Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 181: Your Proposal, I Reject It!

When the notification of the plot deviation reduction echoed in Lynn’s mind, he was overwhelmed with seething anger and profound disappointment.

At this moment, he gripped Yveste’s delicate hand as though it was his last lifeline, pressing it firmly against the wall with all his strength.

The betrayal felt unbearable, almost driving him to the brink of madness.

Before his arrest, he had repeatedly emphasized: Trust me.

After all they’d been through, he thought they’d developed at least a basic sense of understanding.

And yet, he believed their relationship had surpassed that of mere subordinate and superior.

But this foolish, self-righteous, and arrogant woman had unflinchingly chosen the path favored by the world’s will, shattering his plans entirely.

It felt like working tirelessly, smiling at both bosses and clients all day, only to come home to find your wife showing off a brand-new $20,000 handbag. It was enough to make anyone’s head explode.

Taking a deep breath, Lynn tried to steady himself.

The fury wasn’t solely because the plot deviation reduction might jeopardize the Witch’s future; it was also rooted in Yveste’s lack of trust in him.

It was a strange thought.

His loyalty was to the Witch, and yet Yveste’s “betrayal” filled him with agitation.

His grip unconsciously tightened.

“Lynn, you’re hurting me…” Yveste’s soft voice trembled, her red eyes glistening with tears as though she were pleading.

It was a rare sight—the normally dignified princess acting as if she were pouting.

Though Lynn’s anger had reached its peak, her words caused him to hesitate. He instinctively loosened his grip.

But when he saw the sly and teasing glint in her eyes, his frustration surged anew.

A Sixth-Rank Demigod complaining of pain from a mere Second-Rank’s grip? What a shameless liar!

“Yveste, you…” His fury reignited, Lynn firmly pressed both her shoulders against the wall.

This time, his voice was cold and laced with suppressed rage.

“Can we not have even the bare minimum of trust between us?” He locked eyes with her crimson gaze, his fury barely contained. “Or is it that you never intended to trust me from the start? Hmm?”

Lynn’s expression was darker than she had ever seen, his frustration palpable.

Even when he had previously cornered her with the truth about the Witch or used death as leverage, he had never lost his composure. His confidence had always been unshakable, like a man in control of every situation.

But now, for the first time, he was unraveling, his calm exterior shattered.

“Answer me!” He shook her shoulders as her long black hair, previously tied neatly, fell loose over her shoulders, making her look more vulnerable than ever.

In this reversal of roles, Lynn now appeared to hold the upper hand, reprimanding the royal princess as if their positions had swapped.

Such an exchange would have been unthinkable under normal circumstances.

After a prolonged silence, Yveste sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She lifted her head to meet his gaze.

Though she often held the upper hand, Yveste understood their bond had long since transcended that of master and servant. Her feelings for Lynn ran deep, more than she cared to admit.

That’s why, even as he pinned her to the wall with an almost disrespectful gesture, she didn’t feel anger.

In fact, she felt… touched.

Such an emotional outburst could only come from someone who cared deeply.

Noting the raw sincerity in his frustration, she softened her teasing demeanor.

“Of course, I believe you can handle this,” Yveste said with a faint smile. “As my most brilliant and adorable subordinate, how could you lose to those vermin?”

Raising her hand, she gently caressed his cheek.

Lynn froze for a moment. “Then why…”

“Give me a kiss, and I’ll tell you,” Yveste said playfully, her cool, slender finger resting lightly on his lips.

His barely subdued rage flared again. “Yveste!!!”

“I’m joking,” she said, withdrawing her hand with a light chuckle. “In truth, it’s because I believe in you completely that I made this choice.

“I know you’ll rise to the challenge and resolve this matter.”

Lynn stared into her crimson eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he lowered his voice. “Why?”

If she believed in him, why escalate things to this extent?

It wasn’t surprising that Lynn felt so shaken. After all the effort he’d put into raising the plot deviation, a few seemingly minor choices had caused it to plummet. Anyone would feel defeated.

Seeing his confusion, Yveste’s smile softened. “Release me first… don’t worry, I won’t run.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Lynn let her go.

