The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

“This is Marquis Dion’s mansion.”

The black carriage stopped without a sound before a luxurious manor estate. Veil stuck her head out the window, looked left and right, and confirmed.

“Marquis Dion, huh...”

Inside the carriage, Celicia was still staring at that sheet listing one name after another, murmuring to herself, and several names on it had just now been crossed out.

Not many were left, yet all of them were tough bones to gnaw.

Dion, an old imperial noble surname—in centuries past it was a peak power clan that, by its own strength, held half the empire’s reins. Frederick Dion, the duke who served as Imperial Chancellor at the time, united the great nobles, propped up figureheads, and thrust his hand into every field of the empire. His brilliance even eclipsed the royal house; the sheer extent of his power and prestige was unimaginable.

Only later, through several rounds of imperial upheaval and foreign wars, the new nobles led by House Campbell rose like a dark horse. Add the royal family’s wariness toward the ever more bloated Old Faction, and suppression began by design. After a bloody handover and reshuffle of power, House Dion gradually declined and was swept into the dust of history.

Even so, to this day, although the family is far from its former glory, the rank of marquis remains unshakable, and in the shadows it still holds tremendous influence over the empire’s political situation.

“They say Frederick Dion’s head was personally cut off by the First Campbell.”

The corner of Celicia’s mouth curved. She instructed Veil:

“Go announce us.”

“In whose name?” Veil blinked.

“In the name of the Empire’s Third Princess, Celicia Leopold.”

“Understood!”

Veil hopped down from the carriage, all eagerness.

Very soon, with a clear tolling of a bell, the grandly decorated gates—elegant yet imposing—swung open. Led by an elderly gentleman, a line of servants bowed respectfully on either side of the entry.

“N-not knowing Your Highness would visit so late, we were remiss—our apologies, our apologies.”

The old man wiped sweat and hurried to the carriage. At his eye signal, a servant smoothly crouched at the door as a human footstool.

Celicia lifted the curtain and said, expressionless:

“Swap it for a stool. I don’t step on people.”

“Y-yes... at once.”

The old man shot the servant an angry glare. Soon a little gilded stool was set before Celicia. She refused the middle-aged man’s offered arm and stepped down with light, graceful movements.

“Your Highness, to visit at such a late hour... may I ask this is for...”

The man probed cautiously.

“And you are...”

“I—I am the mansion’s butler, Baron Arno.”

“The butler... I come in person to pay a call, and House Dion sends only a butler to receive me?”

Celicia cast a casual glance:

“In your eyes, is the rank of princess truly so worthless?”

“N-no...”

The butler’s face blanched at once. “In fact, there is a small matter in the house at present, and the Marquis is indisposed to see guests, but he has instructed me to receive Your Highness with the «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» highest etiquette.”

“No one came, and you dare call that the highest etiquette?”

“This...”

“Or is it that... what the Marquis is doing right now... can’t be seen by decent folk?”

“H-how could that be?”

Cold sweat beaded the butler’s forehead.

“My master has always observed the laws and has never violated imperial statute. Your Highness’s words are pure conjecture.”

“In that case... whatever the matter is, have the master of this mansion come out and meet me.”

Celicia fixed the butler with a cold stare and enunciated, word by word:

“Now. Immediately.”

“Understood...”

The butler’s cheeks twitched a few times. In the end, fear overtook his expression. He bowed his head and answered:

“I will convey Your Highness’s words.”

...

Led by the butler, Celicia and Veil entered the estate’s formal reception room, but Celicia soon claimed it was too stuffy and had the butler and servants take her on a tour of the mansion.

Having already tasted Celicia’s overbearingness, the butler naturally did not dare refuse.

“Chairwoman, Chairwoman.”

As they strolled idly, Veil tugged Celicia’s sleeve and lowered her voice:

“Why do you feel even more domineering than usual today?”

“Do I?”

“Mhm-mhm. You’ve always had that cold look, but you rarely get this domineering.”

Veil propped her chin in her hand, infatuated:

“I feel like my XP is about to get rewritten by you, Chairwoman. Ah no, if I fall in lo—”

“Shut up.”

“Oh...”

“Perhaps in front of outsiders I am indeed pressing down with rank a little today.”

