The Spine-Chilling Ball (3)
‘How.’
A faint question wriggled in his consciousness, shrouded in terror. How the hell was that elf here?
‘I definitely abandoned her in front of the castle and ran...’
No. Thinking back, the elf was a superhuman who had reached the realm of archmage. If she wanted, leaping this short distance would be child's play.
In the end, it had been his own short-sighted blunder. His intention to protect Esilly had only dragged her into danger.
‘Damn it.’
Here, he had two main choices. Enter the ball with the elf and risk it all, or leave with her and suffer alone.
Anyone would pick the latter. He was no different, so he calmly lowered the hand muffling his mouth.
“Sorry, but something urgent just came up.”
“...Your Excellency the Regent?”
“So I’ll have to head out. Proceed with the welcome without me.”
“But turning back now will disappoint Lady Esilly. It’ll be rude to the other guests too.”
“You’re not wrong, but I must go immediately. Otherwise, a catastrophe—”
“Master!”
A clear voice sent chills down his spine. Creak. Forcing his head toward the sound, he saw the elf running toward him, eyes brimming with tears.
Don’t come. Please.
He silently willed her to stay away, but of course, that wouldn’t work.
The elf was already right in front of him, panting as she placed both hands over her chest. Her ample breasts pressed together naturally.
“Master told me to bring refreshments to the annex, but I was so clumsy, I spilled them on the way. I’m sorry, Master...”
Her frightened expression was perfect. The servant beside him seemed to buy the act completely, gazing at her with pity.
More than that, what was with her acting so innocently? Unable to speak from confusion, he stayed silent, and the elf opened her mouth again.
“I won’t make mistakes inside the annex...”
A strange pressure emanated from her hesitant posture.
I see.
She wanted him to take her into the annex. Whether it was revenge for him ditching her or part of her original plan, he didn’t know.
Either way, he had no choices left. Swallowing tears inwardly, he brushed past the elf.
“You trash. If you screw up inside the annex too, I won’t let it slide.”
“Y-Yes...”
The elf followed behind him with a cowed tone. The servant hesitated a moment before walking alongside.
Glancing at him, the servant ventured carefully, “Your Excellency, the slave’s clothes are dirty. Shouldn’t she change?”
“No need.”
Sending her away under the pretense of changing could lead to who-knows-what. To dodge the current crisis, he couldn’t risk the worst. Keeping her close was safest for now.
The servant eyed him curiously but didn’t press.
They reached the annex entrance, and the servant flung open the grand doors, bellowing, “His Excellency Theorad, Regent trusted by the Viscount of Deharm—the seventh head of the Deharm family—enters the annex with his exalted presence!”
His voice was so loud, it felt like amplification magic. Thanks to that—or perhaps because of it—as he entered with the elf, the gazes of the assembled nobles turned to him.
Gourmands paused mid-bite at the laden tables of delicacies; noblewomen’s fans snapped shut as their chatter faded; scholars mid-debate on the world’s righteous path fell silent.
The hush was brief. They soon resumed their lively talk, enjoying the annex party.
Some smiled and waved; he returned awkward grins.
Uncomfortable.
He hated masks and pretense. But this was the Pelgaroin family’s welcome for him—he couldn’t show distaste. Especially with the unpredictable elf at his side; he had to watch himself.
Best to stay low, avoid contact, and slip out quietly...
“Theorad!”
A gruff voice startled him into turning. The toad-like face, plump body, and gaudy clothes marked Maldon Pelgaroin, third son of the family.
He bowed with a smile. “Long time no see, Lord Maldon.”
“Yeah. Tough trek from the county’s outskirts, huh? But who’s that slave with you? New face.”
Maldon smacked his lips, eyeing the elf up and down. Refined mana rose like threads around her—displeasure clear.
Shit...!
Obvious. She didn’t just dislike his type; she loathed him. Understandable with that lecherous stare, but did she need to summon mana?
“Those pointy ears. An elf? First elf slave I’ve seen. Hmm. Big tits, nice hips. She’d bear kids well. Not that trash like you could carry a noble’s child.”
