The Villainess Wants To Retire-Chapter 266: MASKS AND MANIPULATION

Eris took a break from labor, stepping back from the forge where she’d been maintaining precise temperature for the smith’s work.

Sweat dampened her hairline despite the winter cold, exhaustion pulling at muscles already worn thin by divine power burn and insufficient rest.

She was acutely aware of constant surveillance.

Citizens watched her like volatile weapon... something useful but dangerous, requiring careful distance and ready escape routes.

Their overt hostility had softened throughout the morning, fear tempered by grudging acknowledgment that the Fire Queen hadn’t incinerated anyone yet. Some even nodded acknowledgment when she passed, though none met her eyes directly.

Progress, however fragile.

Eris accepted their scrutiny with grim satisfaction. At least they were watching. At least they were beginning to see her as something other than demon-summoning tyrant who’d brought hell to their doorstep.

Small victories built foundations, she knew that from conquering people in her first life, from turning enemies into reluctant allies through calculated displays of power and mercy.

She leaned against a partially reconstructed wall, accepting water skin from guard who bowed and retreated quickly, still nervous despite hours of watching her work without incident.

Then the performance arrived.

Bianca Virelya swept into the relief site like actress taking stage, dressed in pale blue gown that probably cost more than most citizens here earned in a year.

Perfectly coiffed hair, flawless makeup, jewelry chosen to suggest wealth without being ostentatious. Everything about her screamed

I care deeply while looking absolutely stunning.

She’d brought attendants carrying baskets, food, blankets, medical supplies. Charity delivered with maximum visibility, ensuring everyone witnessed her generosity.

Eris felt dark amusement curl through her exhaustion.

Bianca’s performance of concern was masterful, moving through the crowd with practiced grace, touching shoulders, murmuring sympathies.

But Eris caught the subtle tells, the barely suppressed flinch when dirty hands touched her expensive fabric, disgust bleeding through the compassionate mask when she got too close to ash-stained workers, the way her smile tightened when required to actually interact with common people rather than observe them from safe distance.

Always entertaining, Eris thought, watching Bianca perform virtue like badly rehearsed play.

Bianca’s gaze swept the site and landed on Eris. Displeasure flickered across perfect features, surprise, jealousy, calculation before the pure façade returned.

She altered course, heading toward where Ryse coordinated work assignments.

"Commander Ryse," Bianca’s voice carried perfectly, pitched to sound both respectful and determined.

"I’ve come to offer assistance in the reconstruction efforts. Where might I find His Imperial Majesty? I’d like to report directly to him about my family’s charitable contributions."

Ryse looked like he’d rather fight demons barehanded than deal with this particular political complication.

"His Majesty is currently scouting the forest perimeter for beast threats. I’m coordinating relief efforts in his absence."

"I see."

Bianca’s smile never wavered.

"Then perhaps I can be of service here. It’s my duty as daughter of House Virelya to support Nevareth in her time of crisis. I won’t stand idle while my people suffer."

She delivered the speech with passion that would have been moving if Eris didn’t know exactly what Bianca actually thought of "her people"—useful tools for political advancement, nothing more.

Ryse cringed visibly. Some citizens nearby looked genuinely moved by her proclaimed devotion.

Eris chuckled quietly, the sound lost in the general noise of reconstruction.

Then she decided to test Bianca’s devotion.

She approached with deliberate casualness, stopping beside Ryse who looked at her with expression mixing hope and terror, hope she might solve his Bianca problem, terror about what that solution might involve.

"Lady Virelya possesses healing abilities, doesn’t she?" Eris asked innocently.

Bianca’s smile froze.

Ryse blinked. "I... yes? House Virelya’s bloodline carries ice-blessing with specialty in frost-weaving for medical purposes."

"Perfect." Eris turned her full attention on Bianca, whose perfect composure showed the first real cracks.

"Since you’re so devoted to helping, the medical tent desperately needs someone with your particular skills. The wounded require care that ordinary healers can’t provide—precision ice magic to stabilize critical injuries."

She let her smile widen slightly. "Your family’s gift could save lives today."

Bianca was trapped beautifully by her own performance. Refusing would reveal her charity as hollow theater.

Agreeing meant spending hours in medical tent with the injured, the dying, the desperate, using magic that drained mana rapidly while surrounded by blood and suffering and everything her privileged upbringing had taught her to avoid.

"Of course," Bianca said through smile that looked increasingly like grimace. "I’d be honored to assist. Saving Nevarian lives is precisely why I came."

If she could, she’d rip that insolent smirk off Eris’s face, crush it in her hands and watch it crumble like brittle ice. The nerve, acting as if she owned the air Bianca breathed.

Ryse tried to protest, probably trying to find excuse to spare Bianca from her own proclamation but one look from Eris silenced him effectively.

"Wonderful." Eris gestured toward the medical tent. "The head physician is waiting inside. Tell her I sent you. She’ll put your talents to immediate use."

Bianca’s attendants looked horrified. One started to follow her mistress, but Bianca waved her back sharply. Can’t perform martyrdom with servants cushioning reality.

Eris settled against the wall again, thoroughly entertained, as Bianca walked stiffly toward the medical tent where screams occasionally emerged despite healers’ best efforts.

This would be interesting.

Watching Saint Bianca maintain her virtuous façade while frost-weaving severed limbs and cauterizing wounds, while pretending blood and agony didn’t make her physically ill, while trapped by her own proclaimed devotion into actually helping rather than just performing help.

Ryse sidled closer, voice low. "You’re enjoying this far too much."

"I really am," Eris agreed cheerfully. "Think she’ll last an hour before finding excuse to leave?"

"Twenty minutes," Ryse muttered. "And that’s being generous."

They settled in to watch the show, finding grim humor in the small victory of forcing Bianca to face consequences of her own theater.

Sometimes the best revenge was just letting people experience the reality they claimed to care about.