Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 74: Cracks in the Heart

A massive black dragon with a wingspan of dozens of meters let out a deep growl as it soared swiftly through the skies, its powerful movements stirring violent gusts of wind.

Reclining lazily on a cushioned seat atop the dragon’s broad back was a woman in a striking red dress. Her delicate, fair fingers toyed absentmindedly with her silky black hair as she gazed off, lost in thought.

“Your Highness, just ahead is the entrance to the ruins,” came the voice of a small black cat suddenly leaping to her side, speaking in human language.

“The object Duke Tyrius mentioned should be hidden in the deepest part of the labyrinth.”

“I understand,” Yveste replied coolly, snapping out of her reverie.

Surrounding her on the dragon’s back were the gathered subordinates of the Augusta Estate, ready to undertake what seemed to be a daunting mission.

As the endless mountains and dense forests below raced past, Yveste remained silent.

On days without combat, her subordinates rarely spoke to her unless necessary, limiting their conversations to mundane topics like, “What would Your Highness like to eat today?”

If that guy were here, things wouldn’t feel so dull, she mused.

This was the third day since she had left the estate.

As for the deadline agreed upon by Lynn and Duke Tyrius, five days had already passed.

How were things progressing?

With his ability, she thought, he must have raised tens of thousands of gold coins by now.

For some reason, a faint smile played across Yveste’s lips.

In the pale morning light, Lamonta hurried towards his workplace at the carriage depot.

As a devout follower of the War God, Lamonta believed strongly in responsibility, holding that a man should be the pillar of his household.

Though not wealthy, his work unloading goods at the depot earned him a few silver coins each month, which he used to provide the best life he could for his wife and children.

Despite being in a rush, Lamonta took a slight detour to pass by Municipal Square.

Over the past few days, he had developed the habit of making this extra stop, driven by nothing more than a faint curiosity.

He wanted to see if those twelve donation boxes were still empty.

Lamonta expected the square to be just as quiet as the previous days, with no one around at such an early hour.

But to his surprise, as he approached, he noticed a massive crowd gathered, their numbers so dense that the square was completely packed.

What’s going on?

His curiosity piqued, Lamonta abandoned his plans to head to work and moved toward the square instead.

The air was filled with the chaotic murmur of strange discussions, further fueling his need to find out what had happened.

With his strong physique, Lamonta pushed his way through the throng, sweating from the effort, until he finally reached the front.

Wiping his brow, he glanced toward the center of the square—and froze in shock.

The sight of the twelve empty glass donation boxes he had expected to see was gone.

In their place was a startling scene:

The donation box marked with the “Slann Sect” emblem, which had previously been relegated to the corner, was now prominently displayed at the very center of the square.

Beneath it was a high pedestal, elevating it above the other eleven boxes like a victor on a podium.

The box stood out sharply, exuding a clear and undeniable prominence over its competitors.

But that wasn’t what left Lamonta speechless.

What truly shocked him was the sight of the once-empty Slann Sect donation box, now filled with a dazzling pile of golden coins.

Each coin bore the visage of Saint Roland I, a symbol of genuine, pure gold currency.

How immense a fortune must it be?

Lamonta had never in his life seen such a staggering pile of gold coins, let alone imagined what it might be worth.

But the donation box made it clear: 20,000 Saint Roland gold coins!

Why?

Why was it the Slann Sect—a group so inconsequential in Orne City, long suppressed and ostracized by their rivals at the War God Cathedral—that had amassed such a fortune?

He couldn’t understand.

At the same time, he noticed something else.

Was it a coincidence?

The War God Cathedral’s donation box, still conspicuously empty, had been placed right next to the now-elevated and gleaming Slann Sect box.

Due to the Slann Sect box’s lofty pedestal, the War God Cathedral’s container appeared particularly pathetic in comparison.

A faint feeling of shame began to creep into Lamonta’s heart.

Just then, a cheer erupted from a distant crowd gathered near the city’s official notice board.

Lamonta strained to catch their conversations and managed to piece together the contents of the new announcement:

“Starting today, all devout followers of the God of Earth, who have been adherents of the Slann Sect for three years or more, will be recognized by the City Council as Honored Citizens. This designation is in gratitude for the Slann Sect’s outstanding contribution to the relief fund for disabled veterans. Honored Citizens will enjoy tax exemptions and other benefits...”

“Boom!”

Lamonta felt as if his head had exploded.

Why them?

Everyone in Orne City knew about the rivalry between the War God Cathedral and the Slann Sect.

Yet today, those at the bottom of the so-called “faith hierarchy” had suddenly risen to prominence and seized the limelight.

Looking at the small group of jubilant people near the notice board, Lamonta even recognized a few of them—colleagues he had publicly mocked for their faith in the Slann Sect.

Now, the banner on the donation boxes felt glaringly ironic:

“Let’s see which faith is the kindest and most generous.”

Just days ago, the answer had been uncertain.

But as of today, the answer was unequivocal:

The Slann Sect was the kindest and most generous faith!

When all other churches chose silence, it was the Slann Sect that stepped forward with an astonishing act of generosity.

To ordinary citizens, the deeper political or noble motivations were invisible. They could only perceive what was on the surface, and that surface told a clear story:

The Slann Sect was the hero.

This narrative would soon spread, passing from mouth to mouth, and within days, it would engulf the entire city.

Looking back at the War God Cathedral’s embarrassingly empty donation box, Lamonta felt a pang of guilt.

Lowering his hat brim to hide his face, he quickly fled the square amidst the chaos.

And he wasn’t alone.

Scenes like this were unfolding all across the square.

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