Now free, Yveste adjusted his slightly disheveled collar with the meticulous care of a devoted wife.

Then, with a gentle voice, she continued, “I suppose I’ve been an unqualified leader. I’ve repeatedly placed you in danger, leaving you battered and bruised each time.

“If not for someone’s reminder, I might not have realized it.”

The Night Before, Bartleon Estate

“Three days to solve the case?” Yveste’s tone was icy as she sat in the reception room. “Who suggested such a ridiculous demand? I’d like to question them personally.”

Barely back in the capital, with no time to even complete the handover of the Night Sentinels, they were already using this to accuse Lynn of dereliction of duty.

The atmosphere turned cold and oppressive.

Sensing her anger, Fourth Prince Joshua placed his teacup down calmly.

“Sister, taking it out on me won’t help,” he said with a faint smile, adjusting his glasses. “This was the unanimous decision of the Council elders, not my idea.

“Though I don’t particularly like your subordinate, rest assured, my fifth-place ranking in the succession means I have no authority over them.

“Even if Felit himself intervened, the outcome wouldn’t change.”

It was an open secret: the Council sought to weaken Yveste’s influence through any means necessary.

Blame lay with her formidable, innate power, which made her both admired and feared.

Hearing this, Yveste inhaled deeply, trying to quell her frustration.

Every time she returned to Glostein, she was enveloped by the same sense of powerless rage.

Rules and order—chains she could never escape.

Joshua chuckled lightly, his confidence unshaken. "Well, in that case, I’ll skip the suspense."

"Aside from solving the Grafting Butcher case within three days, the Imperial Council has given you another option.”

“Heraemius’s Tomb. Surely, you’re familiar with it?”

At the mention of the name, Yveste’s pupils contracted slightly.

She hadn’t expected this—after her discussion with Shirina earlier, Joshua had brought it up directly tonight.

It felt like a vast net had been woven around her, closing in and cutting off all avenues of retreat until she was utterly ensnared.

“Because of the tomb’s unique nature, they believe it’s unwise to continue expending valuable resources on exploration. Instead, they’ve decided the task should be entrusted to someone with the expertise to handle such matters: you, dear sister.”

“After all, you’ve always played that role.”

“You can treat this as an exchange, or simply as a commission.”

“In return for personally going to Heraemius’s Tomb, regardless of whether you succeed or not, they promise not to threaten your subordinate’s life again.

“Furthermore, the Council will lift the restrictions on the Bartleon family’s influence, allowing them to return to the military.”

“It’s an appealing deal. I hope you’ll give it serious consideration.”

Joshua, as the head of the Saint Roland Research Institute, had a keen interest in the secrets of Heraemius’s Tomb. Solving its mysteries could address several urgent issues.

He was eager for the Imperial Council to force Yveste’s hand.

As his words hung in the air, a heavy silence fell over the room.

Joshua remained composed, sipping his tea leisurely. He was certain Yveste wouldn’t reject such a carefully laid-out proposition.

But after a moment, the woman across from him let out a soft laugh.

“Apologies, but I refuse.”

Yveste casually tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her demeanor almost lazy.

Joshua’s brow furrowed sharply, disbelief etched on his face.

Could the intelligence be wrong?

Did this woman truly not care about that man’s safety?

His hand clenched involuntarily.

“Why?” he asked in a low voice. “Could you share your reasoning?”

Yveste’s response was calm yet firm: “The reason is simple.”

“I promised to trust him.”

“Just for that?” Joshua’s tone betrayed his incredulity.

“Is that not enough?” Yveste frowned, as if genuinely puzzled by his reaction.

Now it was Joshua’s turn to fall silent.

It was clear he hadn’t overestimated their bond; rather, he had grossly underestimated the depth of their mutual understanding.

“If you have nothing else to say, you can leave,” Yveste said curtly, issuing a cold dismissal.

Joshua sighed softly.

He hadn’t wanted to resort to this, but it seemed he had no other way to sway her.

If not for his infuriating older brother, Felit, approaching him with cryptic remarks earlier, he might have been entirely out of options.

