The Second Princess Never Expected That One Day She Would Rise To Power By Bluffing Her Way Up - Chapter 3

Seeing Juan fall to the ground, everyone was stunned.

Their plan had been to capture him alive—only with Juan alive could they have leverage to negotiate with the Papal State.

But now he was dead. This unexpected turn threw the members of the society into disarray.

Just as they were at a loss, a woman’s sharp voice tore through the night, “Kill them!”

It was Cornelia. She was the only one who remained clear-headed, “If we let them leave alive, we’ll all die!”

The bewildered society members found their anchor in her words and raised their blades against the still-dazed Papal State guards.

By the time the Papal State captain arrived at the scene, all that remained was a field of corpses. A deafening “boom” echoed in his ears, his scalp nearly splitting from shock. But after inspecting each body, he let out a long sigh of relief—Juan was not among them.

“Notify the Lambert family and request their assistance in searching for His Highness Juan’s whereabouts.”

“Send word back to the capital: His Highness has been taken by rioters. Request reinforcements from the Tribunal.”

The “rioters” who had taken Juan had already retreated to a small tavern. While they attacked the port, Bruton and other society members infiltrated the palace and rescued some of the abducted girls, including Yata’s daughter, Euphy.

However, the girls couldn’t stay in the slums—they had to leave the city as soon as possible.

All eyes turned to Juan’s pale corpse lying on the long table.

Bruton was furious, “Who told you to kill him? Now what do we use to negotiate with the Papal State?”

The society members fell silent, their hearts pounding at the thought of the Papal State’s possible retaliation.

It was then that a calm female voice spoke up, “It’s just the death of a spoiled young master. Why panic?”

Everyone turned to see Cornelia leisurely filing her nails with a small knife. Their racing hearts suddenly steadied.

Bruton, like a drowning man clutching at straws, asked, “You have a plan?”

Cornelia sighed.

Pathetic. If this were the Black Knights under Lelouch’s command, they would’ve already come up with a hundred ways to fix this. How could they be so panicked?

“The Papal State doesn’t know Juan is dead yet. They’ll hesitate to act recklessly.” she said, her violet eyes curving like crescents, filled with a confident smile. “We still have time to turn this around.”

But the Papal State’s response was far faster and more ruthless than expected.

The slums were surrounded once again. This time, black-clad soldiers conducted house-to-house searches, their white shirt collars peeking out from their uniforms, adorned with brass military insignias—a cross-shaped greatsword pinning a serpent amidst thorns.

Residents whose doors were kicked open initially wanted to curse, but they fell silent upon seeing the insignia.

“It’s the Tribunal!”

“The Papal State has unleashed this vicious wolf!”

The Tribunal was the Papal State’s institution for hunting heretics and judging political enemies—Leviathan’s sharpest claws. They combed through the streets of the slums, interrogating everyone and handcuffing anyone who seemed suspicious.

Yata’s small inn was no exception. When the Tribunal stormed in, she was washing clothes in the courtyard and nearly overturned the wooden basin in fright.

“Y-you…!” She tried to scare off the intruders with her usual bluster, but she recoiled in terror when one of them drew a short-barreled pistol.

In the entire Apennine continent, only the Papal State’s elite forces were authorized to carry these new-model firearms.

“How… how may I serve you, honored sirs?”

The lead knight surveyed the inn, “Have you seen any suspicious individuals?”

Yata forced herself to shake her head despite her fear.

The knight pulled out a list and found the name “Euphy.”

“Your daughter was taken by His Highness Juan. On the night of the port attack, a group of rioters stormed the palace and rescued her. How dare you claim you know nothing?”

Yata waved her hands frantically. “I don’t… I really don’t know anything!”

The knight didn’t give her a chance to argue. With a wave of his white-gloved hand, he ordered, “Take her away!”

The black-clad soldiers swarmed forward, twisting Yata’s arms behind her. She struggled desperately, but then a figure burst out from the kitchen, slamming into the knight restraining her.

“It’s the heretic witch!”

Cornelia hadn’t planned to expose herself so soon, but a dangerous idea had just occurred to her.

Lelouch always favored luring the enemy in deep—perhaps I can borrow his tactics.

She moved like a tiger when she knocked the soldier aside, but once the men focused on her, she raised her hands to avoid being shot on the spot.

