The Villain’s Charm and a Vendor’s Naivety

The Heretical Inquisition, having dropped Allen and Marianne off in the Lower City, then informed the de Laval family to retrieve them.

Allen couldn’t help but grumble, ‘Couldn’t the Inquisition have just sent us home directly? Why go to all this trouble, taking such a roundabout way?’

Of course, grumbling aside, Allen understood perfectly well the reason for the Inquisition’s seemingly superfluous action.

The Heretical Inquisition served as the Church’s sharpest blade, their very presence embodying the Church’s stance.

Should a carriage bearing the insignia of the Heretical Inquisition appear in the Upper City, many busybodies would undoubtedly embellish the story, twisting it into a provocation by the Church against the Royal Family.

Rumors, after all, were often spoken without malice but received with intent.

The kingdom, in its current state, was far from peaceful.

With all political factions taut as bowstrings, the Heretical Inquisition preferred to take the longer route rather than stir up unnecessary trouble.

‘The butler will probably take a while to get here,’ Allen remarked, stretching luxuriously, his bones emitting a soft crackle.

He surveyed the bustling Municipal Square, still teeming with people, and suggested, ‘How about we explore the area around here for a bit?’

Marianne gently shook her head, her dark hair brushing against her somewhat pale cheeks in the breeze.

She lifted her crimson eyes, fixing them on Allen with a gaze so clear it was almost disconcerting.

‘I would rather not have our ‘date’, young master, meticulously recorded by a crowd of onlookers.’

‘A date?’

Allen nearly choked on his own saliva.

‘Could merely strolling around truly count as a date?’

‘Don’t underestimate dates, Marianne!’

‘Dates are supposed to be thrillingly sweet, making one’s heart flutter!’

‘Especially your yuri date with Livia!’

‘The mere thought of those two beautiful girls leaning happily against each other purified Allen’s sinful soul.’

‘The girls’ nascent affections were not born of humanity’s ugly desires, but of pure love!’

‘Pure yuri is the true essence I seek!’

‘What? You ask if yuri couples who know each other intimately can still be considered pure yuri?’

‘As a fundamentalist yuri enthusiast, I merely wish to state that—’

‘All impure yuri relationships are an abomination that should be consumed by heavenly fire! Aaaahhh!!!!’

‘…Ahem!’

‘Please don’t misunderstand, everyone. I am not a yuri fan.’

‘I am merely a gentleman dedicated to preserving the purity of human affection.’

Allen, feeling a touch guilty, stole a glance at Marianne.

The little maid’s cheeks seemed to be tinged with a faint blush, likely at the mention of the word ‘date’.

That earlier, almost pathological fervor had miraculously vanished, leaving her looking docile, obedient, and even a little bashful, like a young maiden.

Coupled with her neat maid’s uniform, she exuded an air of delicate vulnerability.

Allen’s heart skipped a beat.

It wasn’t a flutter of romance, but a sudden realization of how rudimentary the legal system was in this medieval society.

Most people lacked even the most basic human rights; in comparison, child labor was hardly considered a serious issue.

Marianne was a year younger than him, and her psychological age was even further behind.

It was truly remarkable how this child, so young, had to endure the harsh trials of life.

He recalled his own numerous reincarnations, each spent in destitution, never even holding a proper job (primarily because his reputation was so dreadful no one would hire him).

Meanwhile, Marianne, at such a tender age, had clawed her way up in the de Laval household, relying solely on her abilities to become the head maid.

Thinking of it this way, Marianne was far more exceptional than he, the useless young master.

‘Um… Marianne,’ Allen began, scratching his head, attempting to display a master’s concern, ‘Is there anywhere you’d like to go? Or anything you might want?’

Marianne tilted her head slightly, a fleeting hesitation flickering in her crimson eyes, her long lashes fluttering like tiny fans.

Then, with an air of absolute certainty, she stated clearly, ‘The only place I wish to be is by your side; that is all I desire.’

‘…Eh?’

Allen’s smile froze on his face.

‘What kind of answer was that?’

‘What good could possibly come from following a villainous young master like him? Did Marianne truly mean it, or was she being sarcastic?’

‘Women, as a species, were utterly unfathomable.’

‘Come to think of it, Livia, that battle-crazed girl who was anything but a normal maiden, Allen could actually understand what she was thinking.’

‘Could it be that he and Livia were actually Soulmates?’

‘No, absolutely not!’

Just then, a cool breeze, carrying the sweet and sour scent of fruit mixed with ice, drifted over.

