Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 79: Collapse of Faith

Seated in a creaky chair, Mozel pulled out his pocket watch for the third time that night.

10:00 p.m. sharp.

After glancing at the clock face, he surveyed his surroundings.

The room he occupied was small and sparsely furnished. In front of him stood an old, worn-out long table, with a matching chair on the opposite side.

As a negotiation site, it lacked any semblance of sincerity.

But as a location for murder and corpse disposal, it seemed chillingly appropriate.

The night was moonless and eerily quiet, far removed from any human presence.

Every aspect of this place exuded an oppressive and sinister air.

They were on the top floor of the Samuel Clock Tower.

Suddenly, there was a light knock at the door.

“Come in,” Mozel said, suppressing a mocking smile.

Walking to his own death, yet still maintaining such polite airs—he wondered, who was Lynn trying to impress?

He didn’t doubt that Lynn would show up.

After all, there was no irreconcilable conflict between them.

Lynn’s previous actions, including coercing the citywide charity into contributing to his schemes, all boiled down to one motive: money.

He and Duke Tyrius were allies.

Given that, Lynn wouldn’t pass up the chance to wring a fortune from Mozel.

The fake concession Mozel had prepared would lull Lynn into a false sense of security.

And when the moment was right, Mozel would strike.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, the door opened, revealing Lynn’s face—the very visage Mozel loathed.

“Quite early, aren’t you?” Lynn remarked, strolling into the room and glancing around. “I hope you didn’t go to the trouble of setting any traps for me here.”

Mozel’s heart tensed, but his face remained calm. “If you’re so paranoid, why bother coming at all?”

“Don’t worry. There are no traps here, just my two subordinates.”

“That’s for the best,” Lynn replied, nodding as he took a seat on the chair opposite Mozel.

Following him was a burly man in a military uniform with a plain face.

Mozel cast a brief glance at the man, noting the faint Divine Factor aura emanating from him. Clearly not a threat. He dismissed the man from his thoughts.

“Well then, I’ve come to the location you specified,” Lynn said, getting straight to the point. “How do you want to negotiate?”

Despite the killing intent surging within him, Mozel opted to play along for the time being.

“Fifty thousand gold coins. Withdraw those things from the Municipal Square immediately,” Mozel proposed, his tone measured. “And no more stirring up rumors related to the Divine Order Church in the future.”

He knew this offer was absurdly low, but he still put it forward.

It was the last chance he would give Lynn.

If Lynn accepted, Mozel would even feel a sense of relief.

Fifty thousand gold coins were a negligible expense for someone of Mozel’s accumulated wealth.

More importantly, it would allow him to avoid provoking the terrifying Third Princess, Yveste. In Mozel’s view, it was a highly profitable deal.

But, as he expected, the terms were outrageous.

“Are you joking?” Lynn sneered. “Multiply that figure by ten, and I might consider it.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about.”

Mozel’s gaze turned ice-cold.

“Funny. From where I’m sitting, it’s you who doesn’t seem serious about negotiating,” Lynn shot back, slamming his hand on the table.

The sound spurred Mozel’s two subordinates into action. They stepped forward, Divine Factor energy radiating from their bodies.

A powerful, invisible force descended from above, creating a crushing gravity that slammed into Lynn’s bodyguard.

The burly man groaned as he fell to one knee, struggling under the immense pressure.

Lynn’s expression darkened as he turned to Mozel. “What’s the meaning of this?”

So you can make that face too?

For the first time, the ever-composed young man displayed an expression of unease, as if events were spiraling beyond his control.

Seeing this gave Mozel immense satisfaction.

At the banquet that night, Lynn had coldly killed two men without flinching. That display had left a deep impression on Mozel and even sparked a flicker of fear.

In hindsight, it was clear—Lynn had simply never been pushed to his limit.

Everyone, when faced with the threat of death, would reveal facets of themselves rarely seen.

“You ask me what I’m doing? Obviously, I’m breaking the agreement,” Mozel said with a smirk, signaling his subordinates to restrain Lynn. He was eager to relish the pathetic struggle for survival that would surely follow.

“You’re far too naive.” Mozel shook his head. “I offered a negotiation, and you really came here with only one person, completely defenseless.”

Lynn remained silent as the two subordinates approached, their intentions clear. To them, his calm demeanor looked like resignation.

Just as the two were about to pin him down on the table, Lynn spoke up.

“Are you planning to kill me here?”

“Of course.” Mozel sneered. “As someone who’s obstructed the Church’s progress, this outcome was inevitable.”

“Aren’t you afraid of breaking Imperial law?” Lynn asked again.

With both his shoulders firmly held down and no sign of resistance, Mozel leaned on the table and rose slowly. “I can’t believe someone like you—scum from the Bartleon family—could still hold onto such childish notions after everything you’ve been through.”

“Law? That’s a tool created by those behind me to maintain the privileges of the ruling class. As an Extraordinary and a bishop of the Church, I am one of them.”

