The Second Princess Never Expected That One Day She Would Rise To Power By Bluffing Her Way Up - Chapter 2

Half a month was more than enough for Cornelia to familiarize herself with the factional forces within Feilanning.

The tavern was the stronghold of the underground city’s syndicate.

Initially, it was an organization formed by oppressed locals banding together for survival. Later, through sheer violence, they seized control over the slums’ power structure. Now, they have become the slums’ de facto rulers, engaging in loan-sharking, protection rackets, kidnappings, and extortion…

By the time the Papal State’s pursuers stormed into the tavern, the place was already deserted. The captain of the guard spat in frustration after a fruitless search and led his men outside to continue the hunt.

In the tavern’s underground chamber, ghostly candlelight flickered across a long table where two figures sat facing each other. The one on the left was none other than the “heretic witch” they were searching for—Cornelia.

She unwound the layers of linen scarves covering her face, revealing features starkly different from the locals—deep violet hair, amethyst eyes, and a beauty suppressed by ferocity now making its presence known.

How does one manipulate existing forces to serve their purpose when starting with nothing?

Her dear brother Lelouch had already set the example. All she had to do was follow his lead.

“The Papal State’s men have left, but the sword at our throats hasn’t moved an inch.”

Cornelia lowered her voice, her tone distant, as if speaking from somewhere far away, “Are you content to spend your lives hiding like rats in the shadows, never seeing the light?”

Across from her, Bruton, the leader of the underground city, slammed a dagger onto the table and scowled, “Enough of your damn nonsense. Spit it out—what scheme is Lambert plotting now?”

The entire slum held no goodwill for the Lambert family. Their weakness and inaction had allowed the Papal State’s plundering to run rampant. The hostility in the chamber was so sharp it could pierce Cornelia’s chest.

Cornelia half-lidded her eyes, toying with a smooth crystal sphere in her hands.

It was a decoration from the chamber’s shrine, which she had casually taken. The transparent orb spun and drifted in her palm, its center always facing upward, as if suspended in midair.

Bruton stared, momentarily fooled by the simple trick, almost convinced she possessed a witch’s magic. Was she some Eastern sorceress the Lamberts had kept hidden?

He began to seriously consider her proposal. “What does Lambert want?”

Cornelia feigned solemnity. “You’ve heard the weeping in the slums, haven’t you? Rescue the girls who were taken.”

Bruton gaped at her, and murmurs of surprise rippled through the room. Since when did Lambert care about the lives of the poor?

No—wait.

He frowned. Rescuing so many girls would inevitably mean a bloody battle. How was that any different from driving the Papal State out of Feilanning?

“So he wants to expel the Papal State, huh?”

Well… if you put it that way, Bruton, sure.

She gave him an approving, suggestive look. “Feilanning has been under the Papal State’s thumb for years. Many things are known to be wrong, yet we’ve had no choice but to comply. Lord Lambert wishes to drive out the leviathan, but he alone cannot cast the net wide enough.”

Bruton’s eyes flickered with conflict. “Why should I trust that bastard? He’s arrested so many of our brothers. Unless he’s willing to release them!”

Cornelia smiled. “Lambert’s blade will never turn against his own children. They will be freed.”

Bruton’s sneer froze. Not just his—whispers erupted from the shadows beyond the candlelight.

After a long hesitation, he made his decision. “Fine. If he releases them, we’ll take the deal.”

Cornelia exhaled in relief. These people were far easier to manipulate than the rebel forces in Area 11.

By nightfall, Cornelia returned to the inn. The Papal State’s men had long since left.

“Euphy… my Euphy!” Yata wailed in the courtyard.

Cornelia hated the sound of crying—it reminded her of another time, another place, of her sister Euphemia’s death.

Yata was usually fierce and unyielding, quick to beat up any punk who dared leer at her daughter. But now, all she could do was weep.

Cornelia’s brow furrowed, “Will your tears bring Euphy back?”

Yata turned, startled.

The girl she had once mistaken for a mute stood behind her, her tone leaving no room for argument—like a noble issuing orders, yet carrying even greater authority, “Do you want to save Euphy? If so, dry your tears and help me with something.”

Yata stared at her in disbelief. If this girl could help her rescue Euphy, she’d kiss the devil’s feet.

“What do you need me to do?”

“You mentioned Euphy’s fiancé has an older brother who works as a servant at Lambert Manor?” Cornelia paused, “Contact him. Get me inside.”

Lambert Manor was a delicate little castle, its slender white pillars supporting broad arches. Stained glass windows filtered the harsh sunlight, and golden reliefs of angels cast gentle, mournful gazes.

Ferdinand Lambert, head of the Lambert family, dozed in an armchair, a goblet pinched between his fingers. Hearing footsteps, he didn’t bother looking up, merely tilting the glass, “Half an ounce.”

The sound of liquid pouring followed.

Ferdinand took a sip—then immediately spat it out. Thick, metallic, and foul. Blood.

He jerked upright, only to see a violet-haired woman in servant’s garb sitting across from him, legs crossed, as if she owned the place.

