Chapter 33
Chapter 33
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 33
Chapter Title: The Ball (3)
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...What the hell just happened?
The women left behind in the ballroom—that is, the hall—could only stand there dumbfounded for a good while.
And then.
"Ha, seriously! This is why men are...!!"
One noble lady (who'd spent five hours just getting dressed up today) shouted, and that burst the dam.
"What's so great about some stupid metal contraption anyway!" (Prep time: 4)
"To abandon this elegant social gathering for something like that!" (Prep time: 8)
"This is exactly why men are just overgrown kids, no matter how old they get!" (Prep time: 12)
Given the nature of these events, balls were always imbalanced in terms of gender ratio to begin with.
Men aged fifteen to twenty-five—middle schoolers, high schoolers, and college guys in modern South Korean terms—had never liked gathering in stuffy tailcoats to dance awkwardly.
If they had time for that, it'd be way more fun to hang out with their guy friends, riding horses or playing ball sports like soccer or tennis.
What about drinking with girls? Sure, but that's more fun in someone's comfy salon or at a city bar—not dressed in uncomfortable formalwear, minding etiquette while sipping fruit punch.
Of course, some men did come to balls to find lovers or marriage prospects.
But even for them, the ball was just a means to an end they had to endure, not something they enjoyed in itself. Precious few men actually relished the ball for its own sake.
As a result, men often received invitations but skipped out. Their butlers would then send polite excuses to the hosts.
That's why the women who did show up were all fired up with determination.
For instance.
In this ball, men made up about a third of the attendees, women two-thirds.
In other words?
Half the women would end up without partners, standing awkwardly in corners, watching everyone else before going home!
What humiliation!
So the women arrived with metaphorical knives sharpened in their hearts. I won't be the one left without a partner!
But now the gender ratio had gone to 0:10?
...Everyone got dumped?
"Ha, come on!"
"Men these days!"
The daughters of great houses began squealing—not in the way they had when they heard the prince would appear, but for entirely different reasons.
Just moments ago, they'd been at each other's throats, trading sly digs... Now it had turned into a venting session among women, united in cursing men.
Cynthia, the country girl finding all this novelty, was standing there blankly when she noticed her teacher muttering something beside her.
"Beushard clan... no, Melkariutom... mixed in?"
"...Teacher?"
Arthur blinked.
"It's nothing."
"...Teacher, do you want to go see that thing the prince has too?"
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious... but I won't miss much by skipping it. I've ridden a previous model anyway."
"Ah... Huh?"
But before Cynthia could say more, Tiona grabbed Arthur's hand.
"What should we do, Arthur? All the men have vanished!"
She somehow looked triumphant. Was that just his imagination?
"So now I have no choice but to dance with you! What do you think?"
Tiona's declaration sent ripples through the ladies left behind.
(Noble) men had ditched them to play with toys, so she'd dance with a (commoner) man instead?
Totally...
Maria Evandes, daughter of a marquis house tied by blood to the imperial family, whispered.
"Brilliant...!"
They might resent the men, but no elegant way to protest came to mind. They couldn't very well throw a tantrum yelling, "Give us our men back!"
But if she played with men of even lower status than theirs...
Men were simple creatures.
Hearing they'd been passed over for "lesser" men would bruise their egos, wouldn't it? Spark jealousy, make them pay attention to the women again?
What an elegant form of protest!
Maria Evandes was genuinely impressed. Being immersed in politics, she could see it clearly.
"Tiona Krishantimaiu... what a terrifying woman...!"
No.
She just wanted to dance with Arthur, and this was a perfect excuse.
"I thought she was some illiterate fool based on the rumors."
They'd both been improving lately, but she'd heard it loud and clear.
"So she's been playing the idiot all along! Just like those sly politicians!!"
Again, misunderstanding. No one around Maria was there to correct it, though.
Anyway, Maria shouted too.
"Jonathan! Come dance with me!"
"Miss, Jonathan isn't here..."
"!?"
She realized the problem immediately.
Maria wasn't the only one calling for male servants here and there... but no one brought male servants to balls to begin with.
Male servants couldn't help with dresses or makeup, after all.
In the end, the only pair to step out to the center of the hall for a dance was Tiona and Arthur.
"Unghihi!"
With a team on the dance floor at last, the orchestra struck up again.
Strings refined the melody, winds added flair, percussion kept the beat.
In the midst of it, Arthur—whose hand Tiona held—sighed.
"No helping it, then."
He decided to indulge his lady's whim, just a little.
