Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Fienne's Pursuit of Maturity
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Fienne held her patience.
Fienne had never once made an effort to manage her appearance throughout her life.
It was an undeniable fact, though anyone who had laid eyes on the real "Lily of Dalora"—the subject of rampant rumors in Bondalles lately—would never believe it.
During her days wandering the streets after being chased out of the orphanage, she lacked the means to care for her looks, so she didn't bother.
After awakening to her True Ancestor identity, she had no reason to, so she didn't.
Her body, possessing a sublime dignity, always maintained its peak condition.
Even without bathing, her snowy locks gleamed silky as satin.
Her alabaster skin gained even greater elasticity with the passage of time.
Time itself seemed to bow in servitude, praising her very existence.
"..."
Recently, Fienne had picked up a new hobby.
Standing before the mirror and passing the time. In other words, grooming her appearance.
Don't other girls do this too?
No particular reason.
That was Fienne's claim, but the reality was different.
"Do I really seem that childish...?"
Fienne acted as if she didn't mind Rishir treating her like a child, but in truth, it gnawed at her deeply. Her heart as a girl was that complicated—capable of enslaving anyone regardless of age or gender, yet treated like a kid by the one man who truly interested her.
"At least my looks aren't the issue..."
Fienne was convinced of that without truly knowing it was the key. How could she know? The man in question had awakened memories from his past life as a modern human, making his standards for "rationality" far stricter than the world's norms. That her appearance qualified as a "proper lady" by common measure, but to Rishir, it prompted a "Tsk, got any ID?"
"...Still, that guy's eyes are like knotholes—" Even so, Fienne was willing to concede a little. The problem lay with that man, not her. Fienne felt a sense of mission: only she could correct his warped sense of rationality(?). Thus, Fienne took an interest in makeup to grasp the essence of "adult allure."
The result? Failure.
-I don't get it, I just don't!!!
-How do you even touch perfection like that?! Where do you start?!
The women at the adventurer guild whom she'd asked for makeup guidance wailed like mere artists beholding a masterpiece. -...I-I might need more practice. Even "Two Faces," a silver-rank adventurer and maestro of makeup who had driven countless men to despair after shared nights, snapped her brush in defeat after attempting it. So Fienne turned her attention elsewhere. To attire. Judging purely by results, this too was a failure. -Miss, you'd look stunning in anything! W-why not just go nude!? No garment in this world could outshine your body! -Don't go! Please, please wear my creation!!! These were the tailors renowned in Bondalles, boldly displaying their own names. Artisans brimming with near-arrogant pride: "I choose who wears my clothes—not the customer!"
They were so honored merely by Fienne's interest that they nearly convulsed. With every outfit she tried, it was nothing but effusive praise like "So incredibly beautiful, utterly perfect"—what was she supposed to learn from that? So Fienne shifted focus yet again. To demeanor. Fienne sought out Bondalles' courtesans. -"What business does the 'Lily of Dalora' have with me?"
High-class prostitutes who catered exclusively to nobles, in hopes of learning "adult allure" from them.
-Miss, you're too beautiful...
-With you, I'd abandon this life and start a family...
-Miss!!! Please! I-I'm rich! For you, I'd bed any man!!! All my money is yours!!!
-A noble promised me a mansion for one night!!! It's all yours!!!
She seduced them instead. These women, who held sway over nobles through base desires, forgot all about teaching allure and instead begged to become Fienne's slaves. It was the inevitable outcome of her flawless beauty amplified by the inherent seductive power of her very being. Thinking about it, it was absurd. A being that embodied seduction incarnate, seeking to learn "adult allure" from ordinary humans. Like a predator prowling among prey for hunting tips. Fienne suddenly realized the core issue she faced. The only man capable of seeing her as "just a kid" in this world was Rishir. Thus, the only one who could point out flaws and suggest fixes was also Rishir.
"Annoying."
Even so, Fienne refused to give up. She experimented before the mirror: makeup, practiced inflections and gestures, tried on accessories and garments. All under the singular resolve to enslave that man. Yes. This was purely to repay the humiliation he'd inflicted—not, under any circumstances, an attempt to win his favor. Fienne convinced herself thus and spared no effort across every avenue. ...This was part of those efforts. Fienne absolutely refrained from using mental interference. Bloodsucking was off-limits too. Because she'd promised him: no harm to him or any human.
"Fienne. Make some time for me today~ Or I'll seriously switch guilds?"
"Can't we hire Fienne? She's nominally affiliated with this adventurer guild, isn't she? If you keep stonewalling like this, I'll have no choice but to reconsider my investments."
Never approach the Dalora counter.
Ever since Fienne's identity as the "Lily of Dalora" began quietly spreading through Bondalles, all manner of vermin had swarmed the Dalora guild where she worked.
Adventurers and clients begging for audiences with barely veiled threats.
Fienne felt an unbearable disgust upon first encountering them.
But she later learned: they were the tame ones.
"Hey, Fienne. Make time for me today?"
"...I told you never to show your face again."
"Cut the dumb act. You come to me, and I won't darken this place's door, got it? Quit playing coy. Sneaking around, skimping on words like some 'hidden noble.' Think I don't see through it? You're a commoner. Yeah? Background's all dug up. This is just business for cash, right? So come peddle yourself to me. Can't wrap your head around something this basic?"
As dusk fell and Fienne headed home, the man invariably appeared.
Tord.
Publicly the master of the Poaton Mercenary Guild, he was in truth an executive of the massive crime syndicate dominating Bondalles' north side.
When courting Fienne, he boasted of his grandeur; when rebuffed, of his menace.
"..."
From inquiries via high-class prostitutes, Fienne confirmed Tord's words were no bluff.
His organization's sway over the city was formidable—rumors swirled of ties to city councilors, so even prominent nobles handled him with kid gloves.
For an unaffiliated guild receptionist with no real backing, it went without saying.
"This push-pull game's gone far enough. I like a spirited girl, so I humored you. But push it further? If you wanna stick around Bondalles, better know your place. While I'm still playing nice."
Tord cornered her, smug in his awareness of the imbalance.
'Pathetic.'
Yet the receptionist had already verified he couldn't resist her mental interference.
The one whose life could shatter in an instant, should she will it, was the crime boss—not her.
The fact consoled Fienne.
It also frustrated her more.
She'd promised him: no mental powers on humans.
Fienne dreaded Rishir's contempt far more than disdain from this lowly pest.
"Tomorrow, we'll talk on better terms."
Her innate allure still held sway.
The base criminal, enslaved by lust, refrained from crossing that final line.
And so the True Ancestor dismissed the vermin unscathed.
To soothe her pent-up frustration, Fienne headed to the mage tower.
Gazing at Rishir lying there in peaceful repose eased it somewhat.
But the vermin returned the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
And the one after.
Compounded by Rishir's ever-lengthening absence.
Until one day.
The decisive trigger hit, forcing Fienne to confront how dire her state had become.
First trigger.
"When the hell are you waking up? Get up and spout your usual nonsense already... Gasp! What am I even saying?"
She missed Rishir's drivel.
Second trigger.
"You bastard—"
"Hey, fuck off! Who the hell are you to her!?"
A brawl between adventurers at the guild.
Fresh blood after so long.
Thump!
The stress piled higher awakened urges she'd long suppressed.
At least it was a mercy.
The blood right before her stirred no immediate craving.
It was merely the spark.
A spark conjuring one man's face.