Celicia’s cool gaze slid past the butler a short distance away, who was bobbing and scraping while introducing the mansion’s various collections, and she gave a cold little laugh:

“But these cunning old foxes won’t show a flaw unless you put some pressure on them.”

“So that’s how it is.”

Veil folded her arms and nodded solemnly, pretending she already understood:

“As expected of the Chairwoman!”

“...”

...

“And here is...”

After a while of touring, they arrived in a hall decorated with lavish splendor.

“This is also a reception hall, but not a private one. It’s where the Marquis holds banquets. The overall style was personally set by Master Doragel. The patterns decorating the surrounding walls—each piece used only the finest...”

Celicia ignored the butler’s droning and walked straight to the wall at the front of the hall.

One could say this spot was the most eye-catching in the entire hall. Two staircases, zigzagging, extended upward from both sides. One could imagine that when a banquet began and the host appeared here, every gaze would involuntarily converge on this wall.

And on this wall hung mounted specimens of various rare animals’ heads and all kinds of extremely scarce curios from the outside world, all to flaunt the host’s status and taste.

A white elephant, a white lion, the skull of a magical beast, a night pearl the size of a head, dragon scales, and...

“What used to be here?”

Celicia suddenly raised a hand and pointed to the very center of the wall.

There, where the most precious piece of the collection clearly should have hung, it was conspicuously empty; one could only faintly make out the traces left by whatever had once been there.

“This...”

The butler hemmed and hawed, looking left and right.

Celicia’s gaze cooled, and she was about to press him when a steady voice came from above:

“That used to be my father’s favorite piece.”

Celicia looked up to see a well-dressed middle-aged man descending the staircase at an unhurried pace. He came before Celicia, placed a hand over his chest, and bowed respectfully:

“Good evening, honored Princess Celicia.”

“Good evening, Young Master Sharpe.”

Celicia returned the courtesy. She recognized him as Sharpe Dion, the Marquis’s eldest son, who had also studied at Saint Maria Academy. He had graduated years ago. The two had met several times and could be called old acquaintances.

“You said this was your father’s favorite piece. And now?” After the greeting, Celicia followed up on the topic.

“Now... I don’t know either. They say a thief who came to the house stole it, and its whereabouts are unknown.”

“Stolen? How amusing. A petty thief who dares steal in a marquis’s mansion, and steals something this large at that.”

Mockery flashed through Celicia’s eyes. The corner of her gaze slid back to the wall. Judging from the shadowed outline left behind, that piece had to be at least half a person tall. Probably... it should also have been the mounted head of some kind of beast.

A very rare beast.

“So what exactly was it originally?”

“I don’t know.”

Perhaps knowing the reason sounded less than convincing, Sharpe gave an awkward smile:

“I don’t know the specifics very well either. This mansion is my father’s usual residence, and I rarely come back, so I only have a general impression of the things here. I beg Your Highness’s pardon for not answering perfectly.”

“...It’s fine. I was only asking casually.”

Celicia’s eyes flickered.

After a little more small talk, they finally came to the point.

“So, Your Highness, visiting by night without regard for the hour—is there some matter?” Sharpe, fully courteous, said:

“If you require any assistance, House Dion will do everything in its power.”

“A matter... in fact there isn’t really any matter.”

Celicia accepted the coffee a servant brought, gave it a shake, and set it back down:

“It’s simple. I want to meet Marquis Dion face to face.”

“...”

Sharpe’s expression froze at once. “See my father... Did Arno not tell Your Highness? My father... is presently indisposed to receive guests.”

“He did, which only makes me more curious.”

Celicia fixed her eyes on Sharpe and said in an even tone:

“What exactly is it that has Marquis Dion to the point that he sends only you to fob me off and still refuses to come out and see me himself? Does he truly look down on me... or perhaps looks down on the impe—”

“Your Highness, mind your words!”

Sharpe straightened at once. “House Dion holds absolutely no such view!”

“Then why will he not see me? Illness? Then of course I should represent the royal house and pay a visit. Or is it that... what he is doing right now... truly is not fit to be seen?”

“No, Your Highness, you truly misunderstand!”

Sweat poured down Sharpe’s face; his earlier composure vanished without a trace, as if he no longer knew how to answer.

Celicia, however, had no intention of letting him off. As the air grew ever colder, she herself looked increasingly impatient.

“No answer? Then I will have no choice but to take this matter to—”

“I—I’ll talk!”

