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... sothing useful but dangerous, requiring careful distance and ready escape routes.

Their overt hostility had softened throughout the morning, fear tempered by grudging acknowledgnt that the Fire Queen hadn’t incinerated anyone yet. So even nodded acknowledgnt when she passed, though none t 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 sothing 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 rcy.

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 scread

I care deeply while looking absolutely stunning.

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

Eris felt dark amusent 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 assignnts.

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

"I’ve co 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 periter 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 ti 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 advancent, nothing more.

Ryse cringed visibly. So citizens nearby looked genuinely moved by her proclaid 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 dical 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 dical tent desperately needs soone 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 ant spending hours in dical 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 ca."

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 dical tent. "The head physician is waiting inside. Tell her I sent you. She’ll put your talents to imdiate 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 dical tent where screams occasionally erged 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 proclaid 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.

Sotis the best revenge was just letting people experience the reality they claid to care about.