Chapter 20: Chapter 17: Ballroom Beatdown 1

[Your duty is to preserve the Light of Lorien.] A strange, almost mechanical voice spoke into his mind before all went a pure, bright and painful white.

In the span of what felt like an eternity, but was only a few seconds in reality, Bertram Espard saw the life and death of a thousand suns, the glare of an angry god, and an infinitely long blade that cleaved the divine realm from the mortal plane. It wasn’t through sheer force of Will, but rather the coincidental pain of his mother’s knife piercing his white knuckled hands that he was reminded of the burdens he still carried. And so he managed to anchor himself and keep from being subsumed into the consciousness of the entity he had unwittingly formed a contract with. 

As soon as he returned home his old man, frantic with excitement, requested him to go to the royal first knight order and raise their family prestige. He was even considerate enough to add a thinly veiled threat to encourage him: House Espard’s name will be known throughout Lorien once more, or Bertram’s sister would see a great deal more trouble at home. 

Someday, he swore to the heavens, he would make sure to give that pathetic man what he deserved. 

After more not-so-subtle nudging from his angel spirit, he could only half-heartedly apply to join the Royal Knight Order. Soon enough, he rose up to become several levels above his peers in swordsmanship and athletic ability. His newfound strength should have freed him to pursue whatever path in life he so wanted, but in a cruel twist of irony it had chained him with new responsibilities from heaven and earth. 

And he hated that word more than anything else in existence. 

The person that was put in his charge, Christiana Lorien, wasn’t anyone special aside from her birth and bloodline, or so the rumors said. But upon meeting her he realized how wrong he was. 

The princess had a flagrant disregard for any form of propriety. She behaved spoiled and arrogant beyond measure, challenging every new recruit to single combat when she had only started training barely a month prior. She carried the powerful Lorien name but seemed to act without any care for maintaining its dignity. Her actions lacked all sense of grace, her words rude, obscene, and scathing. 

But, knowing that protecting this bratty girl was the only way to break out of the futile cycle that plagued his life till then, Bertram grit his teeth and endured. 

What could go wrong? He naively thought, only to quickly eat his words when the two of them became trapped in a domain of all things, left behind by an earthbound spirit --and a powerful one at that. They struggled, and fought tooth and nail with their backs to each other. He was surprised to find some form of comfort in her crass language while they were fighting for their lives. 

And then they then came face to face with a demon. A living, breathing relic of the Ancient Era, who called herself Ilias.

He felt unbearable pain when looking at the monster in the guise of a little girl, his eyes imbued with holy power straining against an overwhelming demonic pressure to the point that he thought they’d burst. His instincts screamed at him to run, and it took all his willpower to stay still when her lips opened up to reveal an unsettling shark toothed smile. It was only when she turned to look at him with her crimson eyes, full of mischief and narrowed in mockery, that he realized things took the worst turn possible.

The demoness whispered into his ear.

“So you fancy yourself her protector, hm? Let’s see how good you are at your job, dog.” She smirked. 

He regretted not practicing his magical control when she suddenly sent both him and the princess on a flight through the air. He had to practically exhaust all his mana to hastily conjure up shields to cushion their fall. Even after all that, the wrathful knight captain had reprimanded him and proceeded to break his body a second time. 

And Bertram was well aware of how useless it was to resist a punishment when it was given.

But despite all of this pain that he endured, he couldn’t really say that he hated his burden. For one, the food culture in the capital was already something that he could no longer live without.

And ain’t that the truth. He warily looked around the banquet hall, searching for spying eyes or nosy guests. Seeing that everyone was none the wiser, he swiftly swiped a few morsels of food to cram into his pockets. He didn’t recognize any of the night’s selection, only knowing that anything the royal family served in the princess’s birthday celebration would surely be top of the line.

His one true reason for living, as he discovered recently, was good food. The greatest pleasure of life! It didn’t have to be said how hard he fought to get a position as a guard for the evening. And oh, was it worth it. Just the smell alone, of assorted meats, fresh baked pastries, and wafting exotic spices, was enough to send his soul to the next world over, and make him forget the entire past weeks of suffering that he’d endured.

He would have to write home, to let the little worrywart know that he was doing well. 

If there was one thing that made this night less than stellar, it was the annoying chatter that he could hear all around him. Nobles dressed in all sorts of gaudy wear, obeying whatever unholy and unsightly trends that were all the rage in the capital, pranced around like ugly butterflies. They spewed out flowery venom from their mouths, exchanging the latest gossip even in the halls of the royal palace. He caught mention of her highness Christiana’s name more than a few times, and not in the company of any good words or praise.

Ever since arriving in the capital, he was disappointed to find that the petty nobility didn’t exceed his already rock-bottom expectations. 