Allen’s eyes lit up, and he followed the aroma.

At the edge of the square, in front of a makeshift wooden cart stall, a vendor was enthusiastically hawking his wares: ‘Iced fruit vinegar water! Iced watermelon juice! Beat the heat, cool off this summer!’

In the sweltering early summer afternoon, this was nothing short of heavenly music!

Allen instinctively reached into the pocket of the common clothes ‘generously provided’ by the Inquisition—only to find it utterly empty! Not a single coin!

Allen’s face instantly fell.

He had just boasted about buying something for Marianne, only to be utterly humiliated the next second!

This was a most undignified display for a master!

‘No! The villainous antagonist’s dignity must not be lost!’

Allen’s eyes darted about, and his brilliant villainous mind instantly concocted a splendid idea.

A sly, characteristic smirk crept back onto his lips.

‘Marianne,’ he whispered conspiratorially, lowering his voice, ‘Do you believe I can get those iced drinks for free?’

Marianne looked at him suspiciously: ‘Are you… planning to bully the poor vendor again, simply by virtue of your noble status?’ Her tone carried a hint of disapproval.

‘Hmph! You dare doubt your young master’s wisdom!’ Allen feigned injury.

‘Watch closely! I’ll show you what true villainous charm looks like!’

He straightened his back and strode towards the iced drink stall with a swaggering gait.

Marianne stood rooted, letting out a helpless sigh, yet her gaze remained fixed on Allen’s retreating figure.

She watched as Allen approached the vendor and seemed to ask something (likely, ‘Do you know me?’).

The vendor shook his head, looking utterly bewildered.

Marianne’s heart tightened. ‘Oh no, is the young master going to resort to his old tricks, his traditional art of bullying men and women?’

However, what happened next completely defied her expectations.

Allen did not put on airs of nobility.

Instead, he leaned in and began whispering animatedly with the vendor.

Initially, the vendor looked suspicious, warily observing this well-dressed young master who had approached him.

But before long, Marianne saw the vendor’s eyes light up, as if he had stumbled upon a gold mine!

He even fumbled to pull out a crumpled notebook and a half-burnt charcoal pencil from his pocket, excitedly jotting things down as Allen spoke, his hands trembling.

The two conversed with increasing camaraderie, eventually embracing like long-lost brothers and shaking hands solemnly, as if they had just sealed a deal of the century.

Then, Allen truly returned, triumphantly holding two iced drinks!

‘Here, this is yours.’

Allen handed a cup of clear fruit vinegar water to Marianne, while he himself took a blissful sip of the cool watermelon juice, his expression one of utter contentment, as if he were drinking nectar.

Marianne took the cup, feeling its icy chill.

She cautiously took a sip; the sweet and sour taste, combined with the refreshing sensation of the ice, instantly dispelled the dryness in her throat, making her involuntarily narrow her eyes in pleasure.

‘It’s delicious.’

‘Of course it is!’ Allen’s tail nearly wagged off.

‘Well? Do you understand the greatness of my villainous nature now?’

‘…Setting aside why you’re so keen on being a villain,’ Marianne said, unable to resist asking, seeing his smug expression, ‘Honestly, what exactly did you tell him?’

She was genuinely curious how Allen had managed to get free iced drinks with just a few words.

‘Heh heh, trade secret!’ Allen grinned mysteriously.

Then, feeling it unbefitting of his style not to explain, he lowered his voice: ‘Simply put, I gave him an opportunity to change his destiny! I told him several new iced drink recipes, like sorbet, ice cream, and how to make things more exquisite to sell to the noble lords in the Upper City.

‘I promised to partner with him, a fifty-fifty split! Him giving me a few free drinks is just an upfront investment, proof of his sincerity and capability. Isn’t that perfectly reasonable?’

Marianne’s eyes widened in surprise: ‘How did you learn all these things?’

As she recalled, her young master was only capable of indulging in food, drink, entertainment, and bullying others, not such skills.

Allen feigned profound wisdom, pointing to the sky and lowering his voice: ‘From a certain unknowable, mysterious realm…’

This mysterious realm referred to the short video platforms Allen had scrolled through before his transmigration.

‘Hmm, I see,’ Marianne nodded, her eyes filled with trust, utterly devoid of any doubt.

Allen: ‘…’

‘No! You’re supposed to retort! Being so cooperative makes me feel utterly unaccomplished!’

The two found a bench under the shade of a tree and sat down, enjoying the rare coolness and a moment of tranquility.

