Chapter 56 :

Bloodstained Ball (3)

The schedule of noble balls inevitably had to be centered around the night.

Especially for events celebrating a debutante, this was even more so, because the protagonist of the occasion only arrived at the mansion after the sun had completely set.

"Is this your first time attending a ball like this, Derrick?"

Denise entered the assigned room, sat on the bed, crossed her arms, and explained with a smug tone.

As a Young Lady of the Beltus family who had already debuted in High Society herself, she had experience being the main figure of such large-scale events.

"The debutante day of noble Young Ladies is absurdly busy."

From early morning, they dress themselves up, put on frilled dresses decorated with daffodils and roses, ride a beautiful carriage, and go all the way to the Imperial Capital to have an audience with the Emperor.

They greet the Imperial family, clearly announce the name Young Lady Delia of the Duplein Ducal House, receive their blessings, and stamp their presence among the forces of the Imperial Capital.

Then they have tea while socializing with relatives working in the Imperial Palace, before riding another luxurious carriage back to the Duplein territory to attend the ball.

One whole day… or depending on travel distance, even two full days are scheduled, meeting all sorts of influential figures of High Society, so there is no chance to relax.

Usually, they doze off inside the carriage on the way to the ballroom, to the point that maids even board the carriage carrying blankets.

"In short, Young Lady Delia will arrive at the ballroom when the sun is almost completely down. In the meantime, guests who arrived in the afternoon either rest in their rooms, chat with those who arrived early in the refreshment hall, or stroll around the mansion garden."

"I read about it in etiquette books. This resting period before the ball is called 'middle time,' and it’s used as an opportunity to build new connections or make one’s face known."

"Right, that’s how it works. Though that’s more the concern of lower-rank nobles desperate for connections. For someone from a third-generation noble house like me, I’m too tired and just stay in my room."

“....”

"… Derrick. That look on your face says you want to say I’m just lazy."

Derrick took off his coat and hung it over the chair.

Though he had come accompanying Denise, it didn’t seem appropriate to remain in a lady’s resting room, so he planned to go greet members of the Duplein family instead.

However, Denise lay down on the bed as if it didn’t matter whether Derrick stayed or not, carefully rolling up her dress hem so it wouldn’t crease, then bending her body backward.

She was a girl who had clearly researched more than anyone how to lie down comfortably without damaging her clothes. The seasoned ease in her movements was unusual.

"Will you be resting in your room, Young Lady Denise?"

"Of course. If I’m going to plaster a smiling mask on my face during the dinner banquet, I need to store up my stamina starting now."

"Then I’ll step outside and make some rounds greeting people. I know quite a few faces, so it’d be awkward to just sit still."

“....”

Denise, who had been sprawled out, suddenly lifted her upper body and stared straight at Derrick.

"… Is there something bothering you?"

"Well… there are quite a few Young Ladies who’d like to snatch you up and stuff you into their pockets while I’m not looking."

"… I am officially contracted to the Beltus family. Do you think I would forget that?"

"You never know. Fine. I was getting hungry anyway, so let’s go together to the refreshment hall at the main entrance. Ellente Young Lady should be there too. She’s overflowing with motivation, so she’ll want to see as many people as possible."

*

As a representative of the Beltus family, Young Lady Denise had to accept greetings from countless nobles the moment she entered the refreshment hall.

From a merchant lord selling herring in the outskirts of the capital, to the bishop of Olveron Cathedral, said to be the largest branch of the Ramic Church, to Billak, Captain of the Northern Kremlin Mercenary Group… simply hearing the names marked them as heavyweights.

"Oh my, thanks to the furs your side sends to our Beltus family from the north, they were such a huge help last winter. My father even told me to be sure to thank you properly when I met you, Lord Aldon."

Leaving behind Denise, who was fully switched into noble Young Lady mode, Derrick picked up a glass of poured wine from a corner of the refreshment hall and took a sip.

Watching from a slight distance, he could see many lower-rank nobles burning with ambition, desperate to exchange even a single extra word with someone of high standing.

