Protecting Yuria -2- The Spinning Chandelier

The chandelier spun in lazy circles. A faint vibration hummed through the floor. An ominous portent, perceptible only to the most sensitive, began to stir in the ballroom.

I looked up at the ceiling.

It's starting, huh.

The chandelier ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠trembled ever so slightly, its shadow tracing circles like there was an earthquake. I swallowed dryly, lost in thought.

What should take priority?

The protagonists' growth? Or Yuria's absolute safety? Either choice led back to quest success. I'd protect Yuria while fighting, and the protagonists would do the same, mindful of her safety.

What I had to decide was whether to intervene aggressively and join the heretic purge, or adopt a passive stance and observe. Stepping in would ensure a clean finish, while staying back would foster the protagonists' growth.

Tricky.

I just wanted to play with the young lady already.

An ambush meant striking at an unexpected moment—that was its ultimate purpose and reason. This heretic incursion fit the bill perfectly.

Two archbishops. Twenty inquisitors. Thirty fanatics. This elite strike team was built for speed, aimed straight at kidnapping Yuria. They outmatched academy students in experience and burned with a death-defying zeal.

Stealth and strike. Speed and precision. Their greatest weapon wasn't explosive force but conviction. Fanatics willing to die for the cause were no match for greenhouse-raised academy kids. Each one's power was on par with or slightly below the students', but their faith gave them overwhelming superiority.

Especially the archbishops—they were in a league of their own. That's why I could handle them, but right now, Mikhail and Ruin would struggle just to hold out. Caught off guard in a peaceful moment, they wouldn't access their full strength.

The elite heretics swarmed like locusts, zeroed in on Yuria. The divine eye user was a prize they desperately needed.

With the dance's rules, few carried weapons—only the student council guards and disciplinary committee. I was no exception.

Tyrfing wasn't in my hand right now. More precisely, I didn't have it on me. I'd wanted to bring it into the ballroom, but risking ejection wasn't smart. When in Rome, do as the Romans do—or in this case, follow academy rules for the dance. So I'd hidden Tyrfing in a corner of the venue, close enough to grab in a pinch.

The sword's allure on others made handing it to security dicey, and I didn't want unnecessary trouble.

Deep in thought, I stared at the chandelier and let out a heavy sigh.

Frustrating.

I had two weapons: my sword and the new ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠unique magic, Thunderclap.

Snap.

I flicked my fingers, sparking a tiny static charge.

Crackle. Red lightning arced out, draining a bit of mana. I was getting the hang of it—how to wield it.

A spell that fired instantly without chants. No complex calculations needed. Thunderclap guzzled mana but seemed unbound by formal constraints.

Lucky break, maybe.

I gathered mana, envisioning ways to shape it like an extension of my body or cloak it over my blade.

I'll figure it out in use.

Better than nothing.

As I pondered magical applications, a voice cut through.

"Butler!”

In the corner of the ballroom, a girl waved enthusiastically. Tan hair fluttering under a yellow dress, Hanna Histania greeted me with a big smile, standing on tiptoes to catch my eye. A small grin tugged at my lips.

She looks well.

Bouncing energetically, Hanna radiated health. I didn't know what she'd done over break, but her aura had changed—her mana flow straight and true, her movements brimming with confidence. Like her father, Rowen Histania, the family head.

The status window had hinted at talent rivaling his, but this was next level. Pride swelled as I waved back, masking it.

"Long time no see, Hanna."

"Yeah! Hold on…!”

She darted through the crowd toward me.

Was just looking for her. Perfect.

First time seeing Hanna since the Histania estate. She'd vanished for a bit—worried me—but her vitality eased that. Without her, I couldn't have entered the dance.

I'd planned to find Hanna right away, but Yuria's issue derailed that. Grateful she appeared like this. She wasn't on the quest, but I had to protect her too.

Hanna reached us, bowed politely to Yuria, then looked up at me with sparkling eyes.

"Butler! Long time no see."

"Yeah, hope you've been well."

"Yes...! Um, I saw earlier."

"Saw what?"

I scratched my chin with an awkward smile. Embarrassing to have shown that side.

Unaware, Hanna continued earnestly.

"You cursing out that Green Generation jerk. So cool! Someday, I wanna..."

Glad I came instead of her brother—she looked even prettier blushing with praise. I patted her head gently.

"You look healthy. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠That's a relief."

"Thanks to you, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠butler."

"Nah, I didn't do much."

Good. My charges were together now—less burden. Scattered, I'd have to hunt them down one by one.

I chatted with Hanna, a proud smile on my face. Despite the awkward vibe between her and Yuria, talk flowed naturally. Just as we touched on the young lady's updates—

Thud.

Silence fell. From the student council president, Shartia's frantic mutter carried.

"Guards...! Why aren't they answering...!"

Her ominous words foreshadowed the chaos ahead. Hanna's eyes trembled as she gazed at the ceiling, then whispered to me if I'd felt it.

As her master, her growth filled me with pride. Dumbasses like Mikhail and Ruin were too busy enjoying the dance to notice.

I smiled faintly at her.

"Looks like we have guests."

"..."

"So... what now?"

Thud.

Hanna gathered aura in her hand, staring at the wildly shaking chandelier. I let faint aura flicker from me, waiting.

Crackle...

Cracks spiderwebbed the ceiling, raining debris without mercy. Through the collapsing roof, the bright moon emerged. The chandelier crashed center stage. Debris poured amid the ballroom ceiling.

Black-hooded figures knelt swiftly in the middle. A man in white priest robes descended lightly among them.

The priest spread his arms with a smile. Hooded face hidden, but his mana screamed archbishop.

"Good evening, everyone."

The novel's minor villain, Archbishop of Slander Mirbael, grinned skyward.

A noble youth with an ordinary face approached the kneeling heretics, roughly combing back his hair. As space warped and his face shifted, Ruin's expression twisted.

"Hans...!"

"Long time no see, Archbishop of Greed."

"Long time no see, Archbishop of Slander."

The real story kicked off.

And Hans awkwardly smiled at the Archbishop of Slander.

"We should retreat."

"What are you saying?"

"Things went wrong. That monster..."

Flash!

Suddenly, crimson lightning crashed over Hans's head.

Boom!!!

Through relentless red thunderbolts and rising black smoke, I flashed a small smile.

"Can't do that."

No sending them off before the fun started.

A lot of time passed.

Ricardo unleashed lightning like a madman, subtly blocking the heretics' escape routes.

It was eerie. Bolts missed the archbishops but struck near academy students in peril. Mikhail felt something off.

Why.

He was shocked Ricardo used magic, but more stunned that he was helping others. Grinding his teeth at the timely strikes saving him, Mikhail's mind grew more tangled amid the unresolved heretics.

Why.

The question gripped his hand again—

Whoosh!

A white-robed priest's sword grazed his cheek. Mikhail stared, trembling.

"Heh heh... What's this?"

"..."

"Never heard of a monster like that."

Unprecedented strength. Overwhelming malice. Mikhail regripped his sword.

Crack!

Red lightning struck once more, aiding him.