The S-Class Hunter Doesn't Want To Be A Villainous Princess - Chapter 11
Thus, the four-way confrontation began.
The still-furious Isyre, the troubled Cedin, the confused Ante, and Renee—alone at ease.
A strange standoff between four people.
“First, take down the article.”
“Then tell them I’m not the culprit.”
“I can’t do that.”
Isyre cut her off coldly. But Renee had no intention of backing down either.
“Then neither can I.”
“Wait. Your Highness—may I speak with Renee for a moment?”
At that moment, Ante stepped in.
“What do they mean you have that kind of power?”
She’s annoyed.
Renee glanced at Ante's status window.
<Status Window>
Name: Ante Markious
Family: House Markious
Reputation: 799
Title: <Heir of Markious>, <Top-level Sword Expert>, <Pride of House Markious>, <Long One-sided Love>
Power: 740
Stealth: 680
Stamina: 450
Wisdom: ?5?
Luck: 302
Affinity: -?13
Most of the window had recovered—aside from Affinity.
But the situation itself remained just as troublesome.
With Ante’s level, he couldn’t even begin to gauge her strength.
At minimum, someone like Cedin or Isyre would be needed just to perceive its outline.
‘So only those at the level of a Sword Master can even qualify to face me.’
She let out a small sigh.
“Sorry, Ante. I think His Highness misunderstood. Right?”
She directed her pressure solely at Isyre—a silent demand for the correct answer.
“…I misspoke. Ante.”
“You expect me to believe that? I have the right to know about my own sister!”
“Hmm. Well.”
[Skill Activated! - <Astaroth's Breath>]
[Ante Marchius falls into a deep sleep….]
“…I… need to know…”
Ante’s eyes slowly closed.
Renee gently patted him, helping him succumb to sleep.
Thud.
His head dropped onto the table.
“Sorry, Ante. I don’t think you have the right to know.”
Honestly—since when were they ever that close?
“A magic swordsman…?”
Isyre still stared at her in disbelief.
Cedin was no different—though his gaze leaned more toward awe.
“That’s not the important part. Both of you—keep quiet about my abilities.”
“It seems even House Markious is unaware of your true strength.”
His tone turned serious.
Renee merely shrugged.
“It was better that way.”
“How is that possible? Without inheriting your family’s techniques—”
“It’s nothing special. It might look impressive because I’m a magic swordsman, but my actual level is only around that of a high-tier Sword Expert.”
She deliberately downplayed her strength.
A flicker of interest passed through Cedin’s eyes—he clearly recognized the lie.
“How did you hide it all this time?”
There it is.
Renee met Isyre’s gaze directly.
“Have you ever paid attention to me, Your Highness?”
She didn’t know the details of their past relationship.
How much the original Renee had liked him.
How cruel he had been to her.
But—
“…!”
She knew this much.
“You didn’t fail to see it. You simply never looked.”
“…Sophistry.”
“Then are you saying I reached this level overnight?”
Isyre frowned, unable to answer.
“…How far have you studied magic?”
“I can only use a few spells. The ones I learned—barely one or two. Crude, at best.”
“Even so, a magic swordsman is rare. Had it been known, you would have been treated very differently.”
He hesitated, then added—
“…Instead of being called the disgrace of Markious.”
“Because I didn’t want that.”
Isyre looked at her, puzzled.
“I had no desire to be valued by people who call someone a shame just because they lack ability.”
She meant it.
Renee believed in the law of the strong preying on the weak—
but she did not despise the weak.
On the contrary—
she respected them.
Strength toward the strong. Gentleness toward the weak.
That was her rule.
Which was precisely why she despised this household.
According to what she had heard from Cedin:
1. Renee had originally been incapable of using either swordsmanship or magic.
In a house ruled by strength, she had been treated accordingly.
Meanwhile, Ante and Kyril had been exceptionally talented—
which only made the comparisons worse.
2. The Crown Prince had no interest in her because she had no value.
He chose partners based on benefit.
Thus, the Saintess—Leanne—became his fiancée.
Renee, despite being a duke’s daughter, had poor reputation and no support.
She wasn’t even considered.
Was it really strange she turned out like this?
‘Apparently, no one would even believe her if she claimed she’d been molested.’