Young Lady Denise’s surroundings were already packed shoulder to shoulder, and on the opposite side of the hall, Ellente Young Lady was also engaged in conversations with so many people that approaching her was impossible.

People crowded between them, eager to show their faces at least once more.

They looked like wolves prowling in search of prey.

From time to time, a few nobles’ eyes met Derrick’s, but upon seeing the mercenary attire of a man standing alone in the corner without conversing with anyone, they quickly looked away.

Time was limited, and they had no intention of wasting such a precious moment on a mere commoner.

'They live exhausting lives too.'

Having grown up in the slums, Derrick had rarely experienced noble culture firsthand.

Though he had gradually become accustomed to it while teaching Young Ladies, he still found it hard to accept the calculating nature of their social interactions.

Of course, Derrick himself wasn’t the type to actively socialize either. He was merely observing the nobles gathered in the refreshment hall, like watching curious animals.

"Ufufu, thank you, Bishop. I’ll be sure to visit with the elders of my family during the next holy festival."

As he spent some time relaxing like that, Derrick noticed a girl chatting with several distinguished guests in the corner of his vision.

'… Who is that?'

Derrick had been active in Ebelstein for quite some time, so he roughly knew which figures tended to draw attention.

Especially those in High Society, he could usually recognize at least their names or facial features.

Yet the girl sitting quietly at a round table in the corner of the refreshment hall, chewing on cake, was someone he had never seen before.

The dress clinging perfectly along her leg line was styled after the eastern Empire.

Her jade-colored hair, neatly gathered and draped to one side, clearly looked like it required a great deal of care, implying a dedicated maid attended to it.

Her posture was modest, and the way she skillfully smiled at those engaging her in conversation showed she was well-trained in etiquette.

Given that she was present here, it was obvious she was the daughter of a prestigious house, but compared to Denise or Ellente from this region, she didn’t seem particularly busy.

'An outsider?'

Whenever she had a moment, she returned with armfuls of mont blanc, financiers, apple pies, tarts, croissants, and the like from the banquet table, chewing happily with a blissful expression.

She alternated dipping bites into different whipped creams, examined the layers of bread by tearing it apart with a fork, then popped it into her mouth and savored the sweetness with sparkling eyes.

Each time she ate a pastry, she shivered with delight, her expression so enthusiastic that even the creator would feel rewarded watching her.

She looked less like a noble Young Lady and more like a tourist on a gourmet trip, and Derrick found his gaze lingering.

Before he realized it, their eyes met. Unsure what to do, Derrick lowered his head in greeting and quickly set his cup down on a nearby table.

"Have you already picked out your prey?"

Denise, having finally shaken off the guests bombarding her with conversation, sat down beside Derrick with a slightly tired face.

Since Derrick was here to assist her, it wasn’t good for him to stay too far away.

"I mean that refined lady. She’s Freya, Young Lady of Count Elvester. A merchant lord mentioned earlier that he’d gone to greet her."

"That lady?"

"Yes. Though honestly… I can’t tell whether she came to attend the ball or to go on a gourmet tour."

"I’ve heard that among the Duplein mansion’s kitchen assistant maids, there are three pastry chefs who used to work in the Imperial Palace. People who love sweets are said to go crazy over it."

"… Even so, at that point I start worrying her brain might be soaked in sugar. I should grab something sweet too…"

Denise sighed heavily and took a sip of cold water.

If she stayed seated much longer, countless guests would gather again to strike up conversations, so she seemed intent on savoring this brief rest.

"Fortunately, it looks like things are a bit calmer now."

"Of course. Someone who’s practically the protagonist of the event just arrived at the mansion."

"Do you mean Young Lady Delia?"

"I told you that little lioness only arrives at night. It’s her elder sister. She went out to help with Delia’s debutante, and it seems she finished up and arrived first."

At that moment, the doors of the refreshment hall opened, and a dignified woman appeared, leading many people behind her.

Her dark hair could look gloomy at first glance, but combined with Aiselin Eleanor Duplein’s well-maintained, neat demeanor, it resembled a beautifully blooming petal.