Resigned, Sharpe finally gave up struggling and sank onto the sofa:

“I can tell you, but Your Highness must promise not to leak any news related to this matter.”

“Oh?”

Celicia arched a brow, considered, then agreed: “All right. Veil, step outside first.”

“...Okay.” Veil puffed out her cheeks and stared at the butler to the side. The two of them left together.

In the spacious ballroom, the nearest wall was at least twenty meters away; there was no chance of walls having ears. Celicia waited in silence for Sharpe to speak.

“In truth...”

Sharpe wiped the sweat from his brow and said with a bitter smile:

“My father, not long ago, already passed away due to illness.”

“Wha—”

Passed away?

Dead?

Celicia started; her pupils tightened.

Even she had not expected that after pressing him for so long, the answer she would get would be this.

“What do you mean? You’re saying Marquis Dion... is already dead?”

Celicia sprang to her feet, her expression turning grim and cold:

“How is that possible? A marquis dies—an event this great—and I received not the slightest word, and the entire noble social circle showed not the least stir?”

“Your Highness, please calm yourself and hear me out first.”

Sharpe hurried to soothe her:

“No stir at all—of course. Ever since my father’s death, I have done everything I can to keep it under wraps. Your Highness not knowing is normal.”

“Kept it under wraps...”

Celicia frowned in thought.

Marquis Dion had already begun to withdraw from imperial politics several years ago, gradually fading from public view. He had always kept to seclusion, and even hosted other nobles rarely. He had not attended the Second Prince’s recent ball, either.

If he truly died not long ago, then during this period House Dion indeed had both the possibility and the capacity to seal off the news.

“Why?”

Celicia asked:

“Why conceal something this great? Under ordinary logic, you should be holding the ceremony to inherit the title right now.”

“A title can be inherited whenever. As for why to conceal it...”

Sharpe’s expression grew all the more bitter. “Precisely because the matter is too great. Your Highness knows what time it is now. The heir to that seat remains unsettled; the empire is in a moment of turmoil while the cards are being reshuffled. If word of my father’s death gets out...”

“You fear that with the old marquis no longer sitting in town, House Dion will become a fat piece of meat in the eyes of those hungry wolves.”

Celicia quickly followed the thread and finished for him.

“Yes. It was my father’s dying instruction. I am only carrying it out.”

“Indeed, that is an unassailable reason—choosing to seal the news out of fear of others coveting you...”

Celicia stroked her smooth chin, thinking fast.

If Marquis Dion had already died, then many clues, including earlier conjectures, would be overturned. After all, that path is no longer open.

The dead cannot collude with the Inner Council to do anything.

But... Celicia recalled that central blank on the wall that seemed to signify something yet had vanished, and blurted:

“How do I know this is true? In the end it’s only your one-sided story, isn’t it?”

Sharpe’s face changed at once. “What is Your Highness implying?”

“I mean...”

Celicia’s beautiful eyes narrowed slightly.

“Is there not a possibility that Marquis Dion truly is doing something in secret, and that the ‘death by illness’ you speak of is merely a pretext that old fox tossed out to slip the noose after sensing something because of my arrival?”

...

...

In the night, the sound of beating wings— a robin alighted not far from Prince Andrew.

“We have to accelerate.”

The robin’s expression was grave. “I just received a message from the Speaker. Things on his end are a bit urgent. We can’t delay any longer.”

“Oh?”

Standing on a high spot, hands behind his back, Andrew looked over the night and turned back with a half-smile:

“The august Speaker of the Inner Council can also be driven to a moment of urgency?”

“The Speaker is also but a mortal and naturally requires aid.”

The robin placed a hand to the chest in respect. “The truly exceptional one is you, Our Highness. You are the chosen one, the only one, the exalted one.”

Satisfaction flashed in Andrew’s eyes, yet he feigned severity. “Silence. I don’t listen to flattery.”

“You are already wise and valiant; naturally you don’t heed flattery.”

“Heh. Preparations?”

“Everything is ready.”

“And the insider you planted at his side? I don’t want any slipups.”

“Also standing by at any time.”

“Excellent!”

Andrew laughed, stretched out his hand, and closed his grip over the entire Lower District in his palm. “In that case, proceed according to plan—and see my naïve, laughable elder brother off... on his final journey!”