The Aristocrat's Methods

This was precisely what Lynch had mentioned in his reply letter to Duke Vane.

On the two previous occasions when he had been invited to receptions by Princess Chloe, Mrs. Maggie and little Martha had inadvertently revealed a touch of envy. It was then that he realized people of this world held a unique sentiment toward such events hosted by nobility.

Over the past month and more, the landlady had taken wonderful care of him—far beyond what was normally expected between a landlady and a tenant. Although he knew the underlying reason, he still wished to repay her kindness.

In the past, his words carried no weight; making a request would likely be ignored or even invite humiliation. But after the Norin-Rhine Railway incident, Lynch was confident he held a certain significance in the eyes of Rhine City's upper echelon, especially Governor Vane. If he made a harmless, non-essential request, the other party would surely grant him some face.

Sure enough, the specially issued invitation had been delivered to the apartment today.

It was just that Mrs. Maggie's reaction was a bit... subtle.

Her faint lasted only a fleeting moment before the landlady came to her senses. Yet upon waking, she didn't utter a single word of thanks. She merely gave Lynch a profound look and accepted the invitation as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

In fact, she immediately embraced little Martha in sheer excitement, screaming at the top of her lungs and spinning around in circles, completely abandoning her usual reserved and understated composure.

Then, the two of them began chattering animatedly about what to wear.

Commoners attending a ball had no need to pursue extravagance. Looking underdressed invited ridicule, while dressing above one's station invited trouble; as long as the attire was decent and lovely, it was enough.

And so, Lynch watched the two blonde ladies, one tall and one small, conversing rapidly in what sounded like a bizarre dialect. Lynch understood every single word... no, he didn't understand a single word. He felt it had to be a language from the Mythological Era.

【It is not.】

Thank you, Interjection Man.

Immediately afterward, Lynch was booted out.

“You can't even offer an opinion, so don't stand around getting in the way! What, do you want to watch ladies change, too? Shoo, shoo! Don't come back for a while. We'll head over ourselves this afternoon, so you're not allowed to follow us, nor are you allowed to act like you know us. Just come back on your own tonight.”

With that, Lynch was shut out the door, looking utterly bewildered.

What on earth? Has this lady suffered mysterious contamination? This reaction is a bit bizarre. And is your precious daughter really skipping school today? Who was using me to scare her just a moment ago?

However, he soon realized Mrs. Maggie's thoughtful intentions and shook his head with a smile.

Accepting the kindness and holding the gratitude in her heart, yet not wanting to affect me—so she simply seeks to maintain the status quo?

Tsk, I feel like I'm walking further and further down the path of a scoundrel, with no turning back.

But that was fine. Before entering the ball this afternoon, there was still an important matter to attend to—an appointment he had made.

Time to collect a debt. It was high time an old score was settled.

Lynch found an available hired carriage at Charles Square. Now that his pockets were lined, he naturally wouldn't mistreat himself. What respectable person rides in an open carriage? If one is going to ride, it has to be a box carriage.

Lynch climbed into the carriage and headed straight for Iris District, the area in Rhine with the heaviest aristocratic atmosphere.

Rhine was a metropolis built of metal and solid stone. Its towering, magnificent buildings, gloomy and cold tones, and crowded masses never failed to evoke a sense of oppression.

Except for Iris District.

The moment one entered Iris District, the filthy, pungent stench vanished completely. The area was filled with warm, lush greenery, and rare vegetation stretched as far as the eye could see, making even the air feel refreshingly crisp.

Lynch felt a touch of emotion. With such a widening disparity, how could tensions between the nobility and commoners not escalate?

But that was a matter for the future. For now, at least, it could be suppressed—after all, this was a world filled with deities and mystery, not the actual Victorian era.

The Valente estate remained as it always had been, though the flowers in the garden had grown even more lush. When the gatekeepers, gardeners, and servants saw Lynch, each offered well-mannered greetings. People welcomed him, but no one guided him; once the greetings were over, everyone returned to their own tasks, leaving Lynch to make his own way inside.

