My Crybaby Father is the Kingdom's Worst Villain
Chapter 37: A Gun That Chose Her?

Chapter 37: A Gun That Chose Her?

Luzia was still frozen with disbelief and fear gripping her as she stares at the princess. Then, for a brief moment, their eyes meet.

Princess Benedicta’s gaze lands directly on Luzia, her expression unreadable. Luzia felt something tighten in her chest. Is it recognition? Does the princess see her—truly see her? Or is it just her paranoia?

Then, just as quickly as their eyes lock, the princess looks away, turning to acknowledge another noble with a graceful nod.

That simple dismissal sends a shiver down Luzia’s spine. Was it indifference? Did Benedicta truly not recognize her? Or... was it something else?

Around her, the nobles continue murmuring, oblivious to the storm brewing inside her. Elena and Stephan glance at her, sensing her sudden shift in demeanor.

"Lady Luzia?" Elena’s voice is hushed, concerned.

But Luzia doesn’t respond. Her nails dig into the fabric of her gown, her thoughts spiraling.

She had prepared for many things. But she hadn’t prepared for this.

Duke Alejandro and Duchess Isabella stepped forward with Ignacio. The gathered crowd fell silent as they approached the royal siblings.

With a deep bow, the Duke greeted them first. "Your Highnesses, it is an honor to welcome you to our humble celebration."

Duchess Isabella followed suit, her voice warm yet measured. "We are delighted by your presence, Your Highnesses. Ignacio has eagerly awaited this moment."

Ignacio, standing between them, forced himself to bow as well. He wasn’t sure if it was eagerness or something else entirely that stirred uneasily within him.

Princess Benedicta smiled—but it was a smile that never quite reached her eyes. Her gaze, a calculated gleam beneath the chandelier light, settled on Ignacio. Slowly, with practiced elegance, she reached out and placed her hand atop his.

"I don’t think there’s a need for such formality," she said, her voice light, almost teasing. "We are family, after all, right?"

Ignacio stiffened.

His first instinct was to pull away. A sharp, inexplicable discomfort crawled beneath his skin, an unfamiliar sense of wrongness at the warmth of her touch. His breath hitched.

He couldn’t look away.

Her eyes held him there—unblinking, unreadable. The flickering light of the chandeliers reflected in them like deep, endless pools, and for a fleeting moment, Ignacio felt as though something unseen was threading through his mind, smoothing over the edges of his thoughts.

The sensation vanished in an instant.

"I... Of course," Ignacio finally muttered, his voice strangely distant even to his own ears.

Princess Benedicta’s smile remained. Still unreadable. Still not reaching her eyes.

From the side, Luzia observed the exchange in silence, her fingers tightening slightly around the edges of her dress. The way Princess Benedicta’s hand lingered on Ignacio’s, the way he hesitated before responding—it stirred something unsettling within her.

For some reason... seeing the two main characters together hurt her?

A strange tightness gripped her chest, a fleeting sting of something she refused to name. Was it jealousy? Annoyance? The creeping weight of fate forcing her into a role she never wanted? Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her gown before she forced herself to scoff.

Was it because Luzia was originally supposed to like Ignacio?

She frowned. That idea annoyed her more than it should.

Anyways, I don’t care. My main concern is why the princess is still alive...

Luzia’s gaze sharpened as she studied Benedicta more closely. That unreadable smile, those sharp yet elegant movements—something about her didn’t sit right.

Meanwhile, Ignacio barely noticed anyone else.

For some reason, he could still feel the warmth of the princess’s hand on his—long after she had let go.

A sharp clap echoed through the grand hall, shattering Luzia’s spiraling thoughts.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the herald’s voice rang clear, commanding attention. "His Lordship Ignacio de Castillo invites all young noble heirs to partake in his birthday hunt!"

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the gathered nobles.

The hunting game.

Luzia’s pulse steadied as reality crashed back into place. Right. She remembered this event from the novel—this was the moment she had fallen deeper for Ignacio. Every year, the Castillo family hosted a grand hunt on their estate, a long-standing tradition among the aristocracy. But what made this hunt infamous wasn’t just its prestige.

It was the weapons.

The Castillos were known for their mastery of enchanted firearms—magic guns crafted exclusively for noble hunting games. These weren’t mere rifles. Each was a masterpiece, imbued with elemental magic, capable of incapacitating prey in spectacular ways.

For noble heirs between the ages of ten and fourteen, this wasn’t just a sport. It was a test of worth.

The double doors at the end of the hall swung open. Uniformed attendants entered, carrying sleek, velvet-lined cases. One by one, they lifted the lids, revealing dazzling firearms nestled within. The air thrummed with raw energy, each weapon humming faintly with its own power.

Luzia felt Elena stiffen beside her.