When Joshua had asked Felit for his reasoning, the answer had been maddeningly simple:

“Because it will be entertaining.”

With that, Felit had walked away, leaving Joshua both exasperated and intrigued.

"Still standing there? What are you waiting for?"

Yveste’s impatient tone snapped Joshua back to the present.

“Wait, sister,” he said, exhaling deeply. “Before I leave, I have a few more things to say.”

“Speak.” Yveste’s focus remained on her slender fingers as she responded nonchalantly.

“You seem to place extraordinary trust and reliance on Lynn Bartleon,” Joshua began, his tone calm yet probing. “And time after time, he has met your expectations flawlessly.

“It’s an enviable relationship, really.”

Though her expression remained neutral, Yveste’s mood brightened ever so slightly.

But then Joshua shifted his tone.

“Think about it—everything he’s done has prioritized your safety and that of those around you above all else.

“As if, so long as you’re unharmed, nothing else matters to him.”

“For instance, during Duke Tyrius’s banquet, do you truly believe he acted out of uncontrollable rage when he shot the Mosgra heir? Or was it to protect you while seizing an opportunity to ally with the Elector Count?”

“Or the Wishing Jar riot. No one knows how he survived, but it’s clear he endured far more than he let on.”

“And that night in the Council Hall—anyone could see he acted to establish your authority. Even if it meant risking execution for publicly killing Eunice, he went through with it.”

“His actions have brought retaliation from the Mosgra family and condemnation from the Imperial Council.”

“And when he was found at the murder scene, didn’t he have a deep wound near his heart? One that, if only slightly deeper, would have been fatal?”

“Who do you think did that? Assassins hired to suppress his rising brilliance? Or something else?”

Yveste froze, her hand mid-motion.

“What are you trying to say?” she asked, her voice strained.

“I’m saying that perhaps he could solve the Grafting Butcher case in three days.

“But his methods won’t change.

“So even if he succeeds, it’ll likely involve extraordinary risks.

“He’s so accustomed to sacrifice that he doesn’t even realize it anymore—it’s become second nature.”

“And you, sister… You’ve come to depend on him so much that you’ve turned a blind eye to this, treating him as if he can solve any problem without consequence.”

“This twisted dynamic of mutual dependence… isn’t it terrifying when you think about it?”

By the time Lynn came back to his senses, Yveste had already freed herself from his grasp and stood a short distance away in the corridor.

Because she cared, she had made this choice.

Rather than see him take on further danger, she would shoulder the risks herself.

Besides, she had her reasons for visiting Heraemius’s Tomb—it was key to removing the cursed sigil on her face.

As a Sixth-Rank Demigod, her margin for error was far greater than that of a Second-Rank Extraordinary.

“Whether you’re angry or frustrated, it’s done,” Yveste said with a soft smile. “Don’t worry. It’s just a tomb. I’ve handled far worse since I was a child. Everything is under control.”

You’re lying.

The Lie Eater ability stirred, and Lynn immediately sensed the falsehood in her words.

Not only that, but an unfamiliar vision flashed through his mind—a moonlit room, a sorrowful woman shedding a silent tear, as if conveying an unspoken plea.

What was that?

Pressing a hand to his aching head, Lynn felt lost in this sudden memory. But now wasn’t the time for distractions.

As someone who had read the original storyline, Lynn knew Heraemius’s Tomb was a deathtrap. It wasn’t supposed to surface at this point in the timeline.

The only explanation was that the world’s will was manipulating events, guiding Yveste toward a preordained fate.

Without the Wishing Jar’s core characteristics, she hadn’t entered her dormant state.

The narrative correction force was now leading her into another trap.

Heraemius’s Tomb.

No matter how prepared she might be, Lynn could already foresee countless complications arising once she entered.

And those complications would culminate in one inevitable result: Yveste falling into slumber once again—aligning with the original story’s trajectory.

As soon as Lynn noticed the plot deviation correcting itself again, a realization struck him. If Yveste had truly acted on her earlier impulses, the Imperial Council wouldn’t even need to use him as leverage to force her hand. They could have openly held her accountable and sent her to Heraemius’s Tomb anyway.