Never mind the others, but without that old man who pulled out a gun to blow off heads at the drop of a hat watching him from the side, Lynch actually felt a bit unaccustomed, wondering if he had taken a wrong turn.

However, he soon spotted the old Mr. Louis he had been thinking about. The octogenarian butler had snow-white hair and beard, yet his posture was straighter than Lynch's. Carrying a small briefcase, he walked out of the mansion behind another figure.

“Good morning, Mr. Lynch. It appears you intend to head straight to the ball shortly.”

They were already quite familiar, yet this young lady remained as polite as ever. Lynch didn't dislike it, however, finding it rather charming instead. But her next words left him thoroughly bewildered:

“I wonder if you have made up your mind over the past few days?”

“Hm? Made up my mind about what?”

“Sigh, you are attending a ball, not a dinner or a reception.” Miss Valente covered her mouth with her folding fan, her curved eyes gleaming with teasing amusement. “Have you truly never wondered why it is called a ball?”

Neighbor above, this girl has learned to tease people now too. Wait, what does she mean?

A jolt went through Lynch's heart, and his expression shifted. Miss Valente chuckled softly and nodded. “That's right. One is meant to dance at a ball. So... have you decided which lady you will invite for the first dance?”

Holy crap, there's another massive trap here? This is a damn death sentence of a question.

In an instant, Lynch felt a chill run down his spine, cold sweat beading on his forehead.

He knew a few dances of this world, and although he wasn't good at them, still... Must I really die tonight no matter what?

Although it was only for a fleeting moment, seeing the conflict on Lynch's face caused a flicker of melancholy to flash through Miss Valente's eyes. However, she quickly regained her usual gentleness and let out a soft sigh. “Allow me to offer you a suggestion. The opening dance of this ball will certainly be led by Her Highness Princess Sophia, and as for her partner... from any perspective, you are the most qualified to invite her.”

“Hm? Me?”

“Who else? Don't forget what you did the day before yesterday. Although on the surface it was the maid Fia, there are no fools among the upper echelon; they all understand what truly happened. Therefore, as long as you step forward, no one will have the standing to contend with you for the first dance. Her Highness Princess Sophia will certainly agree—not only because you saved her, but also because you can help spare her the awkward dilemma of choosing a partner. His Grace the Duke will also support you, as this prevents certain internal conflicts from escalating.”

Lynch took a deep breath, marveling that whatever experience he had gleaned from movies and TV dramas was, in the end, merely superficial. Those who truly rolled in the mire of politics—regardless of age or gender—had long integrated calculated interests and scheming tactics into every single action of their daily lives. Only this silly girl was still foolishly looking out for his interests.

For a moment, Lynch lowered his gaze slightly, avoiding eye contact with her.

“Are you certain I'm not employing tactics of my own? Truly masterful methods aren't about keeping people from seeing through them; they're about ensuring that even when people see through them, they have no choice but to accept them dutifully.” As if reading Lynch's thoughts, the noble lady narrowed her beautiful eyes, an elusive smile playing at the corners of her lips as she spoke leisurely. “Sometimes, making someone feel guilty works better than any weapon and produces miraculous results. Don't you think so?”

“So you see, never underestimate any high noble. People like us are steeped in cold, sordid calculations from the depths of our souls—more venomous than any mystery.” Yet right after saying this, Miss Valente clenched her fist, raised it, and murmured softly, “However, winning through underhanded means that she wouldn't even comprehend is a disgrace. I refuse to win that way; I will defeat her fairly and squarely.”

Lynch opened his mouth, staring at Miss Valente's smiling face without a word to say.

“Let us be off, Mr. Lynch.” By the time he snapped back to reality, the noble young lady had already turned toward the carriage, waving her folding fan beneath the morning sun. “Time for revenge.”

Lynch let out a dazed sigh and hurried after her, only a single thought in his mind.

This girl is so damn bloody adorable.