“What an annoying lot.” He grumbled to himself, making sure his complaints were inaudible to anyone nearby, lest some trouble come his way in the form of a red faced nobleman. He absentmindedly approached a well dressed servant carrying a platter of bite sized food and glasses of punch. Seizing a sample of each, he addressed the man’s puzzled stare in his most polite tone. 

“Just taking these for inspection, I have to make sure that everything’s safe for consumption. You know how it is, sir.” His serious demeanor and unshakeable confidence did all the convincing for him.

[Remember to focus on your mission. Today, do not let anyone close to the Light of Lorien.] As he was partaking in his reward, his spirit droned within his head.

As you wish, my master. He rolled his eyes.

At that moment, a loud voice boomed from the end of the room, where two curving flights of carpeted stairs led towards an elevated center. He looked up to see the king in all his regal glory.

“Good evening to everyone!”

The loud chatter quickly subsided into a murmur, before dying out completely. Of course, it was natural that none of these fools dared to speak out of turn in the presence of their king. The man was awe inspiring. That, and he caught a few of the noble ladies directing not-so-subtle gazes at the king. 

Bleh. He cringed.

“I must first thank you all for coming here. There are those among you who have traveled from our farthest borders, and I know that there are even people from other countries who have honored us with their company tonight. I hope that you all will enjoy Lorien’s best hospitality at the royal palace.

Today’s the day that my dearest daughter truly enters society. This is a night for celebration, so I won’t be imposing on you for long. A toast to my daughter!” He raised a glass of champagne, and the assembled party-goers raised and drank from their cups in unison. Bertram did the same, only to realize that his glass was already empty. The king continued,

“And let’s not forget the main character of this event. My daughter, Christiana Lapis Lorien!” He stepped to the side and gestured behind him. Three figures —two adult women and an adolescent girl in the middle— stepped forward. 

The surroundings went stark silent. While everyone looked upwards in various degrees of amazement and less noble emotions, Bertram could only hear the sound of his hopes for a relaxing evening shattering into smithereens.

He facepalmed.

She just had to make things so difficult for him. 

____________________________________

In a wing set aside for waiting, Chris was busy dealing with a sudden bout of nerves, although that would be an understatement. The inside of her mind was a mess of internal screaming. So loud was her inner voice, in fact, that she barely registered what Elenoa whispered beside her. 

“Don’t worry, you look marvelous, dear.” Elenoa had all the good natured cheer that was to be expected of a parent at their kid’s birthday party. 

She didn’t even know what she was wearing. It was a deep dark blue garment that lended a more mature and serious aura to the wearer. The skin on her back was exposed to open air, and the fabric was sheer in certain parts of the skirt, which happened to drag just slightly behind her legs to create some vain illusion of transience. Frills lined the bodice, adding hints of volume and liveliness. Long, lily white gloves, embellished to the last thread, chafed against her arms. 

To anyone else it might’ve been something beautiful, but to her it was ridiculous, ill fitting, and uncomfortable to say the least. Just wearing it gave her a nauseating feeling like after eating something that was sickeningly sweet.

“I’m never wearing a dress again.” She glared at the two amused women.

“Dear, you’re tonight’s star, we can’t have you wearing anything that suggests otherwise. And our good tailor shed much blood, sweat, and tears for this, so I hope you’ll endure for at least the reception. For their sake, please.” Her mother had a gentle smile as she struck down any thought of rebellion. Griselda shifted her eyes away when the tailor was mentioned.

“You’re making me, who barely just turned 13, wear something like this in front of a crowd of the highest ranking officials in the country?”

“There’s some slight politics involved, but nothing that you’ll need to worry about, Christiana.” Elenoa’s expression turned several shades more sinister, her lips curled up in malevolence. “We just need to separate the rats from the wolves, and clean up the vermin before we can hunt down the mutts.”

“...” Stunned into speechlessness, Chris heard Griselda chuckle.

“Her majesty’s always been like this.” 

“What do you mean always like this? This is only sometimes…” Elenoa pouted.

There were some final preparations to perform. Smoothing over her skirt, grooming ruffled hair and checking for blemishes. Stretching her toes to the limit in her heels. A deep breath, tasting the cold air. Trying and failing to think of anything but what was to come. Her mind was occupied in imagining the way she would walk, how high she would have to raise her chin, and whether it would be necessary to stand ramrod straight the entire time. 

“Say, where are Edward and James? I haven’t seen even a single hair on their heads today.” The two women froze. 

“Ahaha, no need to worry, your highness. The two princes will arrive very soon.”

“Yes, yes! They only have a tiny, small little errand to do. You know how busy it is this time of year, with official royal duties and all.” 

She nodded with a thoughtful look, their words making a fair bit of sense. A booming voice resounded from the banquet hall, signaling the three of them to get up. 

