Chapter 6: Starlight in the Corner

Chapter 6: Chapter 6: Starlight in the Corner

In the study.

Baron Uer’s voice was stern. "Has that good-for-nothing returned?"

The butler bowed low. "My Lord, Young Master Cyril has returned. He says the performance for the ball is fully rehearsed, but... he was concerned the friend who gave him the idea might not attend, so he took the liberty of bringing him along. He’s in the dressing room changing now."

"A friend?" Baron Uer’s expression softened slightly. "From the town?"

"Yes, it’s the one from the Atmesia family..."

Baron Uer’s brow furrowed. He waved a hand, as if shooing away something unpleasant. "I see."

A look of regret mixed with a hint of disapproval crossed his face.

’That young man from the Atmesia family... His continued presence in town will ultimately become a problem.’

"Give the order: don’t let Cyril get any more entangled with that person. And the clothes he was wearing... burn them."

"Yes, My Lord."

As he watched the butler depart, the worry on Baron Uer’s face did not fade.

He picked up a glass of wine, his gaze growing heavy.

The ball was meant to be the young folk’s affair, and he had no intention of participating much. He knew the performance was ready, but he couldn’t shake a feeling of unease.

Moreover, just a few hours earlier, a shocking piece of news had reached his estate: Count Laurie Holte, the Lord of the Norton Holt Region, had died of an illness.

He wasn’t well acquainted with the Count—who had amassed his fortune through trade and ultimately purchased his title—but noble etiquette required him to travel to Horder City in person to offer his condolences.

However, the news itself was suspicious.

Count Holte, though nearly sixty, had always been robust, with energy to rival a man in his prime. Not long ago, he had even married the famously beautiful Lady Rose—Baroness Selena Nightthorn.

’How could he just suddenly... die of an illness?’

Baron Uer’s eyelid twitched uncontrollably.

He unconsciously drifted to the window and gazed at the cold moon hanging in the night sky.

The chilly moonlight spilled down, casting the dense thicket of bushes beyond the estate walls in flickering, indistinct shadows.

He took a sip of wine. The cool liquid slid down his throat but failed to quench the strange unease in his heart.

The news was too abrupt, like an undercurrent beneath a calm lake, stirring his mind into turmoil.

Just then, a servant’s voice came from outside the door.

"My Lord, the Baroness is asking for you."

"Understood."

Baron Uer suppressed his chaotic thoughts, put down his wine glass, and turned to leave the study.

The night wind swept past, rustling the leaves of the bushes outside the walls. The clustered shadows swayed in unison.

In the darkness, several pairs of dull yellow eyes spied on the brightly lit estate within.

...

「Inside the estate’s dressing room.」

"Cyril, that’s enough. This one is fine. Stop changing."

Hesia’s voice carried a trace of exasperation.

He had been inexplicably "kidnapped" and brought to the estate, then shoved into the dressing room without any chance to protest. Like a puppet, he was surrounded by servants who had him try on one elaborate formal suit after another. He felt like he was about to fall apart.

For a modern soul accustomed to T-shirts and sweatpants, these multi-layered, button-laden garments were sheer torture.

When Hesia was finally "released" and stood before Cyril and his attendants, he was wearing a dark, high-collared, finely woven jacket that fit snugly, outlining his lean yet straight-backed frame.

He wore a pair of khaki-colored hunting trousers.

Over it, he wore a half-cape, designed to be draped diagonally over one shoulder, with a lining made of dark green Demonized Lizard Hide that had been dyed with a special Magic Potion.

This outfit perfectly complemented the mysterious aura that stemmed from his ancient bloodline.

Ferdinand rubbed his eyes and nudged Otto with his elbow. "Gods above! Has that kid... always been this handsome? Or is there some kind of Magic in these clothes?"

Otto pouted sourly. "Don’t be an idiot. It’s obviously the clothes! Look at that fabric, look at that cut! It’s all the fault of that damn tailor."

Cyril’s eyes lit up, however, and he grew even more pleased with his "brilliant decision."

He had a servant pass over the ceremonial sword that had been prepared earlier.

...

The ball was in full swing.

Many young men and women were already in the center of the dance floor, spinning and dancing to the cheerful music.

In a corner, Isha was staring into space, her chin propped on one hand.

She was like a quiet lotus blossom accidentally brought to a bustling market, devoid of the sharp, valiant air she carried during her daily training.

She wore a long gown of misty-blue chiffon. The dress was free of fussy embellishments, its simple, flowing lines perfectly accentuating her youthful, lovely figure.

Her soft, long golden hair was loosely tied back, held in place by the very same leather hair tie Hesia had given her.

A few rebellious strands still framed her cheeks, adding to her girlish air of languid casualness.

Her gaze seemed to be on the spinning figures on the dance floor, yet it also seemed to pierce through the lively scene to a place far more distant.

William Rick leaned against a gallery pillar, the wine glass in his hand long untouched. His gaze was glued to the girl in the corner, and he licked a non-existent wine stain from the corner of his mouth.

He was the second son of a Viscount from the neighboring Oak Town. He had originally scoffed at this kind of countryside town ball, thinking it was nothing more than farmers entertaining themselves, no different from watching goblins dance.

He knew there might be a few decent girls at the ball, but ever since being betrayed by the woman he loved, he had assumed he would no longer be moved by any ordinary woman.

But a few weeks ago, while passing through Print, he had chanced upon a glimpse of a young, blonde female knight practicing her swordsmanship. That fleeting sight had been on his mind ever since.

Upon learning that she was the apprentice of the Elder Knight Edwin and might be at the ball tonight, he had deigned to attend with the mindset of a predator on the hunt.

Now, having confirmed that the formidable-looking Elder Knight was not present, William could no longer contain his inner restlessness.

He straightened his expensive velvet jacket, smoothed the lace at his collar, and put a practiced smile on his face. With elegant strides, he walked over to Isha.

He placed his left hand over his heart, bowed slightly, and spoke with a deliberately deep, magnetic voice:

"Good evening, beautiful lady. The starlight in this corner is so brilliant, yet why is it so lonely?"

He confidently extended his hand, palm up, in a flawless gesture of invitation:

"Might I have the honor of inviting this captivating starlight to join the gentle moonlight on the dance floor for a single dance?"

His mind was already playing out the "wonderful" stories that would unfold in his bedroom back in Oak Town after he "plucked" this quiet lotus blossom.

Isha was startled by the sudden voice and exaggerated manner, jolted out of her own thoughts.

She looked up, her azure eyes showing a trace of annoyance and confusion at being disturbed.

She had only come because she’d received an invitation from the Lord, and because her master, Edwin, had wanted her to experience life outside of training. She had even changed into a dress the Baroness had prepared for her.

The ball was certainly lively, and the simple joy of the townspeople was infectious. But their free-spirited, unstructured dancing... she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

She looked at the man before her—his hair slicked back, his face powdered, his eyes frivolous. A strange odor, like rotten eggs, wafted from him.

Just as she was wondering how to refuse—

A calm voice from nearby shattered the romantic atmosphere William had so carefully staged.

Hesia, who had appeared at some point, was standing beside them. One hand rested casually on the hilt of the sword at his waist, while the other extended naturally toward Isha:

"Sorry, I’m late."

Only after saying this did he turn his gaze to William, whose expression was starting to turn ugly, and offered a polite smile:

"Sir, thank you for looking after my dance partner."