my mouth unbidden.
I could pretty much guess what was going down at the mansion right about now.
Kasdia must've picked another fight with Liriet, tried to get rid of the dolls, and then fainted or bolted like her heels were on fire when a swarm of illusory bugs burst out.
In the original story, Kasdia had severe mysophobia.
She especially hated bugs with a passion that bordered on phobia.
Once, when a tiny cockroach appeared in the kitchen during a brief visit, she had all the kitchen fixtures cleared out and ordered a full bug extermination.
"Ah, too bad I couldn't see it myself."
It would've been perfect if I'd added a recording function to the dolls.
But no way could I stick something that harsh on the dolls I gave Liriet.
Next time I visit her, I'll have to ask for the play-by-play.
"Perfect weather."
The breeze fluttering outside the carriage felt so refreshing that a smile bloomed on my face.
I even started humming absentmindedly.
"Let's see..."
Basking in the cool wind, I decided to sort out my thoughts.
A rapport with Liriet was more or less established.
So, solid start.
The issue was the direction from here.
She might seem like she'd opened her heart on the surface.
But deep down, she was probably still wary of me.
A simple gift offensive wouldn't be enough to heal all the wounds her heart had accumulated over the years.
Oden, that old man is key.
That's why my first idea was to somehow link Oden and Liriet as master and disciple.
Liriet's biggest problem was her self-esteem.
In the original story, with Kasdia and Abel constantly picking on her, by the time she entered the academy, Liriet lacked confidence in everything except swordsmanship.
Even her sword skills—she didn't have the self-assurance to match her talent.
And that was because Abel was her benchmark.
Liriet's talent outshone Abel's, if anything, but Abel had excellent teachers and family backing, allowing him rapid growth.
By fifteen, per the original description, he had no peers his age and few among seasoned swordsmen who could match him.
And that Abel was arguably the greater source of evil than even Kasdia.
Using his early-blooming skills, he'd drag Liriet out for spars at every opportunity.
And use them as excuses to lay hands on her.
Kasdia, being cunning, avoided physical scars for the most part.
Just the occasional whipping on the calves under the guise of discipline.
But Abel was different.
It got worse once he came of age and Edmund, the family head, started wasting away from depression and frailty.
And Abel's reason for tormenting Liriet stems from that. Fix it early, and I can rein in his villainy.
Abel was the typical noble antagonist in a romance fantasy.
Arrogant, spoiled, looking down on everyone.
But he had grounds for it.
Especially why he could grind Liriet down so relentlessly: he believed himself far more suited as the next Argent head, while she fell short as an Argent heir.
What if Liriet's skills blossomed early, overwhelming Abel?
At least he wouldn't treat her the same way.
He wouldn't suddenly fawn "Little sis, little sis," but I could make him back off at least.
And the first card I needed for that?
The Sword Saint himself: Oden Craig.
"Master probably brought that old coot along. If so..."
They were always glued together at drinking parties.
So my best move was obvious.
"Sorry, but could you stop here for a bit? I need to grab some booze for Master."
"Yes, sir!"
Soon, a village came into view. I instructed the coachman to halt.
Eastwood.
Not a big place, but renowned for brewing thanks to its pristine water and mild climate.
Guess I'd have to empty my wallet today.
But it was spending for my niece, so let's go big.
"You little shit! You dare leave the workshop door wide open?!"
The moment I arrived, a thunderous scolding flew at me, and I regretted coming at all.
Unlike Gilbert's salt-and-pepper hair,
this was pure white, with deep wrinkles underneath.
And that nose—so huge it reminded me of the big-nosed goblin in my subspace.
No, even the goblin's was better.
At least it wasn't that furious hook nose.
"Sorry, Master. I was in a rush and forgot."
I bowed to my master, Godwin Lowell, and apologized.
Busy or not, leaving without securing the door was my fault.
"Tch. Quick to apologize, as always."
"I do own up fast to anything."
"It's not a virtue, you fool!"
Well, it kinda is.
How many idiots out there can't even say sorry properly after screwing up?
Anyway, the piercing gaze from beside the fuming master drew my attention, so I turned that way.