Allen slurped his watermelon juice, savoring his recent ‘business negotiation’ with the vendor.

The vendor clearly looked like a greenhorn who had only recently arrived in the royal capital, brimming with entrepreneurial passion but utterly ignorant of the treacherous depths of the city’s waters.

He didn’t even know the renowned name of Allen de Laval, yet dared to casually discuss partnerships with a noble?

When Allen provided his family’s address, hoping the vendor would come for a detailed discussion later, the other party, completely devoid of caution, happily agreed.

‘Naive! Adorable! But also dangerous.’

‘No noble was truly good; Allen knew this better than anyone.’

‘His father, Bernard, couldn’t have amassed his wealth out of thin air, could he?’

‘The total amount of wealth in society was limited; if someone’s fortune grew, naturally someone else’s would diminish.’

‘Worthless nobles didn’t know how to grow the pie.’

Allen’s collaboration with the vendor was also a kind of experiment.

Without noble protection, the royal capital’s tax collectors, gangs, and ruffians alone would be enough to give the vendor a hard time.

However, Allen wasn’t helping the vendor start a business out of kindness, nor did he truly intend to get rich by selling iced drinks (though the thought wasn’t bad).

What he truly cared about was a piece of information the vendor had inadvertently revealed—the ‘treasure’ he used to make ice was a ‘white crystal’ he had unexpectedly dug up while expanding his ice cellar, and when soaked in water, it would make the water bone-chillingly cold.

Allen nearly jumped up on the spot.

‘Natural nitre!’

‘This guy actually stumbled upon the nitre ice-making method! Truly, the wisdom of the common people knows no bounds!’

‘Nitre was a valuable substance that could be used to make gunpowder!’

‘Allen still needed time to produce mature black powder, and in this era, even if Allen could genuinely create firearms, they couldn’t directly defeat those with crests on the battlefield.’

‘However, the future was still unknown, and the situation could change at any moment. Allen had a premonition that he would need nitre sooner or later.’

So he quickly bluffed the vendor, saying that the ‘white crystal’s’ ability to make ice was a trade secret and that he absolutely must not tell anyone else, or he wouldn’t get rich.

‘Are you kidding? How could such a good thing as nitre be known to others!’

‘It was better to plan ahead, just in case he ever really went up against Charles, that idiot Crown Prince, or the entire kingdom.’

‘How could he manage without some hard-hitting tools?’

Allen happily mused, feeling that the prospects of his villainous career were bright.

‘Young master! Miss Marianne! My apologies for the wait!’ A familiar and kind voice chimed.

Allen looked up to see the de Laval family carriage neatly parked by the roadside.

The benevolent old butler, Jean Leclerc, hurried over, a relieved smile gracing his face.

‘Butler!’ Allen immediately stood, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

‘I finally waited for you! I missed you terribly!’

‘Oh, young master, your words are too kind for this old servant!’ The butler quickly waved his hands, carefully examining Allen.

‘Seeing you in such good spirits, this old servant’s heart can finally rest at ease! The master has been talking about you every day at home!’

‘Is everything alright at home these past few days?’ Allen inquired.

‘Thanks to you!’ The butler’s face broke into a wide smile.

‘During your absence, our de Laval family has truly held its head high for once!’

‘The noble circles are all abuzz about our family being attacked by cultists, and the master, riding on the coattails of the Heretical Inquisition ‘visiting’ our home, has managed to collect a good portion of those old debts and difficult receivables!’

Allen raised an eyebrow: ‘Speaking of which, what exactly is going on with our family’s debts? I remember we were quite well-off a few years ago; how did we suddenly come so close to bankruptcy?’

The butler’s smile faded slightly, and he lowered his voice: ‘Young master, this matter… it’s a long story.

‘When the master returns tonight, let him explain it to you personally.’

‘Alright then,’ Allen nodded, not pressing further.

He turned, naturally extending his hand to Marianne: ‘Marianne, it’s time for us to go home.’

‘Home.’

The word, like a stone cast into a calm lake, sent ripples through Marianne’s heart.

The de Laval household, once a place she yearned to escape, filled with painful memories, had now, strangely, transformed into a place that brought her immense peace, even a longing to return.

She gazed at Allen’s outstretched hand, and without a moment’s hesitation, with an almost devout sense of relief, she gently placed her own hand in his.

Allen’s palm was warm and dry, possessing the distinct strength of a young man.