“Only beasts and commoners need to follow such laughable rules.”

Lynn fell silent for a moment before speaking again.

“Second question—why are you so determined to kill me?”

“Why so many questions?” Mozel growled, annoyed. “Ask all you want; you’re dying anyway.”

“Just making conversation. As you said, I won’t be around much longer.”

Despite the crisis, Lynn, pinned firmly to his chair, seemed almost playful in his tone.

Mozel snorted. “I’ve already told you—it’s because you’ve hindered the Church’s progress.”

“To be honest, I didn’t want to kill you at first. But you had to push your luck by siding with Duke Tyrius and playing the pawn.”

“You should know exactly what he’s trying to do—opposing the Church across the entire city.” Mozel’s tone grew colder. “But he has a duke’s title and a powerful army. Even if he can’t profit from us, he’ll remain unscathed.”

“You, on the other hand, are a powerless exile from a declining family. You’ve aligned yourself with the Third Princess, Yveste, a woman everyone views as a demon. You have no resources to back you up. It’s as if you’re walking around with ‘I’m an easy target, come crush me’ written on your forehead.”

“So, tell me, if not you, then who?”

“I see,” Lynn said, nodding. “But from start to finish, I’ve never demanded anything from you. All I wanted was to secure some benefits for the disabled soldiers.”

“How noble of you.” Mozel shook his head. “But I’ve said it before—your actions have directly hindered the Church’s progress.”

“And what exactly is this ‘progress’ you speak of?” Lynn interrupted coldly.

Mozel raised his voice slightly, speaking as if it were self-evident. “The money in those wretches’ hands—that’s the Church’s progress!”

“Do you have any idea how much wealth the Divine Order Church extracts from those fools every year?”

“Eight hundred thousand! Every year!” Mozel’s eyes gleamed as he continued. “Just from donations and charity funds alone, we receive such an astronomical figure!”

“And for that, they thank us, believing the Church has relieved them of the Empire’s exorbitant population tax!”

“How could you not love such gullible creatures, ripe for exploitation?!”

Mozel, caught in his excitement, failed to notice how unguarded he had become.

Perhaps his certainty of Lynn’s imminent death had allowed his arrogance to take over.

“And you—you dare to divert the wealth we worked so hard to extract into your own pockets!”

“Outrageous!” Mozel slammed his hand on the table.

Lynn’s eyes flickered with an odd light. “So, all that money—does it end up in the Imperial Capital? Who does it go to?”

“Of course, it goes to—” Mozel froze mid-sentence, frowning.

It dawned on him that Lynn had been drawing information out of him effortlessly.

There were names he couldn’t casually utter, ancient and terrifying families whose very mention made him shudder.

Seeing Mozel’s hesitation, a trace of disappointment crossed Lynn’s face.

He had hoped to extract the names of the masterminds behind it all, but Mozel wasn’t quite that foolish.

“Anything else you want to know? Speak now,” Mozel said, as if resolving to satisfy Lynn’s curiosity before sending him to his death.

“One last question.” Lynn met Mozel’s gaze directly. “In your eyes, what are the commoners and believers?”

Without hesitation, Mozel replied, “Pigs and dogs—no, that’s not entirely fair. At least pigs and dogs have practical uses. You can eat them or keep them as pets for entertainment.”

“But those wretches, always sighing and blaming life’s misfortunes on fate, are nothing but garbage. Their only purpose is to serve as a resource for us to bleed dry.”

“Does that answer satisfy you?”

“Perfectly,” Lynn replied with a faint smile.

Lynn suddenly raised his hand and clapped softly.

“Since you’re satisfied, it’s time for your journey to begin,” Mozel said, his smirk fading as he took one last look at Lynn’s face.

“Wait,” Lynn interrupted, shaking his head slightly. “Before that, I have two things to say.”

The next moment, Mozel’s pupils dilated in shock as the youth before him broke free from his restraints and slowly rose from the chair.

“How did you—”

“My lord, I don’t know why, but we… we can’t move!” one of Mozel’s subordinates stammered in panic.

Mozel was stunned.

But Lynn ignored their reactions entirely, calmly walking toward the window.

“The first thing: You see the people as pigs and dogs. The people see you as a villain and their enemy,” Lynn said, pushing open the dusty window.

As Mozel watched Lynn’s composed demeanor, an overwhelming sense of unease clawed at his chest.

“The second thing: I lied to you yesterday,” Lynn added, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “The Samuel Festival isn’t in seven days—it’s tonight.”

Buzz!

Mozel’s mind exploded as he grasped the implications of Lynn’s words.

The blood drained from his face, and he stumbled backward in terror.

His neck creaked like rusty metal as he turned, inch by inch, to look out the window.

Below the clock tower, what had been an empty plaza earlier was now packed with a crowd of people holding candles.

The tiny flames formed a sea of flickering light, illuminating the once-dark surroundings—and the pale, furious faces of the crowd.

Faces that were both familiar and alien.

...Pale and angry!

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