Arcanist In Another World-Chapter 94: Dance

“Val, wait!” Celme stumbled clumsily out into the hallway, the hems of her dress clasped tight in her hands, lips stretched into a tight frown. “I’m talking to you! Wait!”

Valens sighed as he saw through the sound vision the Berserker struggling with her pompously designed dress that left little room for her to maneuver, and stopped as he let her catch up to him.

“I thought we were done with the shady cult business,” he said, looking over his shoulder. The moment he saw her red face, however, the anger receded and gave way to a mild amusement. There was something strange about matching the picture of a Berserker to that of the woman stumbling behind him.

Two sides to a coin. Is this why they hate the capital?

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Celme jabbed at him with her gloved hand. “What happened to that guy who couldn’t close his mouth shut, babbling about the Church using religion to control people, spitting venomous doctrines to cage them into servitude? And now you’re opening a clinic to catch the shadows? What were you thinking?”

“Wait.” Valens turned to her. “How did you know?”

“We have our sources,” Celme said, face creasing.

“Oh, right,” Valens said. “The cult business. You are, after all, a part of the Church. A forgotten and shunned part, but a part nonetheless. I forgot.”

“Don’t confuse us with them,” Celme said sharply. “We're not trying to control people. We care only for the truth.”

“Well,” Valens said. “I’d say that’s a respectable goal. Quite similar to my own, if I have to admit, if for a few differences in method. I, for one, don’t go around making deals with some legion from the Underworld.”

“You don’t even know the half of it—”

“That’s because you’re not telling me anything, Celme,” Valens said, frowning out into her face. “I can’t understand whether you want me to be involved in… whatever you’re planning in that guild of yours, or you’re just handing out warnings out of courtesy since I have been of some use to you as a Healer.”

“You know that is not the case,” Celme said, glancing at him. “I don’t want to involve you because this isn’t your fight. This isn’t about you.”

“But it is, though, isn’t it?” Valens drew near to her, and whispered. “I killed that Necromancer. I healed your people after we were done with the Rift. So whether you like it or not, I’m in this with the rest of you. Those Liches will be coming for my head, won’t they? I can’t seem to remember anything about them targeting your Guild as a whole.”

“This…” Celme nodded heavily. “Forget it. Tell me, what are you going to do from now on?”

“Simple,” Valens said. “I’ll keep at it.”

“You’ll do what?”

“I said I’ll keep at what I’m doing right now,” Valens said. “In a few days we’ll open that clinic to the people, and just so you know, I didn’t risk my chances just to catch a few stray shadows. I did it because there are people in this city, mothers and little children who need help, and they’re not getting it from the Church. I couldn’t have stayed silent after I saw those faces. Someone had to do something.”

“Good,” Celme chuckled, which broke the ice between them as if it’d been a lie.

“Good?” Valens arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re not going to say that I should stay out of sight? To hide my skills because that would be me painting a target on my back? That the Bishop won’t let me get away with it?”

“It’s good to see you haven’t changed,” Celme said, shaking her head. “I don’t know, but there’s something about you. If I were to explain it in the way you’d understand, then you’re like a sickness. Yes, a contagious sickness that rubs itself over and over against the people.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does,” Valens scowled.

“Oh, but it does,” Celme grinned at him. “You are the kind of sickness that gets under people’s skin, not because you’re loud, but because you care, even when it’s foolish to. You make people believe things can change. It’s... irritating, really.”

“Here’s to hope they don’t find a cure soon, then,” Valens said, smiling down at her. “Because I’d like to keep at it for quite some time.”

“I’m sure they won’t,” Celme said confidently. “But even if they did, you’d find a way to work around it. Now, shall we?”

She stretched an inviting hand toward him, and Valens stood frozen at the sight of it. Then he looked back at her face and saw a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“We’re going to dance, aren’t we?” he muttered.

“I hate this dress, these walls, this mansion, and every little thing in this street, but not today,” Celme said, shrugging. “After all, I’m going to the Broken Lands soon. I’ll give this ball a final chance.”

“Right…”

……

The formalities of a ball involved a long list of painful expressions, patient gestures, too much staring, not enough talking, and mostly just waiting there for the music to start.

Normally, it would all begin with the master of ceremonies announcing the start of the first waltz. This dance, Selin told him, was supposed to belong to the host or most esteemed guests, like the aristocracy or the close buddies of the mansion’s Master, but this wasn’t the case here in the mysterious Mr. Gray’s ball.