Marianne’s cool, slender fingers were gently enveloped by his, and a strange warmth instantly spread from her fingertips throughout her body, dispelling the last trace of chill left by the Inquisition.

‘Yes,’ Marianne looked up, offering Allen a gentle and serene smile, ‘Let us go home, young master.’

****

As Allen and Marianne boarded the carriage, heading towards the ‘home’ that Marianne had imbued with new meaning, the atmosphere at the iced drink stall in Municipal Square was starkly different.

Several men in plain clothes, whose demeanor clearly stood out from their surroundings, had surrounded the vendor, who was still lost in his dreams of a ‘commercial empire’.

‘Speak! What did that noble young master tell you just now?’ The leading man’s face was stern, his tone severe.

If Allen had been present, he would have been surprised to discover that this serious man was the very inquisitor who had interrogated him.

The vendor was startled by the display, but recalling Allen’s parting instruction—’Someone might come asking about our trade secrets later, don’t be afraid, just deny everything!’—he immediately straightened his back, warily eyeing the group of ‘uninvited guests’.

‘Who are you people? What do you want? I’m telling you! The City Hall is right next to me! In broad daylight, are you trying to rob me or pry into my trade secrets? I’ll call the guards right now!’

The inquisitor’s mouth twitched violently.

‘Robbery? Prying into trade secrets? What in the world was this man talking about?’

He suppressed his anger, pulling an inconspicuous, skull-engraved badge from his pocket and flashing it before the vendor’s eyes: ‘Look closely! The Heretical Inquisition! Just answer my questions honestly!’

He had expected the vendor to go weak in the knees and spill everything upon seeing his identity.

To his surprise, the vendor leaned in, scrutinized the badge, his brow furrowing even further, a look of bewildered disdain on his face: ‘Heretical… Inquisition? What’s that? Never heard of it! Is it a new type of scam group? I’m warning you, don’t try to fool me! If you don’t leave, I’ll really call the guards!’

With that, he truly raised his voice and began shouting: ‘Guards! Guards! There’s trouble here!’

The inquisitor and his colleagues behind him all turned green.

They, the formidable Heretical Inquisition, whose very name struck fear into hearts, were being mistaken for scam artists by a mere vendor?! And he was calling the guards on them?!

‘You!’ The inquisitor’s finger trembled with rage.

‘Do you have any idea…’

‘I don’t! All I know is if you keep bothering me, I’ll report you to City Hall!’ The vendor retorted, his neck stiff, appearing utterly stubborn and fearless.

The ensuing scene was a perfect example of talking past each other.

The inquisitor asked one thing, the vendor spoke of another, stubbornly insisting they were villains trying to steal trade secrets and refusing to reveal what Allen had said.

The inquisitor couldn’t very well tie up the vendor in public (that would be too embarrassing), and his head throbbed with irritation.

Eventually, it was the patrolling city guards, attracted by the vendor’s ‘noise,’ who broke up the stalemate.

Under the guards’ ‘friendly’ questioning, the vendor reluctantly recounted how Allen had taught him new iced drink recipes and proposed a business partnership.

Upon hearing this, the inquisitor was utterly petrified.

‘That’s… that’s all it was?!’

‘Selling iced drinks?! Partnering in business?!’

‘He spent precious time, was mistaken for a swindler, and nearly had to be ‘mediated’ by the city guards, all for *this*?’

‘You… why didn’t you say so earlier?!’ The inquisitor felt his blood pressure soaring.

The vendor stated righteously, ‘That noble young master said it was a trade secret! I couldn’t just tell anyone! How was I to know you weren’t spies sent by his competitors?’

Archbishop Lucien: ‘…’

He saw black, nearly fainting from sheer exasperation on the spot.

‘Allen de Laval, why do you always encounter such… peculiar individuals whenever you open your mouth?’

The vendor hadn’t intended to deliberately make things difficult for the Heretical Inquisition; he was simply single-minded, doing exactly as Allen had instructed.

Yet, it was precisely this personality that caused the inquisitor to misjudge the situation and waste half a day arguing with him.

He recalled Archbishop Lucien’s earnest warning: ‘Never treat him as an ordinary child; he is a cunning little fox, more sly than you can imagine. He will surely dig traps for you.’

‘So… this was the trap?! A trap laid with a business plan, one that utterly stripped him, an inquisitor, of his dignity!’

‘He had actually… fallen prey to the same person twice?’

‘Allen de Laval! You little rascal! Just you wait!’

The inquisitor roared silently in his heart, his fists clenching audibly.