Knowing full well a tiger lurked in the mountains, he’d stride straight toward its den, chat and laugh with the tiger king inside the lair, even pluck a tooth from the beast’s jaws… This was Luke’s favorite way of operating.
So when invitation letters from noble ladies and madams arrived, he accepted every single one.
That said, there weren’t many—only five total.
Two were joint invitations from curious or admiring young noblewomen; attending those likely wouldn’t stir gossip.
This happened because that pink-haired scoundrel’s influence was simply too potent for most noble ladies to ignore.
Not in a million years would they dare move on the Hero before the Saintess… even if the king never intended to pair them.
But people varied—some timid, others utterly fearless.
Hence the other three invitations… though to Luke, it felt far too few.
Not because he was desperate or ruled by base instincts.
Rather, he feared that pink-haired scoundrel had only been observing before, and he wanted to create more openings for them to strike.
Fortunately, that pink-haired scoundrel was no gentleman—revenge demanded speed, precision, and ruthlessness.
“Lord Luke, how could you have agreed?!”
At dusk, Elise intercepted him. Hearing he’d accepted the invitations, the golden-haired elf maid’s face instantly twisted with exasperation.
“They extended such warm invitations—I simply couldn’t refuse,” Luke replied, refreshingly candid and utterly oblivious to the danger.
Seeing this, Elise’s heart ached. Abandoning politeness, she urged urgently: “After dinner, please leave immediately—do not linger!”
“Understood.”
“And watch the food for anything strange… avoid excessive contact with her…”
“No problem.”
Luke feigned careful listening. Once Elise left, he headed straight to the appointed place and followed the messenger to visit Lady Marie—the first who’d invited him.
Luke already knew her story: a forty-year-old widow. Her earl husband died when she was twenty, leaving her with a two-year-old. Facing schemers coveting the earldom’s wealth, she exhausted every wit, navigated treacherous factions, and carved out survival to protect the estate. But by the time none dared underestimate her, her youth had faded in endless intrigue. Her body, tainted through necessary alliances, felt irredeemably soiled. Even her son, whom she’d shielded fiercely, refused to understand her. She drowned sorrows in wine, descending into increasingly dissolute habits… Now, while others avoided offending the Saintess, she deliberately swam against the tide—as if determined to stain the world with her own corruption.
“A pitiful woman,” Luke murmured with a faint, anticipatory smile.
Outside the earl’s manor, the crowd told a different story. As the saying goes: good news stays home; scandal races far. Within hours, word spread through noble circles that Luke had accepted invitations from several notoriously scandalous ladies. Aside from lecherous nobles congratulating him on joining their “ranks,” most nobles—male or female—were deeply displeased. Fervent Saintess fans especially gathered outside Lady Marie’s residence, shouting protests through amplification magic. Lady Marie ignored them. Silently, she cast a soundproof barrier over the manor and posted guards at the gate—a clear declaration: she’d proceed with the Hero, consequences be damned.
Just as tensions peaked, Elise scaled the wall with three noble ladies in tow, slipping into the manor. Let’s be clear: this wasn’t Elise grasping Aelia’s “true will” to catch him red-handed… Though the other three intended exactly that, Elise only sought a chance to rescue Luke.
“No, no, Elise! If that Hero betrays Lady Aelia, don’t you dare help him!”
“Exactly! If he can’t resist a woman like Lady Marie, he’s unworthy of Lady Aelia!”
“Not unworthy—*unfit*! He’s her servant!”
The trio were self-proclaimed super-fans of Aelia, founders of the Saintess’s unofficial “Royal Guard.” Usually on good terms with Elise, they spotted her near the manor, guessed her plan, and followed. Knowing they’d cause a scene if left behind, Elise shepherded them past guards and detection magic into the second-floor balcony overlooking the hall where Lady Marie entertained Luke. After casting invisibility and silence barriers, the four peered down.
The moment they saw Luke at the table, the three girls erupted.
“How can that damn Hero smile so happily?!”
“He’s eating food from that seductress?!”
“Their hands touched! Agh! Why isn’t he pulling away?!”
Elise frowned less dramatically but felt deep frustration. *I warned him… why so careless?* (Could Lord Luke be under a mind-control spell?)
Truth was, mental magic *was* present—Luke sensed it the moment he saw Lady Marie. Extremely subtle, masterfully cast, disguised beneath a layer of blessing magic… Clearly not Lady Marie’s doing, but that pink-haired scoundrel’s. Dispelling it was easy—but would alert the caster. So Luke chose to fight fire with fire. Strictly speaking, the spell was reverse purification magic amplifying psychological darkness—not true mind control, yet similar in effect. But amateurs couldn’t match a specialist. The instant Luke layered genuine mental magic atop it, Lady Marie’s suppressed shadows erupted… Yes, you read right—he was deliberately fanning the flames. After all, “fighting fire with fire” needn’t mean counteracting it—
“Are you mocking me too?”
Lady Marie’s expression darkened sharply.
“Honorable Lady, I would never dare.”
“Don’t deny it!” She slammed the table. Her eyes plunged into abyssal depths. Her lovely face twisted into a grotesque mask. “Don’t think I don’t know your thoughts! You scorn me, call my deeds despicable? Laughable! Your vile acts far surpass mine in filth and treachery!”
“My deepest apologies.”
“Apologies? Can they restore what I’ve lost? You wretches—I demand your lives as atonement!”
At her command, guards flooded the room.
Upstairs, the eavesdroppers froze in shock.
“What?! Wasn’t this a seduction? How’d it turn into a fight?!”
Elise didn’t hesitate. She drew the Artemis Bow from her spatial ring, ready to carve Luke an escape path. But as she gathered energy for the arrow, a telepathic whisper drifted into her long, pointed ears:
“Please do not attack… I can handle this.”