No, the master of ceremonies directly announced the start of the second waltz, a rather personal and less formal dance involving nearly all guests.

Indeed, when the quartet plucked their strings with passion, people began flocking to the dance floor in couples, while others moved to the ladies to invite them kindly to the occasion. The low murmur of conversations hummed behind the slowly rising rhythm of the music, and that was when Celme dragged Valens forward.

Tap, and tap.

It was simple.

What was not simple, however, was to keep his eyes away from Celme’s face. The awkwardness he felt at taking a part in the second waltz with a Berserker with whom he had killed lively skeletons and enormous monsters wasn’t something he expected to face today.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Surprisingly, she was not at all stiff in between the moves. She glided across the floor eloquently, her face painted with a rich amount of powder, blue eyes glinting, and long, blond hair fixed tightly with a pin. Her neckline was smooth without any visible scars as she guided Valens whenever he took the wrong step, pulling him easily as if he weighed nothing.

This here is another plus of stats. They truly make life easy in different ways.

“You’re enjoying this,” Celme giggled as they turned slowly around another couple, faces hidden under half-masks. “Didn’t know you had it in you—”

“I’m trying to fit in,” Valens said, glancing down at her. “You, on the other hand, turned out to be quite the expert.”

“I’ve been taught the ways of the rich after Lightmaster took me in,” Celme said. “Do you know they even have rules for how you should eat a chicken or pork? You can’t just eat out of your plate or use whatever tool you want. There is a right way of doing everything here.”

“So you weren’t born into it?” Valens said as he swayed gently with the music. “Lightmaster took you in… Tell me, when exactly did you decide to pursue a career in confronting the devil in all forms, and doing it with a great deal of blood in the mix? Couldn’t have been an easy choice, could it?”

“No, it was easy,” Celme said, blinking. “It was either stay here and play the nephew, or go out into the Broken Lands to become something entirely different. I didn’t have the stomach for the politics here, so I chose the latter. It helped getting years of training in the pits.”

“Pits?”

“Underground arenas of Belgrave,” Celme said, lips curling. “I told you, you don’t know the half of it. They might appear virtuous and bright from the outside, but everyone here has a dark side underneath their masks. They indulge in the joy of it, but only if it is hidden from the eyes and carried out in protected, shady places away from the public.”

“That’s where the Lightmaster found you?” Valens asked.

Celme nodded. “Unlike Marcus, I was brought into this world as an outsider. The Duality Guild wasn’t even established back then, and the Lightmaster was just… an unknown face in the crowd.”

“Before he decided to turn the guild into a cult, you mean?” Valens said. “What exactly are you planning here? I don’t know if you’re aware, but there under the Golden Cathedral is a highly unstable Bishop who happens to be a Level 400 Dawnkeeper. He alone could deal with that sorry-looking group I witnessed in the Necromancer’s Rift.”

“You think we don’t know?” Celme frowned. “The Sun’s Church is a force that has influence over multiple kingdoms. No, it's too early for us. We still have to prepare."

“Oh,” Valens said. It made sense. “We can’t expect a big revelation soon, then? You’re just starting.”

“Funny,” Celme said, face completely blank.

“I’m glad you told me about it,” Valens said, smiling. “Because I don’t know if I could take another cult taking a stab at Belgrave. Things are already complicated.”

“The Mother of Venerable Fates,” Celme said.

“Of course you know.”

“It’s hard not to be aware of such a strange thing. Her court being active in Belgrave… That’s not something you’d often see.”

“Any tips in dealing with the devil?” Valens asked. “I could use some help, for I believe it also has something to do with my trial.”

“Your trial?” Celme’s face changed. “You mean the recent murders and the Cursed Rift—”

“Easy, now.” Valens looked around him. People had already lost themselves in the dance, but he was learning to be cautious as of late. Or at least, he was trying to. “I’m not sure,” he then said. “But I believe there are enough clues to suggest that is indeed the case."

“A trial in a city like Belgrave, not in Broken Lands,” Celme looked confused as she muttered. “I guess it makes sense if it involves healing people, but is there a sickness I’m not aware of? You’ve already handled the case in Brackley, haven’t you? If it’s not related to that, then it can only mean your Class is above Rare or even… Sacred!”

I’m afraid I don’t know what those mean.