That was the first sign of the narrative forcing its way back on track.

The second had just occurred moments ago—when Councilman Blake publicly announced Yveste’s decision to take on the mission to Heraemius’s Tomb.

But in the gap between these two events, what exactly had he done to delay further deviation?

The answer was simple.

From the beginning, the Imperial Council had provided two options:

1. Solve the Grafting Butcher case in three days.
2. Have Yveste personally enter the tomb.

Yveste, in her effort to protect him, had eliminated the first option, playing directly into the Council’s hands.

Thus, the solution was equally straightforward.

When Lynn came back to himself, Yveste was gone, likely giving him space to accept the outcome as a foregone conclusion.

After a brief moment of silence, he stepped forward and exited the Enforcers’ Headquarters.

Outside, he saw Princess Shirina speaking softly with Xiya and her subordinates. Across the street, Yveste and Eleanor stood near a waiting carriage, both watching for Lynn.

Councilman Blake, flanked by his attendants, was descending the stairs at a leisurely pace.

At that moment, Lynn alone stood at the topmost step of the Enforcers’ Headquarters, his gaze sweeping over everyone below. His demeanor was calm, though his mind was clearly at work.

“Ah, what a perfect resolution,” came a familiar voice behind him.

It was the late-arriving Fourth Prince Joshua, his tone laced with satisfaction.

To him, everything seemed to be progressing exactly as planned.

After all, he and Lynn were natural enemies. Previously, Joshua had used his sister Eleanor as an experiment, extracting copious amounts of her blood. And now, he was eager to see Yveste weakened, making her an ideal scout for Heraemius’s Tomb.

As for her safety? Despite their familial ties, the royal family’s bonds were notoriously cold. Joshua, like many nobles, secretly hoped Yveste would perish in the tomb.

With a slight smile, he moved to pass Lynn, descending the stairs.

“You seem quite pleased with yourself,” Lynn said suddenly.

Joshua paused mid-step, glancing back.

But Lynn didn’t spare him another look, shifting his focus elsewhere.

“Councilman Blake, a word.”

Lynn’s voice carried, immediately drawing all eyes back to him.

Blake, who was about to board his carriage, paused, frowning slightly as he looked up at the black-haired youth.

This elevated position, where Lynn gazed down at him, irked Blake immensely.

“Lynn Bartleon, is there something else you need?” Blake asked curtly.

Even Princess Shirina stopped her conversation, her confusion evident as she turned her attention to the scene.

Yveste, however, felt a pang of unease. A bad feeling crept into her heart as she instinctively started toward Lynn, only to hear his voice ring out again.

“Has the Imperial Council’s proposal been formalized into a contract?”

Blake’s brow furrowed imperceptibly. It was true that such agreements, particularly one involving someone like Yveste, required a binding contract. Neither side trusted the other enough to rely on mere verbal promises.

Given the time needed to prepare such a contract, Lynn suspected the proposal was still only a verbal arrangement.

And he was right.

Blake spoke after a pause, “The contract was scheduled to be finalized in three days. If you’re in a hurry, we could—”

“No hurry at all,” Lynn interrupted, shaking his head from his elevated position. “In fact, the proposal is so riddled with flaws that I can’t accept it.”

“You can’t accept it?” Blake’s eyes narrowed with disbelief. “If you refuse, you’ll be required to solve the Grafting Butcher case within three days.

“And failure will result in unprecedented consequences for you—severe enough to warrant the death penalty for dereliction of duty as a Night Sentinel.”

“Fine. I accept,” Lynn replied without hesitation.

Blake’s expression shifted. For the first time, he sensed the situation slipping out of his control.

His voice turned cold. “Think carefully. The Council has set a strict three-day limit.”

This was meant to intimidate Lynn into backing down, ensuring Yveste would take on the tomb mission.

But the young man above laughed loudly, his voice echoing across the square.

“Three days? Councilman Blake, you underestimate me.”

“What do you mean by that?” Blake asked, frowning deeply.

Lynn smirked. “What I mean is… this case can be solved right now.”