A Villainess pulled out the Sword instead of the Hero.

  

After returning from the holidays, Morgana was shown to Guinevere’s room as promised.

 

The spacious room was a far cry from her previous guest room, and the white and gold color scheme made it seem even more opulent than it was.

 

Morgana rose at the crack of dawn to change the flowers in the vase as instructed by the maid.

 

‘The vase has jewels in it, too, doesn’t it?’ 

 

The vase was doubly heavy. At least it couldn’t be stolen.

 

It was too big and too heavy to sneak out without being seen.

 

After waking up, Guinevere lay on the long couch with her arms crossed and rubbed her bruises.

 

Was she sleeping with her eyes open…?

 

Morgana asked, placing a vase on the table,

“My lady, if you’re bored, shall I bring you some refreshments?” “No, don’t bother. I’m not going to die without refreshments.” 

She shifted in her position on the couch, glanced at the vase Morgana was holding, and asked, 

 “You seem to like the vase. You can have it.” “What…? No, you can’t just give me this expensive thing for nothing!” 

Was I looking at the vase too greedily?

 

That’s how greedy people are, even with all that money.

 

Spreading her arms out in a gesture of disclaiming possession, Morgana’s expression was grim.

 

She spoke with the graciousness of someone who had been liberated from her greed.

 “I’ll take your heart, my lady. I have nowhere else to put the vase.” “You could sell it and make a fortune. Someone gave it to me. I don’t remember.” “Can, can you give me a gift?” 

Guinevere looked bothered by the whole thing.

 

Normally, she was not rough and tumble in terms of her feelings.

 

In a sense, she was frank.

 

Guinevere lay back and covered her eyes with one arm.

 “Something similar will come in any way. Don’t look at their flattering gifts for long.” 

There was a hint of irritation in her tone.

 

The maid of honor waiting beside her huffed and coughed, but Guinevere paid no attention.

 “The oracle. You’re all in a quandary over something that hasn’t even happened yet. Does it make sense to try to claim hold of my future husband?” “Well, it does.” 

As she spoke the answer out of habit, the maid’s coughing grew louder.

 “Ahem, cough, cough!” “Ah, no. But at least he’s a good enough swordsman to pull out the sword!” 

Guinevere let out a blood-curdling laugh as she changed the subject.

 “Yes, by the oracle, I am. It’s my life, and the gods have a plan.” 

She stretched her hands out roughly to the ceiling.

 

It was as if she had surrendered herself to time.

 “So if I give a vase to a maid, it’s not going to get cut down by the rebels.” “Cough, ahem!” 

The maid’s nervous cough was full of determination to somehow stop her words.

 

She’d choke on that. The maid decided that enough was enough, and she hastily interjected herself into the conversation.

 “My lady, let me begin with the schedule for the day. This morning, Count Mellowart Aestiva has requested to see you.” 

At the sound of his name, Guinevere gasped and jumped up from the couch. Her scowl was an unspoken rejection.

 “Mellowart? Tell him I refuse.” “He’s bringing a painting as a gift to apologize for his sister, Lady Marleau.” “The Count says he’s going to set up a gallery, and how many of those big paintings are there?” “This is the twelfth.” 

Twelve does sound like an effort.

 

On the continent, the number 12 was a sacred number.

 

The story goes that the goddess Coventina created twelve lakes to protect the continent, and they merged into the one lake that now holds Excalibur.

 

The site of the temple was said to be where the first lake once stood.

 

So, if anyone in the continent had to guess the number, it was often 12.

 

‘I didn’t think anyone would give 12 paintings.’

 

And if it was for Guinevere, it wouldn’t be from a mediocre artist.

 

‘He’s so obsessed that he would kidnap her…’

 

Goosebumps rose, and Morgana listened in on their conversation, needlessly nudging her shoulder.

 

Feigning diligence, I checked every corner of the room. The dressing room was a separate room from Guinevere’s.

