The Villain Who Invests in a Witch to Survive Chapter 83 : Chapter 83

Chapter 83: Freedom

The west garden of the academy presented a different look in the afternoon.

The sunlight was still fierce, streaming through the gaps in the trees and casting shifting patterns on the stone path. The magic stone lamps were unlit, and the milky white lampshades reflected the light of the sky in a soft, hazy glow. The air carried the scent of freshly trimd grass, mingling with the sweet, cloying fragrance of roses wafting from the distant flowerbeds.

In the center of the terrace stood the white marble pavilion, silent and still.

On the round table inside the pavilion, a white porcelain tea set had already been arranged.

The slender spout of the teapot released a thin stream of steam, carrying the rich aroma of bergamot and roasted black tea leaves.

The pastry tray was stacked in three layers: the bottom layer held butter biscuits topped with slivered almonds, the middle layer had scones soaked in honey, and the top layer held small, delicate fruit tarts drizzled with icing.

Princess Cecilia Ishtar sat at the main seat.

She still wore no academy uniform today, dressed in a light apricot-colored linen gown, with dark embroidery along the collar and cuffs. Her golden hair was loosely tied up, revealing her graceful neck. She lowered her gaze, focused on the pages of an ancient book in her hands, her fingers occasionally brushing the edges of the parchnt, her expression so absorbed that it seed as if the world around her had disappeared.

Ilis stood by a column in the pavilion.

She wore a more tailored dark green riding jacket, a few strands of black hair falling to her cheek. Her hands were crossed in front of her, her posture straight, her gaze fixed on a distant tree branch swaying outside the pavilion. Her profile was calm, like an elf sculpture temporarily placed in this spot.

Cecilia set the teapot down and lightly pushed the porcelain saucer, guiding the filled cup towards Ryan.

“This is black tea harvested from the Morning Dew Estate in the Eastern Region, the first harvest of the year. I brewed it with water from the first snow. It’s my favorite flavor. Please, try it.”

Ryan picked up the teacup but didn’t drink right away. The porcelain cup was warm to the touch, and the blend of bergamot and roasted tea leaves filled the air with a rich fragrance.

He gazed at the ripples on the surface of the tea for a mont, then took a sip. The tea passed over his tongue, initially a little bitter, then leaving a subtle sweetness.

He set the cup down, and it made a faint “ding” as it touched the saucer.

“Thank you for the hospitality, Your Highness,” he said, his gaze lifting. “You must have invited here for more than just a cup of tea.”

Cecilia smiled slightly, lifting her own cup.

“Student Velt—I’ve always called you that, or perhaps, Ryan?” She paused, her sapphire eyes looking through the steam rising from her tea. “Do you think I should be more familiar with you? I’ve never called you ‘Young Master Velt.’ So, you need not always call ‘Your Highness.’ Is it really so difficult to just call by my na or my family na?”

Ryan was taken aback, a faint hint of surprise flashing in his gray-blue eyes. His lips moved slightly, as though he wanted to use her family na.

But Cecilia waved her hand.

“If you use my family na, then the whole royal family is Ishtar. Who would know who you’re calling?” She smiled more widely. “Let’s stick to nas.”

“Cecilia,” Ryan said, acquiescing.

The princess nodded in satisfaction, her fingers tracing the edge of her cup.

“You ca when I called. Doesn’t that prove you already know what I wanted to say?” she asked, her gaze now locked on Ryan’s eyes.

Ryan t her gaze for a mont before his eyes swept over Ilis, who stood silently like a shadow behind her. The black-haired girl’s violet eyes briefly t his, then shifted away again.

“Seems like my knife has pleased you, Your Highness,” Ryan remarked, his voice revealing no hint of joy or anger.

Cecilia laughed softly, the sound not loud, like the breeze rustling the copper bells on the eaves.

“Seems like so of the rumors about you were exaggerated,” she stopped laughing, her clear blue eyes bright as the sky, “but so of them were true. Ryan Velt, you are indeed a… genius who makes others wary and has a rather unpleasant personality.”

Ryan took another sip of tea.

“Thank you for the complint,” he said, setting the cup down. “But I should also thank you. Honestly, I didn’t have a direct way to deal with those two. They’ve been causing trouble. This opportunity... was provided by you.”

“Well, it’s not that simple,” Cecilia shook her head. “Those two are foolish, self-righteous, greedy, and short-sighted. Even without this, they would’ve fallen into your hands sooner or later. I’m not worried about that.”

She leaned slightly forward, resting her elbows on the table, her fingers interlaced.

“However, Ryan Velt, aren’t you curious?” she asked, her tone soft, “Why did I use your hand to do this? After all... I already had all the evidence prepared.”

For a brief mont, the air in the pavilion seed to freeze. A bird’s startled flutter echoed from the distant garden.

Her words had struck at the very heart of the matter.

When Ryan had used the charge of treasonous smuggling to strike at Andre and Wood during the trial several days ago, it had felt more like a carefully crafted psychological trap.

He had bet on the mont when their ntal defenses would collapse, hoping they would unconsciously blurt out the truth. As for the accusation itself, it had seed at the ti to be a bluff with no real edge.

But just as those two were pushed to their limits, their minds crumbling, and the truth was finally exposed, the royal knights, like shadows waiting behind the scenes, entered with concrete evidence, turning the fabricated cri into reality.

The twist had been so sudden and seamless, and it could only an one thing: Cecilia Ishtar not only knew everything but had already held the evidence in her hands, waiting for the perfect mont—waiting for Ryan Velt to light the fuse on the pre-set fire.

It had been the most effective way to expose the truth, but questions arose—why had she handed him the knife instead of wielding it herself?

If the princess had personally exposed the truth, the glory and fa would have gone to the royal family, but at the sa ti, the potential retaliation and backlash from the two noble families could have fallen directly on her, the second princess.

Now, all the spotlight and most of the consequences had fallen on Ryan, the one holding the knife.

Ryan was not unaware of the calculations and considerations behind this.

Ryan didn’t speak. His gray-blue eyes were calm, like the frozen surface of a lake in winter.

Cecilia’s sapphire eyes were like morning stars—clear and bright. The two pairs of eyes, contrasting in color but equally devoid of warmth, stared at each other, neither one looking away.

The wind rustled through the columns of the pavilion, turning the edge of an ancient book on the table with a soft flutter.

After a long mont, Cecilia leaned back in her chair. The perfect, faint smile on her face vanished, replaced by a self-mocking expression.

“That’s exactly why,” she began, her voice lower now, as though she were stating a fact unrelated to herself, “I don’t have the freedom you think I do.”