Stop Hypnotizing Me, Villainous Princess!

Chapter 3: Facing the Extraordinary

"Who would've thought, the second son of the Bartleyon family would sink to the level of a pickpocket."

Lynn sighed, tossing the wallet in his hand.

Actually, Carola wasn’t wrong.

Lynn, or rather, the original owner of this body, was indeed a noble—and not just any noble, either.

Unfortunately, due to certain circumstances, this title not only failed to bring him any benefits but also repeatedly put him in mortal danger, forcing him to live humbly, hiding his tail between his legs.

How bad was it?

The previous owner had committed some offense that earned him the title of "Disgrace of the Nobility," leading to a scandal across the Imperial Capital. To quell the outrage, his family exiled him to the borderlands as a criminal.

That, he could’ve dealt with.

Even if he had to spend his entire life here, he could’ve lived comfortably.

But due to Orne's distance from the capital, coupled with poor communication, subpar living conditions, and constant warfare, no pampered family member wanted to suffer here.

As a result, much of the family’s holdings in Orne were left to the care of local stewards and servants.

Over time, issues emerged.

Being cut off from the family's control for so long had allowed these stewards to grow arrogant.

Some even used the Bartleyon name to seize property and oppress the common folk.

The worst part? These despicable people, either under someone's orders or simply lost in their delusions of power, dared to mistreat their master!

Ever since Lynn arrived, the mansion’s stewards and servants—right down to the coachmen—had looked down on him.

Outwardly, they called him "young master," but in reality, they treated him with disdain, following his orders only on the surface.

For example, the monthly stipend sent by the family to maintain his lifestyle was seized entirely by these people.

Or they’d come up with all kinds of reasons to keep him confined, not allowing him to go out.

One time, they even gave him a servant’s uniform to wear, claiming the mansion was out of money and he should go earn his keep.

They were openly signaling for him to get lost and fend for himself.

When the steward learned of this, he merely docked the offender’s pay for a single day, and that was it.

It was blatant humiliation.

And that wasn’t the worst of it; the original owner had suffered multiple assassination attempts!

Lynn suspected these reckless servants were working with external forces in these plots.

It was during one of these attempts that Lynn crossed over into this world, taking over this nearly dead body and seizing a chance to escape.

From what he recalled, the scandal that rocked the capital was a calculated conspiracy against him.

But given his current situation, revenge was a luxury he couldn’t afford right now.

He sighed.

The black cat at his side seemed to sense his low spirits, letting out a soft "meow."

The cat was one he’d picked up on the street.

About half a month ago, he’d found it alone and meowing at him, likely hungry.

Maybe it was the intelligence in its eyes, or perhaps a sense of shared misfortune, but he’d taken it in.

He reached out to scratch the cat under its chin.

"Don’t worry, Little Black. Maybe we’ll be back in the capital soon enough."

He was either speaking to the cat or to himself.

Besides, a return to the capital might throw off the forces hunting him.

No one would ever suspect the "Disgrace of the Nobility," chased out like a stray dog, would dare to return.

As he pondered, a voice interrupted him, one so sudden it sent chills down his spine.

"No, you’re not going anywhere."

The voice was male and sounded casual.

But to Lynn, it was as if lightning had struck.

After a quiet week and the fatigue clouding his mind, he’d let his guard down and was caught completely off guard.

How had someone entered the room so silently?!

Was it the same force that had pursued him?

These questions flashed through his mind in an instant.

Lynn tensed, his hand reaching for the revolver in his pocket.

Yet it did little to ease his anxiety.

He knew this was an age of steam and the supernatural—a world where gods themselves had been known to walk.

Against such power, a revolver was pitifully weak.

To avoid being ambushed, Lynn leaned back against the wall, scanning the room warily.

He noticed that the room had grown darker; even the gas lamp’s light had dimmed.

Shadows oozed like ink, and faint ripples appeared in the air.

Then, under his watchful gaze, a figure, cloaked in darkness, rose silently from a pool of shadow on the floor.

So, it was the power of a supernatural being.

Without hesitation, Lynn drew his revolver and fired three shots in quick succession.

One aimed at the head, one at the heart, and one at the groin.

"You’ve got guts, kid!"

The shadow seemed momentarily surprised by Lynn’s ruthless shots.

But that was all.

When the bullets hit, there was no blood; they passed through as if striking air, embedding in the wall behind him.

No physical form?

The thought had barely formed when Lynn’s instincts flared in alarm.

In the next moment, the shadows surrounding the figure surged, dozens of writhing tendrils lunging at Lynn like crashing waves!

Though he saw the attack coming, his ordinary body wasn’t capable of agile dodges, especially after half a month of sleep deprivation.

Within seconds, his arms, legs, and neck were ensnared by the shadowy tendrils, lifting him off the ground.

The shadowed figure approached.

Its face was still obscured, impossible to discern.

"Don’t resist. You’ll suffer less that way," the figure said, sounding young. "Before meeting the lady, I can’t let you be harmed."

He was giving Lynn no chance to fight back, tightening the tendrils around his limbs and neck.

As air grew scarce, Lynn found it hard to breathe, but his mind raced.

From the feel of it, the enemy wasn’t entirely incorporeal—his body was simply blended with the shadows, making physical attacks ineffective.

In other words, his power came from darkness.

If that were the case… then light might be able to dispel it.

An idea—reckless but clear—flashed through Lynn’s mind.

"How about… a deal?" he wheezed, "Whoever… you’re working for… let me go… and I’ll repay…"

"We’ve been tailing you for half a month. To let you go now would make all that effort meaningless." The shadow sighed. "Besides, to me, your 'repayment' is worthless."

"Not to mention, the lady specifically requested to see you. A mere mortal—do you plan to defy her will?"

Defy her will?

That single phrase carried an implication that left Lynn breathless.

This shadow-man wasn’t here to kill him, but that presented its own set of complications.

Still, he had no time to process that now.

"Alright, go to sleep. When you wake, we’ll be there."

With that, the shadow pressed in, smothering Lynn.

"I… refuse."

Lynn wasn’t about to leave his fate in someone else’s hands. With his remaining strength, he gripped his revolver tightly.

What he needed to do was simple.

"BANG!"

The bullet struck a small gas pipe in the corner, punching a hole through the metal.

A hissing sound filled the room as gas began leaking out, carrying a strange odor.

The shadow’s expression froze.

In his eyes, a flicker of disbelief appeared, and he instinctively took a step back.

"What the hell are you—"

Before he could finish, Lynn pulled the trigger again.

"BOOM!"

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