Chapter 66 | How to Not Get Executed as an Otome Game Villainess

The next evening.

The setting sun cast its last splash of gold onto the eastern skyline of the Royal Capital. The hands of the clock tower slid slowly toward six o'clock as twilight faded from the sky.

Under this very twilight, the annual Summer Ball of the Royal Knight and Magic Academy raised its curtains.

The venue was the Royal Ballroom, a sprawling three-story white marble building. Eight columns towered at its front, their capitals carved with intricate leaf patterns.

Two wing buildings extended from the east and west sides of the ballroom. Their doors and windows were shut tight, with heavy curtains drawn, serving as the changing rooms and preparation areas.

In front of the ballroom's main entrance lay a wide, curved driveway paved with polished bluestone. The carriage wheels clacked crisply as they rolled over it.

The carriages had begun to arrive one after another.

Along the entire road from the academy gates to the main entrance of the ballroom, carriages lined up in an endless queue.

Four-wheeled, two-wheeled, single-horse, double-horse—some carriages of prestigious houses were even pulled by four tall steeds of identical coat color. Ribbons were braided into their manes, and silver horseshoes were nailed to their hooves, clattering loudly on the stone path.

Without a doubt, this was the grandeur fit for royalty.

Painted on the doors of every carriage were different coats of arms—griffins, stags, roses, shields and longswords, crossed keys, swans spreading their wings. The crests of the various great families of the Kingdom of Barton unfolded along this road like an open peerage register.

“Make way! Carriage coming through from behind!”

“Why is the one in front stopped for so long?”

“It's the Mulberry family's carriage. Their driver's skills aren't very good...”

The clacking of hooves and the rumbling of wheels from the drivers blended together, making the scene as lively as a bustling marketplace.

The nobles who arrived first had already disembarked, standing in small groups of twos and threes on the steps in front of the ballroom to exchange pleasantries.

The girls had transformed into elegant young ladies, wearing gowns of various colors whose hems rustled softly against the stone steps. The boys were uniform in dark suits or military uniforms, their bow ties tied meticulously and their leather shoes polished to a high sheen.

“Oh, my dear, your gown is absolutely beautiful!”

“Oh, you flatter me. It's nothing compared to yours. Is that lace from Brussels?”

“I heard the orchestra for this year's ball was invited from abroad, is that true?”

“Indeed it is. My father said that this time—”

Such conversations echoed one after another on the steps, under the portico, and in every corner where crowds gathered. They carried that unique blend of intimacy and distance typical of aristocratic socializing, sounding like lines rehearsed countless times.

The main ballroom itself was astonishingly vast.

The domed ceiling was at least five stories high, adorned with a massive fresco depicting the gods feasting on Mount Olympus. Zeus held a goblet, Hera sat beside him, Apollo plucked his harp, and the Muses danced.

The artist had used a massive amount of gold leaf and ultramarine pigments, which shimmered with a luxurious luster under the lights.

Behind the crystal balustrade of the second floor, an orchestra composed of the kingdom's top musicians had already tuned their instruments. The deep strains of a violin test piece echoed through the empty hall, sounding like a steady countdown striking against everyone's hearts.

One luxury carriage after another, emblazoned with prominent family crests, came to a slow halt before the portico.

Drivers dressed in deep blue uniforms with their top hats pressed extremely low respectfully pulled open the doors. Stepping down onto the footboards was the most high-profile young blood of the future Barton Kingdom.

These twelve- and thirteen-year-old boys and girls were at a delicate age—having just emerged from a completely ignorant childhood, yet not quite ready to formally step into the hunting grounds of high society.

Tonight was the first time they were permitted to formally socialize with the opposite sex of their own age without their parents' constant supervision.

However, beneath this gorgeous facade woven of power, wealth, and glittering light, the air in the preparation room on the first floor of the Royal Ballroom had already grown so thick and chaotic that even the most veteran stage actors would gasp in amazement.

In a certain deserted corner of the shrubbery.

“Klaus... are you done yet?!”

Alden Cross lowered his voice and growled toward the shadow where nothing could be clearly seen. He behaved with some anxiety, his eyes unconsciously darting toward the other side of the corridor.

From there, the faint rustling of changing clothes could be heard.

Enticed by the generous rewards promised by Margaret and Vera—and the massive temptation of both of them agreeing to be his girlfriends after the ball—Alden had joined them, deciding to deal with their common enemy, Loris.

But to ensure everything went off without a hitch, he still needed a loyal scapegoat—namely, his childhood best friend.

Since Loris liked him anyway, it didn't matter how they messed with things, but if he got caught on his end, he'd be skinned alive.