"Duke Craig, you're here too. Long time no see. I hope you're well."
Oden Craig.
Like my master, nearing seventy, yet keeping lustrous golden hair.
A handsome... no, handsome senior citizen?
Where Godwin looked like a cranky old corpse,
Oden embodied dignified maturity fitting his age.
And one of the Silberion Empire's four great dukes.
In the story, duke was either hereditary or, rarely, bestowed by the emperor alongside an epithet for great renown.
This man was one such: Heavenly Sword Duke, Oden Craig.
"Indeed, long time. You've changed a lot—brighter vibe."
"Have I?"
"Yeah. Finally got yourself a girl?"
"Haha, no chance. What woman wants a shut-in bookworm?"
I wagged my pinky at him teasingly.
"Tch, thought you'd improved, but the lame jokes remain. At your age, go crash and burn with women."
"Sadly, I lack your popularity, Duke."
"True, I made a few cry back in the day."
Strutting with puffed chest, he seemed like a potbellied middle-ager embellishing nonexistent heroics.
But terrifyingly, it was fact.
Not just story mentions—a photo I'd seen of his youth screamed romance-fantasy heartthrob.
Enviable as a man, sure.
But hearing he got stabbed by a jealous lover? Nah, I'm good.
Harems aren't easy.
"Congrats, by the way. Heard from your master you hit 7th Circle."
"Yeah, somehow."
"'Somehow' reach 7th Circle? Heh, you'd plunge the continent's mages into despair."
Not wrong, but hearing it from the monster who hit 8th Circle at thirty? Awkward.
"In front of you, Master, I'm three generations behind."
"Really? He was singing your praises nonstop on the way here."
"Pardon?"
Who, me? That old geezer?
No way.
Never heard praise from him since becoming his disciple.
Even at 6th Circle, he scolded my excitement: "Crawling baby, what's the fuss?"
That heartless fossil praised me?
I glanced at Master in disbelief,
"Praise? My ears going too, now?!"
He snapped at Oden with fury.
"Strange. Who was it saying we needed a grand feast?"
"Just an excuse to drink! Don't fabricate!"
"Hmm. Wasn't it 'Impressive beating Mephisto's disciple'?"
"That was hating the hag's antics!"
Mephisto's disciple... ah, current Magic Tower Lord Belial.
Genius who hit 7th Circle fastest after Master.
Well, now it's me.
Got a weakness—time to tease.
Rare chance to rib the old man.
I grabbed his hands with teary-eyed gratitude and wailed,
"Master...! You cherished me all along!"
"Quit the act, punk! I don't hold hairy paws!"
"Wahhh... I know, this is a master's boundless grace...!"
I magicked tears and clung; he pried me off like a leech, grinding his teeth.
"Argh! Oden, this fool's lost it...!"
"Lost it? Nice master-disciple bond. He'll carry your coffin."
"No need, punk!"
"Grumpy old goat. Don't you know a true disciple's your blessing? I'm jealous."
Mid my cringey act, Oden's words sparked an idea.
Can't miss this.
I swiftly pulled out the booze crates from subspace.
The two geezers gawked, eyes wide.
"W-what's this, punk?"
"All booze?"
"Obviously. Stopped at Eastwood on the way to treat you both."
Eastwood.
A name no boozer forgets—they lit up.
"Eastwood!"
"Great stuff there. But this much? Cost a fortune. Godwin maybe, but me?"
"Friend of Master's is like Master to me. I've owed you—drink up, no worries."
I uncorked bottles, magicked ice into the pricey whiskey glasses, poured, and served.
They roared with laughter.
"This kid's a real man now! Right, Godwin?"
"Damn straight! Knew his talent from day one—world-conqueror material! Tsk tsk!"
Was it?
I recall him clicking his tongue: "Rookie, learn to walk first. I'm no wet nurse."
Anyway, throats bobbed; fine whiskey vanished. I refilled quick, sidled to Oden, and whispered,
"Duke Craig. Got something to discuss—mind?"
"What? Mood's good—shoot."
Felt like a lounge madam.
But for the greater good.
"Ever thought of taking a disciple?"
All for my niece.