Stop, you lunatic! You’ll doom us all—not just you, everyone here!
Screaming inwardly, he forced calm, lips curling up.
“Lord Maldon. Let’s drop the slave talk and discuss something constructive?”
“This is constructive to me. Step aside. Gotta feel those tits myself.”
Maldon’s short, thick hand reached for the elf. Unbearable—he grabbed the wrist hastily.
“Huh? You... just now...”
Maldon scowled back at him.
“Stopping me? You?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
To save your ass, idiot!
“She’s not yours. Touching another’s slave without permission is rude.”
“Ha. Rude? You lecturing me on manners?”
“Lord Maldon. Mind your words.”
No choice now. He narrowed his eyes fiercely at Maldon.
“I’m here as the Count’s proxy and Regent. If we’re discussing status, look at your own situation objectively.”
“What? This punk...!”
Maldon yanked his arm, but he held firm. After futile tugs, Maldon gnashed his teeth in fury.
“Let go.”
“Swear you won’t touch my slave.”
“...Fine, just let go!”
He nodded calmly and released. Maldon clutched his wrist, glared venomously, muttered something, and stormed off.
The mana around the elf subsided. Relieved, he straightened his collar—only for the elf to gaze up with touched eyes.
“Sorry, Master. Because of me...”
“Shut up. You stick to me like that, ignorant of your place, and invite trouble.”
“Hiiing...”
“Hmph. Don’t want to see your ugly mug. Get lost.”
Under his cold glare, she backed away timidly, then nodded.
Good riddance. Sighing low, he headed to the hall’s center—and froze at a familiar figure.
Esilly?
Her silken golden blonde hair and blue eyes captivated him. The thigh-slit dress and antique jewelry made her more alluring than her usual simplicity.
Staring entranced, she strode up, glaring distastefully. Wine glass in hand.
“Lord Theorad. What nerve to show up at the ball?”
What? “Isn’t this my welcome ball? No reason not to...”
“Shameless. Coming just because I said so. Can’t tell jokes from truth?”
“Esilly, I just...”
“If you’ve got something to say, sit. Legs hurt from standing.”
She scattered haughty air, heading to a window table and sitting. Dazed, he followed to the opposite seat.
Looking up, he spotted the elf by the entrance, watching.
“Lord Theorad. Do you know what a pathetic man you are?”
Why so harsh? Heart crumbling, he couldn’t reply—then she subtly lifted her dress hem.
“What are...”
He panicked; she pressed a finger to her lips, staring. Quiet. He nodded, peering down slowly.
Strapped to her thigh were rolled papers. She deftly unrolled one, showing the first page.
Theorad. I want to believe in you. So I’ve written questions here that even an elf’s sharp ears can’t catch. From now on, answer what’s written here, not what I say. Can you do that?
Ah. That’s why she’d sat facing away, pretending to berate him—to evade the elf’s suspicion.
Understanding, he nodded.
“Don’t stay silent—answer. Do you know how pathetic you are?”
She flipped to the next.
Are you under the elf’s surveillance? Are you bearing secrets alone that you can’t tell me or anyone else?
“Yes.”
“You fool... You’re trash.”
Next paper.
The elf isn’t twenty-five—that was a lie, right? You put on that tyrant act in front of me to watch her reactions then too.
“Something like that.”
Esilly stared blankly for a while. She should be glad her hunch was right, but no—pity filled her eyes for his pain, her past misconceptions.
Trembling, she unrolled the last.
As expected. You’re the Theorad I knew.
But the berating had to continue to ease the elf’s doubts. Lips bitten, she forced a smile.
“You’re truly... hopeless.”
Her smile, smeared with guilt and sorrow, gleamed under the moonlight. He couldn’t hold back the surge of emotion.
Someone had doubted, yet tried to understand him—Esilly, of all people. Profoundly moved.
But he couldn’t show it.
“Saw enough.”
He met her eyes with a mischievous smile of his own.