“Aren’t you supposed not to disclose your Class, Traits, and Trials?” Valens asked, a little taken aback. “The common etiquette around those is keeping them a secret, no?”

“Of course it is!” Celme looked accusingly at him. “We all know that you have a special class, but I never thought it could be above Sacred. Now it makes sense why the Bishop even considered accepting you into the Church.”

Oh, that matter is complicated. He didn’t just accept me. A lot of things were involved in that particular meeting. A certain Hexmender, a release of a Divine Aura, and me somehow suppressing it, and a long healing session had me massaging the man’s shoulders. I’m not in the least proud of it.

“He must’ve thought by keeping you close he could control you,” Celme said. “What he didn’t know, however, was that your Trial is in Belgrave.”

“Don’t make me regret telling you about it, please,” Valens said, and without waiting for an answer, turned Celme when the pitch of the music rose above the giant hall. “And it’s not like I knew picking a class like this would be seen as a grave sin in Melton. Back where I come from, we don’t really care about these things.”

“Careful,” Celme said, and nearly stumbled when Valens pulled clumsily at her dress. The thing was too puffy and grand that he couldn’t see his own feet under it as they danced, but still he managed to deal with the momentary lapse in his skills to which he was reprimanded by a slightly angry Celme. “You’re terribly in need of practice. I should tell Selin to teach you more about it.”

“Why?” Valens said, looking around him. “If not for you, I wouldn’t have been invited to a place like this. I doubt there will be a second time.”

“Naive,” Celme shook her head. “Do you really think we’ve gone to all that trouble just to warn you? We could’ve sent a letter to your door if we wanted.”

“I’m not sure if I’m following—”

“It’s about Mr. Gray,” Celme said. “Not much is known about him other than the fact that he likes to have ties with the people in charge of Melton. I have never seen his face, but the Lightmaster said we could trust him. He’s… for the lack of a better word, a mysterious man, and I’ve been told that when he heard about it he wanted to meet you. That’s how we decided to use the ball to give you a warning as well.”

“A mysterious fan, eh?” Valens muttered. “I have nothing more than those in my hand lately.”

They danced further across the hall until the music slowed down to a stop, allowing the couples to take a breather while the servants scuttled to make the drinks fast to their tables. Celme dragged Valens to a far corner, toward a lonely-looking door, seemingly troubled.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, and I’m now thinking it’s not about my dancing skills,” Valens said after a long silence stretched between them. “What is it? You know you can tell me about it.”

“It’s… complicated,” Celme said.

“Well, I expected—”

“Valens.” Celme turned and took his arm, her painted nails sharp across his skin. “The Lightmaster will take us to the Broken Lands for our Trials soon. Why don’t you come with us? You’re not safe here. This game you’re playing with the Church… It is too risky, and I’m afraid it’s not going to end well. We can use someone like you—”

“I’ll have to stop you right there,” Valens said, raising a hand at her. “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t just leave when there are people here in desperate need of help. My help, that I can provide now that I have a clinic to work with.”

“I know, but…”

“I didn’t come here to run away when things get hard, Celme,” Valens said. “I know that’s not what you’re trying to make me do here, but I have to deal with this on my own."

Celme went silent. Her hand lingered on his arm, eyes searching his face, but before the silence could settle deeper between them, the soft shuffle of shoes approached from the side hall.

It’s him again…

The young servant, hardly any emotion in his face, bowed slightly after he neared the pair of them.

“Pardon the interruption, Mr. Kosthal,” he said, eyes flickering between Valens and Celme. “But Mr. Gray has requested a moment of your time. He is waiting.”

Valens glanced once at Celme, whose expression gave away nothing.

“Of course he is,” he muttered, and waved the servant to give them a second. When the young man did so, Valens whispered to Celme, “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself. But please, for the next time, just come to the house rather than meeting with me in a ball. Selin missed you, too.”

Celme’s gaze softened. She didn’t smile, but something in her expression became gentler.

“I will,” she said simply. “Next time, I’ll come by.”

Valens nodded. “Now if you will, I’ll go meet with our mysterious host.”

Then he turned.

The servant had waited in silence, eyes downcast, hands clasped neatly in front of him. As Valens stepped toward him, the boy gave a slight nod and turned without a word, leading him away from the ballroom, away from the lights, the polished masks, the scent of spiced wine, and toward the mysterious presence that was Mr. Gray.

Whatever this man wanted, Valens doubted it would be simple.

But then again, nothing in Belgrave ever was.

…...