Let’s just get this over with. Her legs moved while her mind stubbornly fought to stay put.

Her escorts guided her, and they passed through a pair of guards who raised their spears in salute. 

“--My daughter, Christiana Lapis Lorien!”

Arriving at the elevated platform where Lysander was speaking, Chris came into full view of the throng below, and a swarm of leering and astonished gazes assailed her. Every inch of exposed skin from the tip of her toes to the top of her scalp prickled in irritation. Maybe her emotions could be felt from how her body tensed, but her mother and maid squeezed her hands to comfort her. 

What in the hell am I supposed to do now? Her eyes carried a frantic plea to Lysander, who was watching her from the side. He mouthed out an instruction to the best of his ability, a bead of sweat hanging precariously down the side of his head. 

She smiled and waved at the crowd. 

Ok, now there’s some noise. You can do this. Say something. 

[Notice: To obtain the largest possible increase in affection for all individuals in this room, please repeat from the script that this System has provided.]  

You are reading story Tragic Heroine at novel35.com

I’m saved? Chris couldn’t believe it. The Heroine Creation System, her great benefactor! She would be shouting praises to the gods once tonight was over. She gathered every ounce of elegance she could muster to sound equal parts demure young lady and proud royal scion. 

“As my father said, thank you all for coming here. It’s a momentous occasion to see people from all throughout our nation, and even from other lands, come here to celebrate one girl’s coming of age. You being here will make this a night to remember. Really, you have my gratitude.”

Despite shamelessly reciting everything that the System fed into her brain word for word, she could still feel her cheeks begin to redden from being still conscious of her attire. The audience clapped, nothing like a standing ovation but applause nonetheless. She gracefully stepped out of sight and was immediately swept up in a hug.

“I couldn’t have said it better myself!” Elenoa’s grin was abundant with pride and joy. Chris was startled into silence by her sudden enthusiasm. 

“Hang in there for the rest of the night, ok?”

“Huh?” No way! Relying on her barebones knowledge to steer an actual conversation with nobles would only be a surefire path towards disaster! But her hesitation could wait. Lysander had entered into the limelight again, and announced the start of the one thing that every one of these elites were looking forward to this evening. 

Ballroom dancing, naturally. 

Vibrant orchestral music began to play, accompanied by coy giggles and boisterous laughter. The nobles smoothly organized into pairs and danced. Cheeks suffused with a rosy red flush, either from excitement or from alcohol. The whole scene walked a fine line between depraved debauchery and privileged recreation.

“Come on, we should let you mingle with the crowd a bit.” Elenoa started to drag her by the hand down the stairs. 

“Wait, what? Wait wait wait WAIT.” Woman, what are you doing? Don’t throw me in there! But her pleas, of course, were heartily ignored. Once her heels clicked on the marble floor, heads began to turn and whispers made their way from mouth to ear. She felt like a helpless, thrashing animal thrown into piranha infested waters.

Calm down. You still have Elenoa right next to— the space beside her suddenly felt exceedingly empty. Chris turned in a panic to see her mother being surrounded by a squawking gaggle of noblewomen, all of them occupying her over some nonsensical gossip. 

Damn! So their plan was to isolate me all along! She could already see some daring individuals advancing on her location, which meant trouble. Just as she was eyeing all the possible exits, salvation came from a place she’d least expected.

“Hey, your highness, you don't look too good.” An annoying brown haired boy barged in right in the nick of time. She spun around.

“I’m fine. Thank you very much.” Her annoyance overshadowed her relief. Bertram quirked an eyebrow. 

“You look like a lost kid at the market.”

“That’s cause I really don’t want to be here.” She grumbled. “I… need someone to talk to who isn’t an upstart noble brat.” The boy’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling, and his gaze became one of exasperation. “What? Is there something on my head?”

“No, nothing. I just think that, rather than talk to you, it’s much more appealing to sample all the different delicacies that your family has so kindly provided us today.”

“Wait, what do you mean? I thought those were only meant for guests, and you’re just a knight in training who’s working as a guard!” She slapped a hand to her mouth when she realized that had been a little too loud, drawing curious glances over in their direction.

“It may not look like it, but my family was nobility once, so I think this is fine.” He smirked. “But if you’re unwilling to let this go, then how about I give you some tribute?” He produced a handful of canapés from his pocket.

“...” Chris looked around to make sure no one was looking, then snatched the morsels and quickly shoved them into her mouth in a completely unladylike manner. The earthy taste of mushroom, complemented by the sharpness of a cheese and vegetable filling, combined with a sweet sauce, engulfed her taste buds. Her expression instantly became one of bliss.

