Music drifted gently through the ballroom, soft and graceful.
Luo Lan calmly took hold of Ophelia’s offered fingertips, while his other hand, through the thin layer of her gown, supported the girl’s slender waist.
Ophelia’s steps were precise and light, her skirt blooming like a flower.
“Your dancing is a bit better than I expected.”
The girl tilted her face up slightly. This was the third time she had taken a closer look at him. At such close range, Ophelia suddenly realized that the man dancing with her was actually rather good-looking.
He wore formal attire, the fabric—by her standards—only passable, nothing like the custom masterpieces from top tailors favored by the other young masters. When they drew near, Ophelia could catch a whiff of fresh, woody scent, which wasn’t any of the big-name perfumes rampant among the capital’s noble circles.
Individually, none of these details would stand out among the outstanding young men she had met, yet put together on this man, it all seemed… strangely pleasant.
—No wonder he caught Vivi’s eye. He does seem to have the makings of a worthy rival.
“Why did you decide to accept the invitation earlier?”
Luo Lan’s voice drew Ophelia back from her thoughts. He looked straight ahead, his profile a little blurred beneath the shifting lights and shadows.
The girl arched her brow, her tone carrying a natural touch of pride.
“In that situation, I was the only one on the spot who could resolve it. Besides, I’m Chloé’s good friend. Isn’t it only right for a good friend to lend a hand in times of trouble?”
After speaking, Ophelia glanced at Luo Lan, arching her brow a bit higher for effect.
“And you, having been by her side for so long, didn’t even know something like this?”
Luo Lan fell silent for a moment, his steps unbroken, his hand still steadily supporting her.
“That was my oversight,” he said calmly. “Thank you, Miss Ophelia.”
Ophelia lightly bit her lower lip. Today’s lip color was a faint cherry pink, which she unconsciously pressed between her teeth.
Clearly, she’d spoken those words with the air of a victor just a moment ago—so why did the result seem to turn out quite differently from what she’d expected?
The music’s tempo seemed to quicken, though perhaps it was just Ophelia’s own illusion. She noticed Luo Lan’s steps beginning to lag just a little.
The girl said nothing, only subtly adjusted her own footwork, and then, very naturally, took over the lead in the dance. Luo Lan paused for a moment, but soon relaxed, letting her slender arm circle his back in a more commanding manner, leading him as they spun through the ballroom.
After all, ballroom dancing wasn’t really his forte; there was no way he could match Ophelia, who’d been trained since childhood.
All the while, Luo Lan could feel not just overt but covert glances falling upon them—some landing on him, and many on Ophelia as well.
“What, does it seem strange?” the girl murmured in a voice only the two of them could hear. “I grew up under such gazes.”
“So, tonight’s trouble is temporarily settled. But in the future… Mr. Luo Lan, you’ve got plenty more to endure. After all, you just about refused the dance invitations from all the girls attending the Holy Rite tonight.”
A hint of schadenfreude lifted the corners of Ophelia’s lips. As the dance spun them, her voice swept past Luo Lan’s ear, her eyes gesturing toward a pair dancing nearby.
“See that girl who just passed by? She’s the second daughter of the Boucher family.”
“Boucher?” Luo Lan’s expression twisted a bit oddly. “Your Boucher family wouldn’t happen to have a military-industrial background, would it?”
A flash of surprise crossed Ophelia’s eyes. “You actually know?”
Luo Lan could only smile wryly, lips twitching to one side.
Of course he knew. He knew all too well.
“Most people just know Boucher for their luxurious carriages, but few are aware that their true business is military arms,” Ophelia continued in a whisper. “That chestnut-haired youth who brushed by just now is the eldest son of the Lampadati family. The girl clinging to the old gentleman’s arm is the youngest daughter of the Yabani family. That lady speaking with the count comes from the Pero family—not exactly top-tier, but supposedly she’s cousins with the finance minister’s wife…”
At first, Luo Lan had been surprised by all these strange names, but after being immersed in this sea of information—which felt almost cognitively hazardous to him—he grew numb to it.
—Fantasy worlds are really something. The more, the merrier.
When the piece ended, so did their dance.
Applause rose around them, warm and polite.
Luo Lan released Ophelia’s hand, and, in keeping with etiquette, bowed slightly. Ophelia responded with a graceful curtsy.
At the edge of the dance floor, Chloé sat quietly.
She watched the pair at the center—just finished dancing, now exchanging bows; watched as Luo Lan let go of Ophelia’s hand. An unfamiliar sourness suddenly welled up in her heart.
“Elia.”
Chloé called softly, and the head maid, who had been quietly waiting at her side like a shadow, immediately inclined her head in reply.
“I’m here, Your Highness.”
“Do you know how to dance?”
Chloé asked, her gaze still resting on that familiar figure amidst the slowly dispersing crowd.
Elia hesitated for a moment. “Just a little, Your Highness.”
Chloé withdrew her gaze, turning to Elia. “Then… could you teach me?”
The maid was slightly taken aback, her eyes instinctively darting once more toward Luo Lan. She saw the young man trying to extract himself from a small crowd of guests, still wearing a perfectly courteous smile.
She looked back to her mistress.
“Leave it to me, Your Highness.”
Chloé nodded gently, then quickly added,
“…By the way, this mustn’t be found out by Luo Lan. Elia, you can manage that, right?”
Elia paused a bit longer this time.
“Of course, my lady.”
…
For Luo Lan, this prison—at least—had ended without incident.
Ophelia’s intervention had worked out far better than he’d expected. Not only had she resolved Chloé’s predicament, but with the Blanche family’s reputation and that dance, she had also helped block the advances of other eager young ladies.
Her mood, too, was clearly much improved compared to the downcast look from before, but Luo Lan didn’t devote much further attention to her.
Because he had something far more important to confirm.
Luo Lan let his thoughts sink deep. The chilly little iron book surfaced as expected.
He had wanted to check the change in the plot node when the results of the earlier magic test were announced, but was interrupted by Yuna and the ensuing chain of events.
Now, surely, no one would interrupt him again?
The pages turned noiselessly at his mental touch, the familiar spread unfolding. The purple line representing the Demon King’s storyline had stretched steadily forward, now condensing at the tip into an intricate, delicate raven crest.
Nice!
Luo Lan looked further down and saw the golden line representing the Saintess route had also advanced a good distance.
All the crucial nodes he’d anticipated had played out as planned. If not for a few minor twists, this would have been a perfect run.
At that moment, the page floating in his mind’s eye suddenly turned of its own accord, as if moved by an unseen wind, slowly revealing a new sheet.
On the blank paper, fresh words and patterns began to emerge, stroke by stroke.
Luo Lan stared dazedly at the content, feeling as if something was pounding furiously against his ribs from within his chest.
The young man fought to keep the corners of his mouth under control, though he knew it would be difficult.