Chapter 43: Fake Alice [4]
"How distasteful. If you’re a guest of our house, at least show some basic manners."
I kept my voice level, just as Alice would. Calm. Cutting.
"I’d suggest you refrain from projecting your inferiority complex here, Gareth Valstein."
The moment the words left my mouth, I knew they landed.
Alice wouldn’t have stayed silent after an insult—especially not one aimed at her or her family. She’d have stood her ground, no matter the setting.
Gareth flared. "Inferiority complex?!"
"Well," I said, gently tilting my head, "isn’t a Snow Lion considered a more valuable prey than a few Redhorn Bucks?"
Hans’s voice echoed in my memory.
"To think she brought down a Snow Lion... even I can’t remember the last time that happened during a Trial."
It wasn’t just rare. It was legendary.
Gareth’s lips curled, but his eyes betrayed the sting. He wasn’t angry at me—he was angry at Alice.
Angry that she’d once again outshone him.
"You might as well admit your defeat and stay quiet," I said smoothly.
Then, as if the conversation no longer concerned me, I raised my fan and turned my head slightly.
A simple, silent gesture.
I find you unworthy of my words.
It was the noblewoman’s way—sharp enough to wound, subtle enough to remain dignified.
A few murmurs rose nearby, some amused, others intrigued. Gareth stiffened.
The fan felt heavy in my hand—made from real peacock feathers imported from the southern jungles. Just holding it felt like holding an estate.
And yet, somehow, the weight of this moment felt heavier.
Gareth’s voice cracked the tension. "So that’s it? Run from the real question, then. I suppose it’s easier than facing the truth."
I lowered the fan slightly, enough to meet his eyes.
"What truth would that be?"
"That you didn’t do it alone."
Gasps. A couple of the heirs leaned in, eyes alight.
Gareth pressed forward.
"No matter how strong you are, no one catches a Snow Lion solo. Everyone knows that. Unless..."
He trailed off just enough to let the implications hang.
"Unless you had help. Like your soldiers for example."
The crowd murmured again, less amused now.
He was pressing on a weakness I hadn’t considered.
’He’s not wrong.’
A Snow Lion was a beast even veteran knights approached with caution. That Alice had brought one down during her Successor Trial had stirred admiration—and skepticism.
And unlike other achievements, there was no physical proof. No witnesses. Just a beautiful pelt and Alice’s word.
Still...I can’t falter here.
Draken house and Alice reputation is on the line.
Gareth smirked as the silence stretched.
For a moment, I said nothing—letting the quiet twist just a bit tighter around everyone’s throats.
Then, smugly, he spoke again.
"What happened? Nothing to say now?"
His voice had the lilting arrogance of someone who thought they’d won.
The others watched us with sharp, hungry eyes. Amelia looked up at me, confused. Maybe even worried.
I narrowed my eyes at Gareth, then tilted my head just enough to make the sunlight catch the glint of my earrings.
The smile I wore now wasn’t forced. It was sharp. Measured. Cold.
"What do you want?" I said evenly. "Proof? A signed confession from the beast? A painting of the moment I plunged my spear into its heart? Do you think I need to satisfy you?"
There were a few snickers in the crowd, low and stifled.
Gareth’s smirk twitched—just a fraction.
He laughed, but it was dry. Brittle.
"Ha! I’m not sure how trustworthy your evidence would be. I mean, really... anyone can say they did something legendary. It’s the North—we deal in results, not just pretty stories."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then I must’ve missed your tale in the bards’ reports. What beast did you bring down in your Successor Trial, Lord Gareth?"
The crowd shifted, interest rekindled.
His mouth flattened.
"A Redhorn Buck."
"Ah. Yes. That’s right. A fine creature." I smiled, tone deliberately airy. "Skittish. Easy to flush out. Popular with beginner archers and... less ambitious nobles."
The jab landed. I saw it in the way his eyes flared, in the way his nostrils flared just enough to betray how thin his patience had grown.
But I wasn’t finished.
"And yet," I continued, folding the fan neatly, "I don’t recall ever asking you to validate my accomplishments. I’m not in the habit of collecting trophies for boys in borrowed coats."
Laughter.
Not loud, not raucous—but audible. Sharp. Even the nobles on Gareth’s side tried to look away.
Gareth stepped forward, face taut with restrained fury.
"You think this is a game, don’t you? Dressing up in silk and pretending to be above reproach—"
I cut him off with a whisper. Just loud enough for the closest circle to hear.
"No. I am above reproach."
That silenced him.
And I leaned in slightly, voice cool as the wind brushing across the frosted hedges.
"But do keep talking. Every word you speak reminds these heirs of what separates wolves from sheep."
I turned, linking my arm with Amelia’s again, who stared at me like I’d just slapped a thundercloud and walked away dry.
"Let’s walk," I said, voice light. "I’ve wasted enough time entertaining stray dogs."
And without another glance at Gareth Valstein, I walked away.
The crowd parted.
The whispers followed me like petals in the breeze.
Amelia, approaching me, expressed her admiration, followed quietly by other young ladies.
"Wow... Alice, that was impressive! To make that muscle-bound snob retreat on his own. I thought you’d just ignore him as usual."
"Until now, I did it for the unity of all northern nobility, but this time it was too much, so I had to be a bit harsh."
Amelia clutched my arm a little tighter as we walked, her steps light but her excitement barely contained.
"You say ’a bit harsh,’" she whispered with a grin, "but you gutted him with words, Alice. I’ve never seen Gareth look so—what’s the word—defeated."
"I didn’t do it for spectacle," I murmured, scanning the manicured path ahead. "But some men only understand humiliation. Quiet warnings don’t work on them."
Amelia hummed in agreement.
Behind us, the courtyard buzzed with energy—hushed chatter, bursts of laughter, lingering tension. Gareth wouldn’t recover quickly. Not socially. Not politically. At least not without help from his father.
"Still," Amelia added, voice low and conspiratorial, "you have to admit it was satisfying."
I didn’t answer. Instead, I focused my gaze on the system notification of before me.
---
[Quest Objective Fulfilled]
[Alice’s Affection Level Adjusted.]
[Target Milestone Surpassed]
[NPC ’Alice Draken’ — New Emotional Insight Unlocked.]