 

It was a room Morgana couldn’t go into unless she had to, but it didn’t look like it would be easy for anyone else to get in either.

 

‘I’d rather not be anywhere near it right now.’

 

Morgana purposely finished cleaning up in plain sight of the maid and Guinevere.

 

It was early afternoon when she rested in her quarters.

 

Sobella bustled about enviously as Morgana lay in bed.

 “Morgana is lucky! She’s the Princess’s maid, so the other guests won’t be able to mess with her!” 

It was certainly more comfortable than serving only guests.

 

In the midst of the unseemly conversation, the corridor leading to the maids’ quarters was disturbed.

 “What’s going on? Suddenly…” 

A loud bang, a shout, and a rush of footsteps all in unison.

 “It’s the pair of green shoes. Find them now!” “Yes!” 

With a loud bang, the door to Morgana’s quarters was flung open.

 

A group of what appeared to be royal guards stared at the two of them as they rose from the bed with stern expressions.

 “There will be a search of your room from now on.” “Is something wrong?” 

Morgana asked, feigning bewilderment as the knights took her luggage.

 

They dusted off her bag, which contained only a few clothes, and handed it back to her.

 

No one could see the vial of herbs because it was a magic tool and only responded to her.

 

From Morgana’s bed to her dresser to her desk. 

 

When nothing came up, the guard finally answered,

“Lady Guinevere’s shoe is missing.” 

It had happened in the original story.

 

Morgana was investigated, but she wasn’t the culprit.

 

It was simply part of an episode in which Guinevere began to feel suspicious about the investigation.

 

‘I purposely didn’t go into the dressing room because I knew this was going to happen, and I cleaned in plain sight of the Princess.’

 

The culprit, it turns out, was a maid in another room who was greedy for a living and stole.

 “I found it!” 

In the knight’s hand, as he rummaged under Sobella’s bed, was a green shoe heavily studded with emeralds.

 

The gold-threaded embroidery glittered as if it stood alone, out of place in the room.

 

Sweat trickled down Morgana’s back.

 

‘Why did you come out of there…?’

 

It was the very shoe Guinevere had claimed to have lost.

 

Morgana wasn’t the only one who panicked.

 

Sobella shook her head in disbelief,

“It’s not me! I don’t know what happened, I swear!” “Then what are these shoes? Are you going to tell me they’re yours?” “They’re not mine! I didn’t bring them, and I’ve never seen them!” “Shut up and come with me!” 

Sobella finally burst into tears amid the menacing atmosphere.

 “I really don’t know anything, please don’t hurt me.” 

Morgana’s jaw dropped as she watched her being dragged away.

 

In the palace, the maids, who had heard Sobella’s commotion and seen her beating herself among the guards, realized what was happening and comforted her.

 “You’re scary, Sobella, I didn’t see it, but the girl has bad hands.” “I see. Were you jealous that Morgana was being taken directly to the Princess?” 

No, wait, that’s not true…?

 

Morgana slowly clasped her hands together, as if searching for a memory.

 

The location of the dressing room made it difficult for strangers to enter from the outside.

 

It was especially conspicuous to enter in daylight, especially if you weren’t one of the maids.

 

To steal it during her lunch break and hide it under the bed would have been too much of a distraction from Morgana.

 

‘No matter how much I think about it, Sobella didn’t steal it.’

 

It was just physically impossible.

 

The maids clapped their hands in the hallway, breaking up the clutter.

 “Did you all see that? Get back to your rooms!” 

The maids, comforted by the murderous atmosphere, quickly scattered.

 

Behind Morgana, who was still in the room, there was a loud tapping on the window.

 

She turned around to see a cassowary pecking eagerly at the glass with its beak, looking for a letter.

 

Quickly, Morgana opened the window and quickly unfolded the note.

 [Miss, it’s Raon, and as you requested, the VIP invitations were sent out today, and they should all arrive tomorrow. Can we open as planned this weekend?] 

It was about the VIP opening.