“You are the very image of gracefulness.” He deadpanned. She made sure to swallow her food before retorting —she wasn’t entirely without manners.

“Shut up, I was just hungry, ok? Jeez, if you know how long it took for them to fit me in this… thing, you would take more pity on me.” She gestured at her dress. Bertram sighed.

“Yes, it doesn’t really help in diverting attention, now does it?” His gaze swept over the offending garment in all of its horrid beauty. That’s when he remembered something important. 

“Say, are you sure you should be out and about this soon? I saw you limping after our… accident. Did you really recover that fast?” Seeing a rare expression of concern on his face, Chris couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Let’s just say that my personal maid is the best.” She could have sworn that she heard Griselda shrieking in joy somewhere when she said that.

Maybe a coincidence.

“You didn’t look so good back then either. I’m guessing Sevraus put you through the wringer after that?” 

“Don’t even remind me.” He grimaced, recalling memories that were better left undisturbed. She grinned.

“Come to think of it, you still owe me some food from the capital. I hope you’ve been saving up your money, because--”

“Excuse me, your highness.” Someone interrupted her. Youthful and boyish, with all the hallmarks of an annoying character. A boy around her age who had green hair in a bowl cut sauntered up to them.

“--And who might you be?” She fought to keep the edge out of her tone, instead shifting to the polite persona that she used when addressing the party-goers. The new boy bowed.

“I am Matthias, fifth prince of Fernan.” His lips were raised into a plastic smile. “Would you give me the honor of sharing a dance with me?”

She froze, fight or flight taking over as a worst case scenario came to fruition. Shit! She didn’t even know how to dance all that well and a literal prince from the Fernan Empire of all people had show up now of all times.

...Well, something like this would’ve happened anyway. A light bulb appeared on her head. What was it that Griselda said?

“Er, unfortunately, I am not feeling well at the moment. Due to the condition of my legs, I am unable to dance…my apologies.” She ignored how there were now vicious whispers in the vicinity of how she might be crippled. The nobles really had nothing better to do, in fact some of them seemed to be enjoying this exchange.

But the brat was undeterred.

“If you can walk, then you can simply dance to a slower beat. Surely we can make a compromise?” The self proclaimed fifth prince offered a hand, not taking no for an answer.

Oi kid. No girl will like you if you’re this pushy. And I’m saying this as a virgin in not one, but three lives. She pushed down the urge to speak her mind. Gods knew how much trouble that could get her in. A hand grabbed onto Matthias’s wrist.

“Could you not press on her highness? Due to recent events she really isn’t in the right state to—” 

A crisp smack could be heard through the air.

Bertram cupped his reddened cheek with one hand, a neutral and almost apathetic look on his face. The only indication of his boiling inner emotions were his two almost glowing golden eyes, glaring at the boy that stood opposite to him. Chris was speechless. Did this guy really just?

“H-how dare a commoner like you talk down to me? I’m royalty! Have some respect for your betters.” The green haired son of a bitch and the audacity to act offended, like he was the victim.

They were making a scene now. The whispers were getting louder, and she could see her mother peering through the dense crowd with a hardened gaze. Lysander too, was beginning to emit a frosty aura from where he stood. Several knights disguised as servants were tense, wondering if they should move in to dissolve the situation or not.

“What are you looking at me like that for, you dog?”

Bertram seemed close to snapping. A vein bulged on his temple, and his clenched fists shook, itching to be let loose on the upstart in front of him. But he seemed to hold himself back with great restraint. 

Instead, he walked in front of her.

“...Please forgive my boldness, but my princess really is feeling too weak to participate in any strenuous activities.”

A loud bang resounded in the room. Bertram’s body was sent flying backwards. A scream could be heard. The room rose into a clamor. The knights were rushing forward. Matthias lowered his leg from his kick.

“A dog that’s all bark and no bite. That’s what happens when you stand against the blood of Fernan.” He turned back to Chris, politely smiling once again. “Now that the nuisance is gone, why don’t we—”

“I’m not going to dance with someone like you.” She was startled by her voice that now sounded like cold steel.

“What?” His face looked bewildered. “Sorry, would you care to say that again?”

“I said that I’m not going to dance with a bowlhead monkey like you, capisce? Or do you need me to dumb down my words for you?” 

His confused expression morphed into an expression of fury.

“I’m a prince of Fernan, a son of the Empire! You should be delighted that I came to offer you a dance, let alone attend the worthless birthday party of some useless harlot!”

“Prince Matthias.” 

“What is it?”

“You must have a contracted spirit, right?”

“Why does it matter to you? A useless girl like you won’t even—”

“Call it out.” Her eyes flickered with an electric green and blue glow. Her aura, one of frightening stillness. Cold. Serene. The calm before the storm. 

“I challenge you to a duel.”