The instant she appeared, tension filled the refreshment hall once more.

Who could deny it? Aiselin was a figure reigning like a queen over Ebelstein High Society.

Many guests wanted to rush forward and speak to her immediately, but none dared step out first, as there were countless people of higher status than themselves present.

Who would speak first?

Amid that charged atmosphere, Aiselin surveyed the hall once.

Soon, Aiselin Young Lady led her attendants across the hall with long strides, approaching Young Lady Denise.

Naturally, it was wise to first show courtesy to those she regularly met at Rosea Salon. The guests nodded in agreement.

After Young Lady Denise would come Ellente Young Lady, and then choosing the next counterpart would be the most appropriate move. Many guests were already wrapping up their conversations and preparing to move closer to Aiselin.

Step, step.

Just as Young Lady Denise sighed and prepared to clear her throat again—

"Derrick Mr. You must have had a hard journey. I just arrived as well, so things are hectic, but the servants haven’t been rude to you, have they?"

Yet the first person Aiselin spoke to was Derrick, standing against the wall behind Denise.

A moment of silence fell over the refreshment hall.

Even Derrick himself was flustered, feeling the gazes of countless guests turn toward him.

Aiselin wasn’t someone who strictly weighed noble authority when dealing with people.

She simply felt happiest seeing Derrick among those present and stepped forward to greet him. There was no political calculation behind it.

Because everyone present knew Aiselin’s temperament well, they scrutinized Derrick’s face. In such social gatherings, he was a completely unfamiliar figure.

Only after observing Derrick’s expression did Aiselin realize her words might have placed a burden on him.

After all, this was the Duplein mansion, and Aiselin was the center of all attention.

"It doesn’t seem appropriate to exchange greetings here. I plan to chat with our guests and then go greet my father. Would you like to accompany me then?"

Being personally invited to greet the Duke meant near-noble treatment within this house.

Realizing the expressions of the guests had completely changed, Derrick bowed his head and spoke.

"How could a mere commoner accompany you? I must also assist Young Lady Denise. If an opportunity arises later, I will come greet him separately."

"Is that so? My father would be pleased… In any case, thank you for coming to celebrate Delia today. Delia will be happy when she learns you came."

"The honor is mine."

Derrick offered a brief reply and bowed politely, a courteous expression of his lack of intention to continue the conversation.

Aiselin easily understood that Derrick felt burdened by the attention. Though regret showed on her face, she quietly nodded and blended back into the guests.

No matter how glad one is to meet someone, in a place like this, there are limits to conversation.

That was the gap in status.

Derrick was used to it and felt nothing, but Aiselin couldn’t help sensing that subtle disparity.

It was nothing new.

*

'It seems the dinner preparations are going well. I was worried since letters weren’t arriving, but everyone must have simply been too busy.'

Aiselin hurried back to the mansion the moment she finished supporting Delia in the Imperial Capital.

She wanted to see with her own eyes whether the ball prepared for Delia was proceeding perfectly.

She hoped her only sister’s debut in High Society would be flawless. With that thought in mind, she had spent the entire day dealing with countless matters.

'Nobles from the east and north have all attended, and even Derrick, whom Delia worried about most, came… I should just reconfirm the schedule and receive progress reports.'

After completing formal greetings in the refreshment hall, Aiselin walked along the inner corridor of the mansion’s main hall.

The corridor was filled with servants busily carrying dishes. From here inward was an internal area accessible only to those related to the Duplein family.

Watching the servants move efficiently without a moment’s waste, Aiselin felt satisfaction, gratitude, and thankfulness all at once.

With so many celebrations overlapping, everyone must have been overwhelmed, so she resolved to ask the Duke to grant them some leave once everything was over.

"Aiselin Young Lady. Your luggage has been placed in your room. Shall we go to the office where His Grace the Duke is?"

"Yes. I should see father first. Still, everyone really is busy. I didn’t even catch sight of Valerian Orabeoni or Raig Orabeoni from the front gate to the garden."