Though it was a bit unfair to his bro, Alden, whose lower head was completely ruling his upper head, had made up his mind.

“Alden... I swear, after tonight, I will absolutely kill you... I will definitely fucking kill you...”

A small gap slowly opened in the bushes.

Klaus Heller, the nouveau riche young master, shuffled out with a flushed face.

At this moment, he was wearing a “premium platinum blonde wig” that Alden had specifically borrowed from the Drama Club on his head.

He wore a slightly tight, long-sleeved, high-waisted dress, with his originally neat short hair hidden beneath the smooth strands of the wig. Under the evening glow, if one ignored his broad shoulders and tightly clenched fists, he really did look like an over-developed noble young lady.

“Perfect! It's simply art, my best friend!”

Alden's eyes lit up, and he emotionally shoved a piece of paper into Klaus's hand.

“Remember, according to the core intelligence I have, the culprit who wants to plot against Lady Loris has this ‘rose pattern’ as her family crest! All you need to do is sneak into the changing room, locate the wardrobe bearing this crest, and ruin the gown inside to defuse Lady Loris's crisis in advance!”

“That person definitely won't be able to change into her dress to attend the ball! Meanwhile, I'll catch her red-handed on the other end!”

Klaus bit his teeth in silence, making the paper with the rose crest crumple with a loud crunch.

He felt there was a massive loophole in Alden's logic—if they wanted to protect Loris, why on earth did he have to cross-dress and sneak in? But at the thought of how Loris had looked at him recently in school with that subtly “intrigued” smile (in truth, Loris only thought he resembled a gopher constantly fussing with its bangs), a resounding mental imprint was stamped into Klaus's mind:

Loris must like me.

To protect her love that has nowhere else to go, to prevent President Leonhart from erasing my charm with his Eye of Longinus... I, Klaus, even if I suffer social death tonight, must step up!

“Here I go.”

Klaus squeezed out a sentence in a gravelly voice. He awkwardly lifted his skirt, stepped into low-heeled shoes, took a deep breath, and walked out of the spot.

Watching Klaus's tragic figure as a “cross-dressing warrior,” Alden couldn't hold back a snicker. He then fished out two replacement tags bearing the griffin crest of the Duke of Aldheim from his pocket and strode toward the location agreed upon with the wicked girls.

On the main corridor at that moment.

Margaret Horn was waiting, and beside her, the petite Vera Klein was waving a feather fan, also waiting.

Both had sinister smiles on their faces.

Seeing Classmate Alden walk over.

“Classmate Alden, is the matter of swapping the tags sorted out?” Margaret asked with a cold laugh.

“Rest assured, ladies,” Alden gave an elegant bow. “Klaus has already gone in with the ink. As long as you swap Lady Loris's wardrobe tag with the ‘rose’ crest, Klaus will precisely pour the entire bottle of ink onto her gown.”

“Very good.”

The laughter of the wicked girls echoed in the corridor, full of playing-house malice and glee.

Little did they know, directly above this corridor, hidden in the highest reaches where the ceiling ventilation ducts and the shadows of stone carvings intersected.

A half-demon girl wearing a silver-grey dress, her long hair tied into a high ponytail, was crouching silently on a stone beam.

Shirune's crimson eyes flickered with a dangerous glare in the darkness, and her long tail peeked out from under her skirt, lightly brushing against the air.

...

—Outside the Ballroom, Lawn—

The lawn had also become lively at this moment.

A pleasant breeze blew at six in the evening. Thanks to some noble's idea, a massive circular wooden board had been laid out in the center of the lawn, setting up an open-air dance floor.

Someone peered out from a balcony and exclaimed in surprise, “There's a dance floor outside too?”

“Yes, I heard there are too many people this year. After all, it's rare that there are no incidents on the border, so many third- and fourth-years are present too. The indoor space couldn't hold everyone, so they simply utilized the outdoors as well.”

“What a grand gesture...”

“After all, this is the last Summer Ball hosted by His Highness the Crown Prince himself.”

The outer edge of the lawn was packed with carriages.

The drivers drove the carriages to their designated areas, lining them up neatly in rows. Fireworks launched from both inside and outside the ballroom grounds echoed across the night sky of the eastern Royal Capital.

...

Outside of all this bustling excitement, there was also a group of people maintaining absolute composure.

Part of the students from the Swordsmanship Department wore deep blue formal uniforms—with clean cuts and ceremonial longswords hanging at their waists, their silver scabbards reflecting a cold light under the illumination.

They were divided into several squads of four, stationed at various key positions inside and outside the ballroom.