That was… too much.
“Why? With this level of strength, you could become the heir. Or even establish your own duchy.”
At that, Renee gave a crooked smile.
“I’m not interested in any of that.”
She casually kicked Ante’s chair aside—
and he tumbled to the floor.
Good. Fully asleep.
Ignoring him, she turned back to Isyre.
“I hate trouble more than anything. Understood? So keep your mouth shut about my abilities.”
“…I don’t understand. Why hide it until now? If you had told me earlier—”
“If I had, what? Would you have chosen me instead of the Saintess? Used me in her place?”
At the word used, Isyre’s eyes flared with anger.
Renee only smirked.
“I already know your relationship was fake.”
“Cedin.”
Isyre growled—but Renee clapped sharply in front of him.
“Don’t blame him. I don’t care whether you loved her or not.”
“…!”
“My only concern is proving my innocence.”
Silence followed.
Cedin watched quietly.
Would he believe her?
“…Are you truly innocent?”
“That’s what I should be asking you.”
“You think I’d kill Leanne? She was my fiancée—my future Empress.”
“There are reasons.”
Renee smiled faintly.
“I’ve heard rumors the Saintess wanted to run away from you.”
“Baseless.”
Firm. Immediate.
“Oh? And if it were true?”
“I told you—”
“Then your throne, your reputation—everything would collapse. So you killed her before she could escape?”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“What part doesn’t make sense?”
“Leanne never once tried to leave me!”
Bang.
His fist slammed the table.
So that was his breaking point.
Renee stared at him coldly.
“That’s not something you can know for certain. The youngest priest’s testimony says otherwise.”
“That’s still just your claim.”
“And my accusation is also just someone’s claim.”
“I’ll make this clear.”
Isyre spoke through clenched teeth.
“If there is one person in this world who is truly innocent—
it’s me.”
‘…Should I believe him?’
Renee asked the astras.
[The <Ruthless Blood Leader> votes to not trust him.]
[The <Queen of Waves and Healing> votes to trust him.]
[The <Ruler of Temptation> abstains.]
'Abstain? How cowardly!'
[The <Ruler of Temptation> avoids eye contact.]
“Fine. Then let’s call a truce.”
“…A truce?”
“I’ll take down the article. You clear my charges.”
“That’s not within my authority.”
“Don’t play games. We both know it is.”
“…If you want your name cleared, bring decisive proof.”
Stubborn.
Renee sighed and handed something over.
“What is this?”
“The last place the Saintess was seen.”
“…What?”
Shock flickered across Isyre’s face.
It was the same note she had shown Ante.
He quickly read it.
‘Consider this a favor.’
“I was going to send it to the Princess. You owe me.”
“Why didn’t you reveal this sooner?”
“I just learned it today.”
Grinding his teeth, Isyre stood.
“I’ll go there immediately.”
“Go ahead.”
“Wait here.”
What? Use my information without me?
“No thanks.”
“You’re still the prime suspect.”
“I’m coming with you.”
She stood as well.
“No.”
“That’s not your decision.”
She grabbed his hand—
and burned the note to ash with mana.
“If you leave without me, I’ll send this to the Princess instead. She’ll love that opportunity.”
“…!”
“You think I wouldn’t?”
He clenched his jaw.
“What guarantees you won’t kill her?”
“What guarantees you won’t?”
His gaze turned cold.
Renee blew the ash lightly toward him.
“Do you lack that much confidence? That I could kill her right in front of you?”
“….”
“So—we’re agreed?”
She extended her hand.
He didn’t take it.
Just turned away.
‘What an asshole.’
[The <Ruthless Blood Leader> strongly recommends assassinating Isyre.]
Then she can’t clear the quest.
“Let’s go, Cedin.”
“Are you alright, my lady?”
“Why? Worried?”
“Of course.”
“It’s fine. You’re with me.”
“…Still.”
Cedin gently wrapped her hand in a handkerchief.
“What’s this?”
“You held His Highness’s hand earlier.”
“So?”
“…I just wanted to clean it.”
…What kind of culture is that?
She tilted her head—but allowed it.
Cedin carefully wiped every inch of her hand.
Strangely—
his touch carried both quiet care
and unmistakable anger.
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