Before he could speak, Cornelia struck first, “I heard you seized your family’s leadership from your own brother. Now, I’m starting to doubt that story’s credibility.”

Her attire marked her as slum trash, yet she spoke flawless Old Latin, her posture poised and elegant. The way she looked at Ferdinand—amused, as if lounging in her own garden—unnerved him.

Ferdinand was so stunned he forgot to call for guards, “Who are you?”

Cornelia smiled and dropped a bombshell, “Your savior.”

Ferdinand snapped back to reality and scoffed, “Save me? From what?”

Cornelia propped her chin on her hand, “A day ago, the Papal State arrested every girl in the slums under the pretext of hunting a heretic witch. In truth, it was to extort their families into buying indulgences. But how much coin can lowly rats squeeze out to sate a leviathan’s hunger? Once it’s devoured all the small fry, guess who’s next?”

Ferdinand’s gaze turned icy and sharp.

Cornelia sensed the killing intent, but the fact that he still hadn’t summoned his guards was a good sign.

“The Papal State does as it pleases in Feilanning. Every silver coin they steal is carved from your flesh.” She picked up a nearby bottle of wine, poured it into the goblet, swirled it with elegant fingers, and inhaled its aroma before murmuring, “I’ll hazard a guess—you don’t like others coveting what’s yours, do you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have wrested control from your brother.”

The Lambert family’s internal strife was no secret in Feilanning. What shocked Ferdinand was how this foreign woman, dressed as a servant, carried herself like a queen, “Who the hell are you?”

Cornelia had been waiting for this question, “The Watchmen of the underground city are my syndicate. Though you’ve arrested many of our people, I believe there are no permanent allies—only permanent interests.”

Ferdinand’s heart raced. No permanent allies, only permanent interests. Such a cutting phrase, coming from a woman’s mouth!

And it was true—he had endured the Papal State’s abuses for too long. This might be his chance.

“Your words are sweet, but nothing in this world is free.” He feigned indifference, “What do you want?”

Cornelia’s lips curled. She had once driven Area 11’s bureaucrats mad with her inscrutable smile. Now, she wielded it again, “Release all the arrested Watchmen.”

“What’s in it for me?” Ferdinand asked shrewdly.

“If the plan succeeds, you’ll become Feilanning’s true ruler. If it fails, you lose nothing.”

“This deal is risk-free for you, isn’t it?”

Ferdinand grinned, “Deal. But if you’re lying, you’ll die painfully.”

With Ferdinand’s help, an anonymous tip found its way to the Papal envoy’s residence in Feilanning.

The letter claimed that a heretic had infiltrated the merchant ships docked at the port—and was plotting against the Papal State.

The young envoy’s eyes gleamed with excitement and bloodlust, “Mobilize all guards! I’ll capture this heretic myself!”

His loyal captain hesitated, “This letter is suspicious. You shouldn’t risk yourself. Let Lambert’s men—”

A slap cut him off. Juan snarled, “Shut your mouth! Since when do you question me?”

The captain didn’t dare argue further, clutching his cheek as he retreated.

Two hours later, the Papal State’s forces marched en masse toward the port.

It was the largest harbor in the Apennines, where merchant ships from across the world docked. Silk, porcelain, spices, and tea from the East; ivory from Arabia; jewels from Persia—precious goods flowed through here, fueling Feilanning’s prosperity.

With thousands of ships at anchor, Juan sneered, “Arrest every ship’s captain. Interrogate them one by one.”

But those who could afford merchant fleets and overseas voyages had powerful backers. Conflict erupted instantly, neither side willing to yield.

As Juan grew impatient, a guard suddenly whispered, “There—a heretic woman!”

He whirled around. Deep in the night, a slender figure peeked out from an alley—violet hair, violet eyes, her face illuminated by distant torchlight. She smirked, a bewitching sight unlike anything he’d ever seen.

She flipped him off. Though he didn’t understand the gesture’s meaning, she wouldn’t escape, “Seize her!”

Without waiting for his guards, he gave chase. Just a woman.

Cornelia darted nimbly through the alleys. Her plan was to lure Juan into a trap, capture him alive, and use him to force the Papal State to withdraw from Feilanning—or at least free the girls.

Juan pursued relentlessly until, in a darkened alley, flames suddenly blazed to life. Only then did he realize most of his guards had fallen behind.

Cornelia stopped running and turned leisurely, snapping her fingers. Dozens of figures emerged from the shadows.

After securing the Watchmen’s release, she had earned their trust.

“Our guest of honor has arrived,” she declared.

The Watchmen didn’t hesitate. They brawled with the Papal guards.

Though less disciplined, they had numbers on their side.

“Agh—!” A scream tore through the night.

Cornelia’s eyes narrowed. A Watchman had thrown a dagger, only for an agile guard to dodge—and the blade sank into the chest of the man behind him.

Blood bloomed across Juan’s torso, staining his clothes crimson in an instant.

Damn it! These idiots ruined everything!