"Yes. They are all busy receiving guests. Still, His Grace wishes to see you, Young Lady."

"I want to see father too. I’ve hardly been able to return to the main house while helping Delia in Ebelstein."

Walking briskly among the servants, Aiselin spoke gently to head maid Katarina.

Katarina quietly bowed her head and followed beside her. Her efficient movements truly marked her as the most veteran among the mansion’s maids.

"By the way, Katarina, your skin looks even better."

"Thank you."

"Did you change the scented candles you use? You seem paler than before… I’m worried you might be unwell. You’re not overworking yourself, are you?"

"Yes, thank you for your concern."

As she chatted with Katarina on the way to the Duke’s office, Aiselin felt a strange sense of unease.

The Katarina she knew would usually respond more warmly to such friendly praise.

The conversation felt oddly broken, prompting Aiselin to examine Katarina’s expression again, worried she might simply be exhausted.

However, Katarina looked at her just as she always did.

That made it feel even stranger.

'Something’s off… Why do the mansion’s servants feel so awkward today?'

They were as busy as ever, yet something felt wrong. Their movements were efficient and mechanical, making them seem less like people and more like devices.

'Are they all tense? Delia’s debut is important, after all…'

It was then, as they climbed the stairs behind the main entrance toward the Duke’s office—

— Whiiish!

–Grab!

"Ugh!"

Katarina, who had been quietly following behind, suddenly pulled out a cloth from her bosom and covered Aiselin’s nose and mouth.

She twisted one of Aiselin’s arms and forcibly subdued her as she struggled.

"Mmm… ngh! Mm!"

As Aiselin tried to resist, her eyes rolled back and her consciousness vanished in an instant.

The sap of the Shade Spike soaked into the cloth carried a powerful hypnotic effect.

Soon, Aiselin’s body went limp, and Katarina quietly supported her.

Servants bustled nearby, yet none paid any attention.

A dark bluish light flickered once in Katarina’s eyes, unfocused, as if controlled by something.

The same was true for the other servants.

*

— Flinch!

Those who lived as mercenaries on life-and-death battlefields were sometimes guided by instincts beyond explanation.

As the tiring refreshment gathering ended and the sun began to set,

Derrick, quietly reading a Magic Book at the table beside a sleeping Denise, furrowed his brow.

A subtle trace of mana seeped in through the doorframe.

“....”

Derrick closed the book, set it on the table, and turned his gaze toward the door.

An unexplainable sense of unease washed over him.

— Creak!

Derrick pushed his chair back loudly and stood.

Hearing the sound, Denise stopped her soft breathing and snapped her eyes open, still half-asleep.

"Ugh… I-is it already time for the dinner banquet. Gyaaah!"

Stretching and barely sitting up, Denise tilted her head after seeing Derrick’s expression.

"What’s wrong, Derrick? Is something bothering you?"

Without answering, Derrick strode to the door and twisted the doorknob.

It didn’t open.

It didn’t feel locked. Focusing his senses, he saw bluish mana flowing out around the knob.

"The door won’t open."

"Huh? Really? Call a servant to check it."

Still without replying, Derrick moved quickly to the window.

The dinner banquet was about to begin.

It should have been bustling outside with guests strolling the garden, servants assisting them, and carriages arriving late.

Yet the scene beyond the window was eerily silent.

The instincts of a mercenary who had lurked long within noble districts stirred.

A sixth sense for detecting anomalies, honed through countless years.

Derrick pressed his ear to the door, trying to grasp the situation outside.

Still, silence.

Despite servants normally escorting guests to their rooms, there was no sign of life.

Derrick closed his eyes and activated Search-type magic.

Beyond the door, countless magical presences could be felt.

"Young Lady Denise."

"Hm?"

Unaccustomed to Derrick’s grave tone, Denise broke into a cold sweat.

Without changing expression, Derrick spoke.

"I will break the window."

The decision was mechanical.

Derrick was a man who had lived half his life on the battlefield.

On the battlefield, hesitation meant death.