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The rivalry between the first wife and the concubine.

This theme is a familiar one, appearing in courtly tales and theatrical dramas throughout history and across cultures. From fierce disputes among the women in an emperor’s harem to the petty squabbles of rural nobility barely deserving the title, such conflicts are seen wherever aristocratic society—or indeed, relationships between men and women—exist. They are often likened to a chronic, incurable disease for which no remedy exists.

Among these tales, the relentless—nay, obsessive—enmity displayed by Lady Simonetta, the first wife of Frontier Count Aulanthia and formerly the eldest daughter of the Duchy of Enyuria, toward Clara, the fourth wife and the Shrine Maiden Princess, remains infamous. Her unyielding animosity and deranged fixation were the subject of widespread gossip in the social circles of the Livitium Imperial Kingdom at the time. Indeed, the degree of sympathy elicited by Clara’s plight made it so that not a day went by without the tale being retold.

As such, when Clara’s untimely death came to pass, the official explanation given by the Count household—that she was frail by nature (meaning prone to illness and physical weakness) and succumbed to complications from a difficult childbirth—held less sway than the widespread speculation that Lady Simonetta had secretly orchestrated her murder. The latter theory, whispered with eerie conviction, was far more persuasive.

However, why did Simonetta harbor such strong hatred towards Clara?

Was it because they were rivals for the affection of the Count? That reason seems, at best, a surface-level explanation. If that were the true cause, then the stark contrast between her treatment of Clara and her relatively indifferent attitude toward the second and third wives—who had higher status and stronger backing—would be difficult to justify.

So why, then? To uncover the roots of her hatred, one must trace back to their very first encounter.

It was at that moment that Clara utterly shattered Simonetta’s pride as a princess and her confidence as a woman.

Until then, Simonetta, born as a princess of the Duchy of Enyuria, had never once thought herself inferior in appearance to anyone.

She had inherited striking features from her parents and was adorned with the finest garments, jewelry, and cosmetics that wealth could provide. Moreover, as the daughter of a sovereign state, her beauty and nobility had been cultivated and polished to perfection, a process that left her confident that she was among the most stunning women on the continent. And indeed, there was no one who dared to dispute her claim.

However, Clara’s overwhelming beauty rendered all of Simonetta’s pride meaningless in an instant. And to make matters worse, Clara herself was utterly indifferent to it.

Simonetta was left speechless, frozen like a mere ornament, forgetting even to breathe as she stared in stunned disbelief. Such beauty was not merely unparalleled—it was otherworldly.

At some point, Simonetta had leaned forward, nearly falling out of her chair before snapping back to reality. Shame coursed through her, followed swiftly by rage.

To Simonetta, Clara’s very existence felt like a mockery, as though this woman would steal everything that should have rightfully been hers.

Of course, Clara herself bore no fault in this. Simonetta’s reaction stemmed from an inferiority complex she had never before experienced—a feeling entirely foreign to her. Perhaps, on some unconscious level, she even harbored a kind of admiration or longing for Clara.

But Simonetta was too ignorant to recognize such feelings, and her inflated sense of self-worth would never allow her to admit them.

Thus, she came to despise Clara with a burning intensity—so much so that, in time, even Clara’s daughter became a target of her hatred.

♦♢♦♢

“…………”
“…………”

The overwhelming hostility—no, it was practically a murderous aura emanating from Lady Simonetta—pierced through me as I sat frozen in my chair. My only recourse was to look up at the ceiling in quiet despair.

Despite this being our first meeting, with no real conversation beyond a simple introduction, I found myself subjected to an unrelenting glare sharp enough to bore holes into me. The oppressive tension that followed was baffling.

—Now that I think about it, back when I was still Syltianna, there were times when I’d pass her in the corridors of the manor and catch her giving me a glare just like this…

This random recollection of long-forgotten trauma resurfaced, and my stomach began to ache in earnest.

While I silently wrestled with my growing distress, Eliza observed the situation with an expression of smug satisfaction, as if she found it amusing.

Her detached, almost careless attitude was almost infuriating. After all, the reason I had been dragged into this room in the first place was to mediate the conflict between the girl glaring daggers at me and Eliza herself. To sit there comfortably as though she were in a safe zone was aggravating, to say the least.

“…How did things even end up like this?”

I quietly muttered to myself, using the moment as a form of escapism while leisurely recalling the series of events that had led me here.

Yes, it was only about twenty minutes ago—

The door we opened to enter the Adventurers’ Guild headquarters was likely enchanted with some kind of defensive or security magic. Its frame, resembling polished black granite, exuded a faint magical energy as we stepped inside.

Our group entered in the following order: Cestlavie first, then me, followed by Coppelia, Sir Simon, and Emil. The rest of Sir Simon’s guards remained outside.

In stories, adventurers’ guilds are often depicted as rowdy taverns crowded with rough-and-tumble men or offices where muscle-bound tough guys lounge around, oozing intimidation. And while that image isn’t entirely wrong—smaller branches or regional offices sometimes double as taverns—it doesn’t quite apply here. This was, after all, primarily a job placement office.

The space was clean and slightly sterile, resembling a government office or a bank lobby. It featured reception counters, consultation desks, and seating areas for visitors, nothing more.

And, of course, one of the classic tropes: the reception desk staffed by a young, beautiful woman. Without hesitation, Cestlavie walked toward one of the counters, his steps purposeful.

Perhaps she was his type. I decided to watch him with a warm, knowing smile.

“—Do you have a moment, Marina?”

The receptionist whom Cestlavie addressed as Marina was a human in her late teens with bobbed brunette hair. Though her expression was somewhat lacking in warmth, she had the air of a capable career woman who knew her job well.

“Yes? What is it, Cestlavie?”

“Lady Clara, notice how they’re casually addressing each other by name, as if they’re equals. Such insolence for a commoner.” Coppelia furrowed her brows in mild annoyance.

“Isn’t she just Cestlavie’s liaison here? There’s no hint of romantic tension between them, so it’s probably just a professional relationship. You don’t need to be so touchy… Oh, wait. Could it be that you’re jealous?”

“Not in the slightest!” Coppelia immediately denied the accusation. “It’s just that, for some reason, when I see couples, there’s this inexplicable signal deep within my circuits—something like ‘Death to all couples’ or ‘Punish the popular ones.’ Could it be a bug?”
“M-Maybe it is…”

Professor Victor…

Suddenly, a loud, boisterous voice disrupted the guild’s tranquil atmosphere. Turning to the source of the commotion, I saw Cestlavie embroiled in some kind of dispute at the reception desk.

However, it wasn’t “Marina” causing the ruckus. Instead, the one yelling was a middle-aged staff member with a barcode-patterned balding head, someone who looked like the epitome of a middle manager.

“Look at them, Lady Clara. A commoner and some pencil-pushing bureaucrat making a scene. Really, just the worst… Trouble-making nuisances who can’t avoid causing pointless commotions are the absolute lowest, don’t you agree?”

“ “ “(THAT’S YOU! LOOK IN THE MIRROR—!!)” ” ” With synchronized precision, Sir Simon, Emil, and I all pointed straight at Coppelia, who was glaring indignantly with her eyes narrowed in frustration.