To You Whom I Don’t Love That Much (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 138

138.

Entering the banquet hall where the ball would be held was not difficult. Noble families’ personal maids frequently came and went from such halls—for various reasons, such as checking how the hall was decorated, locating the host’s seat, or determining which dresses and accessories would suit the atmosphere of the hall. The justifications were countless. Of course, Anna’s maid outfit proved extremely helpful in this process.

Contrary to her expectations, the interior of the banquet hall was surprisingly ordinary. Crimson and gold banners symbolizing the royal family hung from the ceiling, and each table and pillar was beautifully adorned with woven flowers. Ro swept her gaze around the hall.

Where could it be? If she were the one, where would she have drawn the magic circle? Her first thought was beneath the banquet hall’s carpet. But inside the hall, there was only a single crimson velvet pathway—nothing more. And even that would be removed once all the nobles had entered.

Ro nervously bit her fingernails. Could this not be the place? Was she completely mistaken? Yet her intuition kept screaming that this was indeed the right location. Then where? If she were Lady Audrey, where would she have hidden it?

‘For Lady Audrey, the upcoming ball isn’t a victory celebration—it’s a gathering to commemorate her reclaiming the goddess’s body. At least, that’s how she would see it. So it wouldn’t be somewhere far from here. She’d want to come and go easily.’

She anxiously interlaced her fingers, rubbing them as she thought nonstop.

‘But she couldn’t perform the ritual openly, so it must be somewhere private—somewhere she could escape to if needed, a somewhat secluded space…’

At that moment, Ro suddenly lifted her head. On this floor of the banquet hall, there were numerous doors leading out to the terraces.

* * *

It was a noisy, rowdy tavern. Thick cigarette smoke filled the air, and a sour, unidentifiable stench—perhaps cheap beer—stung the nostrils. When the creaking wooden door swung open, every pair of eyes inside turned toward the entrance. A hooded figure stood in the doorway. But just as quickly as the glances gathered, they scattered again—judging the figure to be of no interest. Though why that feeling arose was difficult to explain.

The figure appeared to have a clear objective from the start. Walking calmly across the tavern, they headed straight for the dirtiest table in the farthest corner. There, a man lay slumped over, fast asleep. Judging by the number of rum and gin bottles scattered across the table and on the floor beside him, he had drunk heavily. The stench was unbearable.

“Turner.”

The hooded figure shook his shoulder to wake him. But Turner merely scowled and waved a hand dismissively—less effort than one would use to shoo away an annoying fly. The stranger shrugged as if helpless, then abruptly kicked the chair Turner was sitting on. Already unbalanced, the chair tipped easily. Turner crashed noisily to the floor.

“Damn it. What the hell?”

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