The Summer Ball gathered nearly all of the kingdom's top nobility, making safety the highest priority. The academy had entrusted this task to the Swordsmanship Department—after all, they were the most combat-capable group in close quarters in the entire academy, and they also had teachers participating.

Most of the students who came to guard were uninterested in the ball, having volunteered either to avoid dancing or for the generous rewards. After all, even for nobles, certain luxury magical beast materials came at a steep price.

As a freshman, Waldenburg stood just inside the main entrance of the ballroom at this moment, his spine straight as a ramrod, his grey-black eyes calmly scanning the hall.

His short black hair looked even sharper under the lights, and there was no excess expression on his sharp-featured face. The ceremonial longsword at his waist remained in its sheath, but his very presence there was a deterrent.

“Classmate Waldenburg.”

Another first-year boy from the Swordsmanship Department jogged over and reported in a lowered voice, “The east side of the second-floor corridor has been checked; there are no issues.”

“And the west side?”

“It's currently being checked.”

“Hurry up. His Highness and the Duke's family will be arriving soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy turned and ran off.

Waldenburg's gaze fell back onto the hall.

He disliked these kinds of occasions.

Not because of the crowds, nor because of the need to maintain guard duty.

But because of... the ball itself.

Dancing.

Spinning, smiling, holding hands, bowing.

How troublesome.

He would rather swing a sword a thousand times at the training ground.

But as a member of the student council who had previously held office, Waldenburg had no reason to refuse, nor did he have the habit of doing so.

“Waldenburg.”

Another voice came from behind. This time it was a second-year senior from the Swordsmanship Department, wearing the same deep blue uniform but with an extra silver trim on his epaulets.

“Senior.”

“The lawn outside is preparing for the entrance ceremony. Take two people over there. I'll let you take the spotlight, haha.”

The senior looked at him, paused with a laugh, and added, “But make sure to have the others stay here, too. After all, we'll need people to keep the path clear when His Highness enters later.”

“Understood.”

Waldenburg remained silent for a moment before nodding slightly, raising his hand to signal the two classmates behind him.

...

The scene shifted.

The horns for the entrance ceremony were blown by the royal band on the second floor.

Under the admiring gazes of those pampered magic students, little ladies, and young gentlemen from the Grammar Academy, a squad of straight-backed, solemn youths filed in through the main entrance of the ballroom with perfectly synchronized steps.

It was the first-year Swordsmanship Department's formation performance.

As the universally recognized strongest of his year and the leader of this formation, Waldenburg Edmond walked at the very front.

The focus froze on Waldenburg at this moment—his neat short black hair looked somewhat harsh under the ballroom's glittering crystal chandeliers, and his dark grey eyes were as calm as still water, showing a coldness and composure entirely unsuited for his age.

He wore a dark-toned Swordsmanship Department formal uniform, the sword he never let leave his side hanging at his waist. As he marched, the clash of leather and metal made a cold, dangerous sound.

A wave of suppressed exclamations immediately broke out from the surrounding crowd:

“Look! It's Waldenburg from the Swordsmanship Department!”

“Oh heavens, he's so handsome... too bad he's so cold.”

Under the gaze of the crowd, Waldenburg kept his eyes straight ahead, leading his team to complete the final remarks and formation salute. Regarding this so-called grand ball, not a single ripple stirred within his heart.

Once the formation performance ended, the boys of the Swordsmanship Department quickly dispersed, blending into every corner of the ballroom.

Another classmate in charge of security beside him lowered his voice and asked, “Classmate Waldenburg, aren't you going to dance?”

“No.”

“Fair enough...” The other let out a couple of dry laughs. “If you went to dance, those noble young ladies would probably start a fight over you.”

Waldenburg said nothing.

His gaze consistently swept across the hall.

He saw the freshmen walking in twos and threes—boys adjusting each other's bow ties, girls secretly adjusting their hemlines, some nervously practicing the angle of their bow repeatedly, and others hiding in corners drinking water to relieve their anxiety.

Someone had been stood up by their partner, standing by the wall pretending to look at the scenery.

Someone was searching for a certain figure in the crowd, only to pretend they hadn't seen them once they found them.

Someone participating in such a ball for the first time was pushed into the dance floor by their companions in utter bewilderment, only to step on their partner's foot, their face instantly flushing red to their ears.

...

Outside the ballroom, some of the adult nobles had begun to arrive.

They would not enter the main ballroom—that was a space reserved for the students.

The adults had their own area: the first floor of the ballroom's west wing, which had been set up as a banquet hall. It served higher-class drinks and meals, with famous paintings hanging on the walls and dedicated card and chess tables in the corners.

The men gathered together, holding goblets as they discussed the harvests in their domains, the political situation in the south, and rumors of the eastern border.