They drew close. Arms touched, upper bodies nearly brushing.
Tiona's blue dress suited her perfectly.
"You remember the three-beat step, right? Yes, just like that."
One-two-three, one-two-three. Matching the 3/4 rhythm: one-two-three, one-two-three.
"Ehehihi!"
"Don't trip on the steps—one-two-three."
Monopolizing the dance floor, every eye naturally fixed on their movements.
Watching them, Maria Evandes gasped in shock again.
"Why is that guy dancing so flawlessly!?"
Noble men hated dancing; commoner men even more so.
Yet the man now on the floor—Arthur, was it? Remember that name—his steps were... perfect.
Refined without excess.
Elegant without pretense.
"Gasp...!"
No way.
"Everything up to this point was all part of that woman's plan!?"
No.
"She drilled her servant in dancing thoroughly, preparing for a situation like this!?"
No. If anything, Arthur had taught Tiona to dance.
"Wait, so she knew from the start the prince would pull out something like that...!?"
We're telling you, no.
"Wh-what a terrifying woman...!"
Come on, really.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The ball unfolding in the imperial palace.
Those drawn to the special event weren't just the empire's fairest nobles.
"You all here?"
"We could ask the same."
Two sorts of unsavory folk gathered in the shadows of one corner of the palace garden.
One side: worshippers of the Outer Gods, bizarre entities from unclean dimensions.
The three surviving cultists out of many once—every last one—was here now.
The other: worshippers of Evil Spirits...
More precisely, they venerated those beings before they'd fallen to become Evil Spirits.
The Evil Spirits had once been wicked, mighty overlords ruling the earthly realm.
They toyed with mortals as chess pieces.
Drew power from them as sacrifices.
Delighted in corrupting them.
Thus, humans called them evil gods or demons.
Hence, their worshippers were dubbed demon cultists.
The demon cultists' greatest foes were the Heavenly God Church.
For it was the Heavenly God who had reduced their mighty demons to pathetic weaklings, capable only of tormenting and making humans cry.
"Well then."
"Mm. Let's begin."
Apostles of the Outer Gods and demon cultists.
This world's top eradication targets, numbers one and two, joined hands.
To offer up everyone gathered at tonight's ball.
The ruling nobles of this era and their precious sons and daughters—as sacrifices.
The Outer God apostles hoped the ritual would restore their link to the unclean dimensional entities.
The demon cultists sought to revert a few of the 72 high demons from Evil Spirits back to demons.
A horrific alliance.
A nefarious plot.
...But before launching it, as icebreaker chit-chat, the demon cultists' leader asked the Outer God apostles.
"Sorry if this is rude... but how the heck did you lot fall so low?"
The apostles exchanged glances, then the eldest, a crone, spoke.
"No reason to hide it from allies in the same boat. Don't be shocked. The demon who buried our church under the sea and massacred all but us three was."
"Cough cough. Sister, they're, cough cough."
"Pardon. The horrific entity was a single boy."
The demon cultists' leader balked.
"A single boy? What, some young swordmaster from the knight orders?"
The empire's sharpest blades: the knight orders.
A genius among them could plausibly wipe out a cult single-handedly.
The crone shook her head mournfully.
"...No."
"Then a young genius mage from the Magic Tower?"
Those magic-obsessed weirdos.
A genius there could destroy a cult alone too.
The crone shook her head the same way.
"...No."
"Not even a spiritist favored by the arch spirits?"
The pinnacle of liberal arts magic.
With aid from spirits—friends of the Heavenly God—even greater power imaginable.
The crone shook her head again.
"...No, not that either."
"...Then what the fuck was it, you old hag!!"
"Cult leader! Restrain yourself!"
"That fucking hag's dragging this shit out!"
"They're valuable allies!"
The crone stared impassively at the demon cult leader's outburst... and shuddered.
"All of those."
But, the crone added.
"Now, we no longer fear him."
"Hah... hah... Why not?"
The demon cult leader caught his breath and asked.
If he truly was a swordmaster and Magic Tower genius mage and arch-spirit-favored spiritist, even the demons they sought to revive would fear him.
He was a hero from old tales, Holy Sword aside. How could they not fear him?
Unless...
They'd acquired some countermeasure against such a being?
"Because..."
The crone murmured meaningfully.
The leader swallowed. Gulp.
"He isn't here right now."
"...Then he's nearby?"
"If he were nearby, of course we'd fear him. Urk!"
The demon cultists' leader drew his sword.