She gave Yata a reassuring smile and offered no resistance as the soldiers handcuffed her. The knight she had shoved earlier, humiliated, swung his hand to slap her.

Cornelia’s eyes turned icy, but before the blow could land, a pale, slender wrist intercepted it.

From her angle, Cornelia could only see the soldiers’ panicked faces—they stood rigid, like deer caught in a lion’s gaze, “V-Vice Chief!”

Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

Sounds like a big shot.

The “big shot” stood in the shadows, as detached and out of place as a shadow himself. His voice, surprisingly young, was cold as he spoke, “The Tribunal’s duty is to investigate cases. Do I need to repeat that?”

The knight whose wrist he had seized paled and stumbled back.

Freed, Cornelia studied the man carefully. He wore a black military coat that reached his ankles, its collar fastened with double rows of brass buttons. His silver insignia hung from the brim of his tricorn hat, casting a shadow over his face and obscuring his features.

His icy gaze fixed on Cornelia, “A foreigner?”

The knight seized the opportunity, “Sir, she’s a heretic woman—she might be connected to His Highness Juan’s disappearance…”

The Vice Chief’s voice was low and pleasant, yet the knight trembled under it, “Do you have proof?”

“N-no.”

The Vice Chief turned back to Cornelia, “Three days ago, between six in the evening and midnight—where were you?”

A warrior’s instinct told Cornelia this man was dangerous.

“I was hiding,” she said, half-truthfully. “My face makes people think I’m a heretic. I didn’t want trouble.”

The Vice Chief, “Can anyone vouch for you?”

Cornelia sighed, “When you’re hiding, do you announce it to the world?”

The Vice Chief turned his face toward her, his shadowed eyes like shards of ice.

Cornelia forced a placating smile, “It was an abandoned basement, very remote. If you don’t believe me, I can take you there.”

The Vice Chief ignored her sarcasm and addressed the others, “Any findings from the search?”

The soldier he addressed gulped, “None.”

The Vice Chief gave Cornelia one last piercing look before turning and walking away.

Because of the Vice Chief’s intervention, Cornelia’s plan failed—and worse luck was yet to come.

In just one day, over a dozen society members were captured.

“Damn it, it’s the Vice Chief of the Tribunal!” Bruton muttered in the tavern’s underground hideout, “That devil!”

Cornelia rubbed her neck, “What has he done?”

Bruton didn’t want to elaborate, but a young man nearby with a lion-like mane of short hair quietly explained:

“The Tribunal is the Papal State’s most notorious institution. They answer only to the Papal family—they’re Leviathan’s private army. Their Vice Chief, Leinster, is a man who stands above heretics and devils. Wherever he goes, rivers of blood follow.”

The young man, named Shulya, was a core member of the society, a blacksmith by trade. After his older sister—who had raised him—was taken by Papal State soldiers as a witch, the target of his hammer shifted from cold iron to living flesh.

Bruton was unusually agitated, “If even the Tribunal is involved, the Papal State won’t let this go easily.”

Cornelia massaged her temples in frustration.

The Tribunal hasn’t even done anything yet, and this guy’s already losing his nerve.

It’s not the godlike opponent you should fear—it’s the piglike teammate.

“Do you think the Tribunal enjoys handling trouble?” She yawned behind her hand, her violet eyes glinting, “They’re making such a big scene just to give their masters an explanation. Let’s give them what they want.”

Bruton scowled, “You make it sound easy! The Tribunal’s interrogation methods are infamous for their cruelty. What if someone breaks under torture and talks?”

Cornelia examined her nails under the light, “Then let them talk.”

If a flood was inevitable, the best course was to dig channels beforehand—to direct the deluge where they wanted it.

When the Tribunal came knocking again, Cornelia found an excuse to send Yata away. She strode out boldly.

“Are you taking me in for questioning?” she asked casually, “Let’s go.”

The Tribunal members were stunned.

The lowly scum of the slums usually fled at the sight of them—this was the first time someone had surrendered willingly. The woman stood composed, her sweeping gaze like a general inspecting her troops.

Cornelia was led to a carriage—a massive iron cage on wheels. Once its doors and windows were locked from the outside, it became an impenetrable prison.

This was the Tribunal’s transport for dangerous heretics, its walls supposedly anointed with holy water to purify a witch’s evil. Cornelia had initially suspected it was some kind of poison, so she licked a bit off her finger as she stepped out.

