The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 260: The Playboy

After Liya left, Muen sat alone in the quiet restaurant, as if still savoring the lingering touch on his fingertips.

As expected of a future Saintess—those little hands really were...

"Ahem..."

But just then, a harsh cough snapped him out of his thoughts.

Shaun approached him and said respectfully:

"Young Master Muen, everyone in the restaurant has been questioned. No one knew those two assassins. It seems they slipped in midway."

"That’s normal. My actions can’t be predicted, so with this kind of impromptu assassination, there’s no way they could have been lying in wait long-term."

Muen crossed his fingers, propped his chin, and let his gaze sweep over Shaun, half-focused, half-absent:

"What I care about more is—why is it that just for having a al, I would be targeted with such a vicious assassination? Didn’t the assassins co a little too quickly? That level of assassin isn’t sothing just anyone can send."

"I... I absolutely did not leak Young Master Muen’s whereabouts!"

Shaun suddenly lowered his head, sweat pouring down his face.

"My eting with you was a coincidence. I had no idea beforehand, and since then I was with you the whole ti. I had no chance to send word. Please believe , Young Master Muen, I would never..."

"Enough, I never ant to accuse you."

Muen cast him a faint glance and withdrew his gaze.

Shaun Jones was firmly in the royalist camp and bore the hatred of a murdered wife—there was no way he had any motive to sell Muen out.

As for the reason his whereabouts had been exposed...

It was probably Celicia who had been under surveillance.

No—more precisely, the little courtyard Celicia lived in.

Otherwise, the timing of that box of chocolates wouldn’t have been so accurate.

He must have been marked when Lawrence carried him away from there.

Who would have thought he’d be tracked in the morning and attacked by assassins in the afternoon? Those people really did act decisively.

"Then, Young Master Muen, what should be done next?"

Seeing that Muen didn’t doubt him, Shaun let out a long breath of relief and asked.

"What to do... of course, go back to the Academy and hide. I don’t believe just one failed assassination attempt will be enough to leave any trail on those people. Since they dared act, they’ve certainly already prepared their follow-up plan."

Muen tapped the table, deep in thought.

"As for you, just do your job as Administrator for now. Don’t worry about the rest. You’re not qualified yet to step into this whirlpool. As for the assassination, there will be others handling it for ."

"Yes."

"Oh, and as for that surviving assassin, you can interrogate him carefully. The results don’t matter. What matters is that you hand those results... to His Majesty."

Shaun froze for a mont, then caught on. A flash of ruthless malice—never shown before Muen until now—flickered in his eyes. He grinned coldly:

"Please rest assured, Young Master Muen. When it cos to interrogation... it’s what I excel at."

"Is that so? Then good."

Seeing Shaun’s confidence, Muen couldn’t help smiling.

He didn’t care how much trouble the assassin’s words would actually cause those behind the scenes. As long as it disgusted them a little, he would be very satisfied.

After all, right now he was a solitary commander of the ducal house. Though he could borrow the duke’s na to mobilize so resources, and even pay a price to hire strong guards, openly clashing head-on with those people was utterly irrational.

They ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) still lurked in the shadows.

So the most reliable thod was still to quietly hide back in the Academy.

He didn’t believe they were bold enough to stretch their claws under Teacher ladomir’s very nose.

Lurking and developing quietly was the proper path.

Besides, in every sense, ti was on his side.

Once his engagent ceremony with Celicia was complete, he could openly cling to her black-silk thigh every day. As long as he held on tightly enough, what did he have to fear from a bunch of small fry who didn’t even dare show their faces and could only play dirty tricks in the dark?

This was Belrand, after all—not their private playground.

"It’s late. I’ll be going."

"Safe travels."

"I’ll leave the cleanup to you."

"This is my duty."

After casually bidding farewell to Shaun, Muen left with his hands clasped behind his back, humming a tune, strolling leisurely toward the Academy as if he hadn’t just survived a life-or-death assassination attempt.

A pity he couldn’t walk side by side with the future Saintess—that would have truly been a delight.

...

...

Midnight.

The moon was dark, the wind high.

Lawrence shed his conspicuous armor, changed into plain clothes, and pulled a wide-brimd black hat low over his face. Carefully, cautiously, he made his way to a remote manor.

After confirming no one was following him, Lawrence knocked on the manor’s gate.

"It’s , Lawrence."

He spoke softly toward the inside.

Creak—

The rusty gate slowly opened, letting out a wail as harsh as a ghost’s shriek.

But there was no one behind the door. It was as if the gate had opened on its own.

Lawrence showed no surprise. He lowered the brim of his hat and stepped inside.

The gate closed automatically behind him.

The manor lay in silence—no lights, no figures.

Along the overgrown path, weeds rose nearly to his waist.

The place seed abandoned long ago, devoid of any trace of life.

Carefully parting the weeds, Lawrence walked all the way to the deepest part of the manor.

The building there, covered with withered vines, was steeped in the aura of ti, like the dwelling of a ghost from a storybook.

Lawrence took a deep breath and glanced at the tightly shut main door—but he didn’t go in.

Instead, he reached to the thickest patch of vines and lifted them aside. A hidden door appeared before him.

He stooped down and entered.

Within the pitch-black passage, dim candlelight flickered.

At the far end of the spacious room stood a tall figure, back turned, hands clasped behind him, staring at a huge portrait on the wall.

It was of a woman, but the light was too dim to see her clearly.

Lawrence stood in the shadows, head bowed, waiting respectfully.

A long silence passed.

Without even looking back at him, the man continued to gaze at the portrait, casually asking:

"You saw him?"

"Yes."

"How did he seem?"

Lawrence thought a mont, then said:

"As the intel described. In terms of battle aura, his realm is Second Rank, but his foundation is solid. You can tell that Duke Campbell built him a strong base. As for magic... his capacity is decent, but his level... I can only say it has reached the Campbell family’s average standard."

"And?"

"And..." Lawrence hesitated briefly, then said:

"Just as the rumors say."

"Rumors?"

"Unsteady steps, dark circles under the eyes—clear signs of overindulgence. From every angle, he appears to be nothing more than a playboy noble son."

"..."

In the suffocating silence, the man finally turned. His deep gaze bored into Lawrence.

Cold sweat drenched Lawrence. He bowed his head lower, not daring to et those eyes.

"Is that so?"

The man suddenly chuckled. "You’ve worked hard, Lawrence. After such a battle, you should be resting instead."

"It’s no hardship. To serve you is my honor."

The man seed unwilling to speak further. He waved a hand.

"Your paynt will be delivered."

"Thank you!"

Lawrence, as if granted pardon, hurried back into the darkness.

By the ti he stepped out of the manor, his clothes were soaked through with sweat.

...

"Heh, so the attempt failed?"

After Lawrence’s departure, the man looked down at a letter that had appeared in his hand at so point, and suddenly gave a chilling laugh.

"Such a fine playboy son of a duke."