"Are you going to participate, my lady?" Stephan asked in a low voice.

Her fingers curled slightly. She had no choice. To refuse would only draw suspicion.

Ignacio, simmering in his usual irritation, smirked as he strode forward. Without hesitation, he reached for one of the more elaborate guns—a sleek silver rifle inlaid with crimson gemstones. His personal weapon.

With an air of practiced ease, he cocked it, the barrel glowing as it resonated with his mana. Then, turning with a slow, deliberate gaze, he met Luzia’s eyes.

"I hope you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, Lady Luzia."

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.

From across the hall, where Princess Benedicta stood among the royal entourage, Luzia felt another gaze lingering on her.

Not Ignacio’s.

Hers.

Luzia forced herself to breathe. This wasn’t the time to unravel. Not here, in a hall full of nobles, with Ignacio smoldering nearby and Isidro watching her like he knew something.

The moment passed, and the hall erupted into polite applause as Princess Benedicta and Prince Crisanto took their seats. Conversations resumed, and Luzia finally unclenched her fists.

A servant approached Ignacio, bowing respectfully. "My lord, the hunting grounds are prepared. The guests may proceed whenever you wish."

Ignacio scoffed, irritation still lingering in his sharp movements. "Took them long enough." Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the grand doors leading outside.

Excited murmurs spread through the younger nobles.

"The gunhunt is finally starting."

"Lord Ignacio has won every year. Do you think anyone will beat him?"

"I hear Lord Isidro is competing this time."

Luzia tilted her head. Gunhunt. Oh. Right. The infamous sport of the Castillo family—an event where noble heirs showcased their skill with magic-infused firearms. A test of both status and survival.

Her stomach twisted. She had never used a gun before.

Meanwhile, ten-year-old Crown Prince Crisanto turned to his sister, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Sister, that looks fun! Can I join too?" he asked, voice bubbling with eagerness.

Benedicta smiled, a touch amused. "Of course. Just don’t get hurt."

"Okay!" Crisanto chirped, nodding eagerly.

Outside, the air was crisp with the scent of pine and damp earth. The hunting grounds stretched endlessly before them, a sprawling forest enclosed by unseen magical barriers. Silver lanterns floated overhead, casting an eerie glow over the trees.

At the field’s edge stood a rack of elegant firearms, each uniquely crafted, bearing noble crests and elemental engravings.

A steward stepped forward. "The rules are simple. Each of you will select a gun and enter the hunting grounds. Your targets are phantom beasts—illusions infused with raw magic. Each successful shot earns points. The heir with the highest score wins."

Ignacio smirked. "As if I need a game to prove I’m the best."

Luzia sighed. Of course, he’d be insufferable about it.

"Choose wisely," the steward continued. "The gun must resonate with you, or it will reject your magic."

Crisanto practically bounced on his heels as he picked his weapon, his face alight with excitement.

"It accepts him," someone whispered. " As expected of the crown prince."

Isidro, ever composed, stepped forward first. He hovered over the selection before settling on a sleek, silver-barreled pistol engraved with a delicate wind sigil. As his fingers curled around the grip, a faint shimmer of air surrounded his hand.

Ignacio scoffed and grabbed a crimson and gold rifle—his family’s signature colors. The weapon pulsed with energy, almost eager to be wielded.

One by one, the participants made their choices.

Luzia stepped forward last.

The weight of expectation pressed against her. Since she can’t use magic yet, the gun might reject her and if the gun rejects her, it would be humiliating.

Her fingers hovered over the weapons as the noble heirs watched in anticipation.

At the very end of the rack lay a forgotten pistol. Small, unassuming, its design was far simpler than the others. Yet the moment her fingers brushed against it, a cold energy seeped into her skin, coiling around her fingers in a whisper of recognition.

A hush fell over the crowd.

Her fingers skimmed over the sleek barrels, but nothing stirred. No resonance. No response. Then—at the very end of the rack—something called to her.

The gun had accepted her.

What’s going on? Luzia thought, a flicker of unease creeping in. I expected it to reject me...

Ignacio frowned, but Isidro—Isidro was watching her with renewed interest.

While Crisanto was too busy admiring his new gun.

The horn sounded, and the children surged into the forest.

Few hours into the hunt...

Ignacio moved like a predator, his shots fast and ruthless. Sparks of golden energy erupted with each strike, his tally climbing rapidly. Twenty-five kills.

Isidro, in contrast, was precise, methodical. Each bullet found its mark, guided by the wind. Twenty kills.

Crisanto, much to everyone’s surprise, kept pace with Ignacio, his childish excitement masking deadly accuracy. Twenty-five kills.

And Luzia—

Luzia took a steady breath, adjusting her grip on the pistol. The hunt had only just begun for her at least.