Tasteless. Probably just plain water.

Then she looked up and met the horrified gaze of the lead knight, offering him a friendly smile.

The interrogation room was in the palace dungeons.

The stone steps were steep, illuminated by torches on either side. From the depths of the darkness came faint screams, like the cries of a dying beast.

The “witch” was granted a private cell, where a massive hardwood cross stood, tall as a man. Cornelia was bound to it, facing red-hot branding irons and saltwater-soaked whips. Her usual smirk faded slightly.

“I know what you want to ask,” she said. “I’ll give you answers—but only if I speak to your Vice Chief.”

The interrogating knight scoffed, “A lowly wretch like you doesn’t deserve an audience with the Vice Chief!”

Her demeanor unsettled him. She held her head high, like a martyr in church frescoes.

“Some secrets bring promotions. Others bring death.” Cornelia said with a cryptic smile, “Which kind do you think yours is?”

The knight paled, then flushed with anger. How dare this madwoman make him uneasy?

“Enough of your nonsense!”

He raised the saltwater whip, its lash hissing toward Cornelia like a serpent. She clenched her teeth and shut her eyes—

But the pain never came.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a black-gloved, pale hand gripping the whip.

A familiar voice spoke coldly, “Leave this to me. Get out.”

“Yes, Vice Chief…”

The heavy iron door clanged shut. The shadowed figure turned, and the thin light from a high window fell across his face.

Cornelia finally saw him clearly.

Unexpectedly, he wasn’t some monstrous figure. He was young—no older than Euphy in another world—with ivory-pale skin, striking features, and rare ice-blue eyes. His voice was like cracking ice.

“Speak.”

Cornelia had prepared her lies, but something about his face reminded her of someone from her past.

“I had a brother… He liked hiding in the dark too, as if he didn’t belong in the light.”

The cell fell silent. The man removed his gloves, staring at his bare hands.

Cornelia snapped back to the present, “I know what you want to hear, but I’m not involved in what you’re investigating.”

“Seven days ago, simultaneous attacks on the port and the palace. His Highness Juan vanished at the port, while girls held in the palace were rescued. Clearly, the two groups coordinated.”

His voice was steady, emotionless, “Captured society members confessed they smuggled the girls out under orders from a foreign woman.”

“That woman is you, isn’t it?”

Lying to those eyes wasn’t easy. They were like Lake Baikal—deep and still, reflecting the complexities of the world.

Cornelia only hesitated for a second before readily admitting it.

“It was me.” she said, half-truthfully. “But those two things you mentioned had nothing to do with us. We were only responsible for getting the girl out of the city. The real mastermind was someone else.”

The man watched her silently.

“I don’t know who that person is, but he approached us suddenly that night, saying he had a way to rescue the girl—on the condition that we cooperate with their operation.” Cornelia said. “Not just this time, but also… in the future.”

The man lifted his eyelids slightly.

“‘In the future’—those are interesting words,” he said coolly. “You truly don’t know who they are?”

Cornelia couldn’t be too explicit and could only speak vaguely. “They carried the scent of the sea and spices. I’d guess they came from a spice-trading ship. Also, the man had a tattoo on his wrist—the part I could see looked like a mountain peak.”

The man’s gaze sharpened, clearly connecting the spices and the mountain tattoo to something.

Cornelia added, “If the Papal States search the spice-laden merchant ships, they might find something.”

The man neither confirmed nor denied it.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say?”

Cornelia hesitated. She didn’t have many bargaining chips and didn’t dare reveal everything at once.

“No one wants to oppose the gods. All our struggles are just to survive.” She said. “The whale’s enemy is the eight-armed sea demon—why fixate on the bugs in the gutter?”

“Even bugs, when they swarm in the thousands, can bite hard enough to hurt.”

The “eight-armed sea demon” was the emblem of the Wester family, a city-state in Strolo. The secret society active in the Strolo region was called the “Hidden Mountain Society” and their mark was none other than the mountain-peak tattoo.

Unfortunately, the Wester family, which held a strategically advantageous position, had long been at odds with the Papal House of Leviathan.

The man remained unmoved.

In the next instant, he drew the short flintlock pistol at his waist and pressed it against Cornelia’s forehead, asking once more:

“Anything else to say?”