Chapter 25 - Ballroom of Madness (4)

  [Deilos, son of Demon Lord Dantalion, Young Lord]

  [Demon Territory, De Gracia—Grand Ballroom]

  The announcement was repeated several times, and the nobles gathered to the four corners of the dancefloor of the ballroom, each representing the four factions of the Demon Territory and the factionless would share a corner with those whose domains they were close to. Before I could get lost in the crowd, I plowed through the shifting movements of the people and quickly returned to Scylla. When I saw where she stood, someone was talking to her—a human noble. The noble had blond, almost golden, flowing hair that reached her knee level.

  She talked to Scylla for a few seconds before walking away.

  I stood by Scylla’s side. She didn’t even notice me slip in and kept looking in the direction where the noblewoman walked through before lowering her head again.

  “Who was that?”

  When my voice reached her, she froze slightly, and her eyes slowly met mine.

  “It was Lady Serra.”

  Her voice shook faintly.

  Serra...... To think she’ll make a move this early. Not only that, but she also made contact with Scylla. Is this about the letter? While Scylla hasn’t, or can’t, tell me the content of the letter Pelica gave her a few days ago, she hasn’t been acting in any way suspicious.

  Is this another one of her tricks? Hah, even so, all I can do now is wait and observe how everything goes and act accordingly.

  “So that’s Serra. She’s prettier than I thought.”

  Scylla averted her eyes.

  “......”

  After a while, the candlelights of the ballroom suddenly changed their colors, from green to blue to red, then settled to an ominous white. Compared to before, the ballroom was now more illuminated.

  A loud creaking sound reverberated throughout the ballroom as the door opened.

  “Make way! Make way! The Demon Lords have arrived!”

  Two knights shouted as the ones that followed them stepped into the ballroom.

  Demons with large, prominent horns walked gracefully behind the knights in pairs. One was sharp-eyed with a large serpent coiled around her neck, wearing a semi-transparent gown, almost ghostlike in its appearance; one had hoary hair, wearing a dark red Baroque coat with a poet undershirt and holding cane; one was wearing a double-breasted suit, missing a left hand, and a lion’s mane stitched with golden thread on the right shoulder of his suit; one was small, wearing a pitch-black dress that had slits on the side like the ribs of a skeleton, exposing her pale skin; and others were wearing uniquely designed outfits that created their images, even at a glance.

  The two knights stopped in the middle of the ballroom, turned their backs to one another, and took a step forward.

  If a pair reached the middle of the ballroom, they would face each other, then face the faction they incorporated themselves with, and walk towards them. Some Demon Lords would separate, while others would move together.

  Overall, 13 pairs of Demon Lords walked in.

  The last ones to walk towards the center were the small woman with the slit black dress and her partner, who was twice her size, wore a black slashed doublet and intricate greaves and sabatons for footwear. When the woman with a slit black dress reached the middle of the ballroom, her eyes darted around. She looked left and right, making her partner connect his brow while others quietly whispered to one another.

  When she sensed where the person she was looking for was, a nasty crescent formed on her mouth, and her golden eyes sharply pointed in my direction.

  I couldn’t turn away from those eyes.

  The same eyes that promised me both my life and death, the playful eyes that play with people’s lives like disposable toys, the eyes of Barbatos.

  Then, just as abruptly as her smile came, it went away just as quickly. Barbatos faced the corner where the Eastern Faction was located and walked forth. Her partner followed with the corners of his brows twitching in annoyance.

  Once all the present Demon Lords could settle themselves, the Demon Lord with a lion’s mane stitched to the shoulder of his clothes came to the center and dismissed the knights. The knights both stomped in sync, making everyone silent before walking towards the sides of the entrance.

  The Demon Lord looked around the room and cleared his throat.

  “Everyone, I welcome you all to the Eve of Walpurgis, a dance for the celebration of our alliances, our companions, our people, and the long-standing peace among races—demons, humans, beast-kin, serpentine, elves, or dwarves. Here we are tonight. Even after the wars, the bloodshed, we are united despite our differences under the notion of serving one another, whether through famine, disasters, or plagues. A place of wine and elegance, a place of connection, and a place of dance that reminds us of what the Demon Monarch had envisioned for all of us. For everyone present tonight, I am delighted.”

  A round of applause rang around the ballroom, only to be stopped by the Demon Lord raising and closing his singular hand.

  He waited for everyone to be silent before speaking.

  “There are some of us Demon Lords who couldn’t attend due to complications regarding our dominions and territories. And, although it may be quite disappointing, it is also unfortunate to announce that the Demon Monarch shall be arriving later this evening due to her decaying condition. I deeply apologize for these complications and hope for you all to stay regardless. Despite this, per the orders of the Monarch herself, the dance shall begin before her arrival to honor everyone who has participated in this sacred event of ours.”

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  He bowed, then straightened his back in one clean motion.

  “Therefore, as a stand-in for the Demon Monarch, and as the leader of the Southern Faction of Demon Lords. I, Demon Lord Baal, again, welcome you all to the Eve of Walpurgis.”

  The crowd applauded, slowly clapping as the ballroom’s light changed to a bright, soft yellow, highlighting the dancefloor. This time, Demon Lord Baal looked pleased with the arousal of the crowd and let it continue, smiling softly before returning to the corner of the Southern Faction.

  Afterward, countless maids and servants walked in holding a silver platter with wine bottles, one of them handing Scylla and me a cup.

  Seeing Scylla holding the quarter-filled cup made me wonder whether she could even drink yet. While her appearance seemed to be around 16, demons age far slower than normal humans, around twice as slow, so it’s safe to assume she’s already in her mid 20’s or early 30’s. Though, I have to watch out if that isn’t the case.

  “Can you drink that?”

  Scylla turned her head towards me.

  “Yes, young lord.”

  She twirled the wine, making a small whirlpool, where she slowly eased it down and let it disperse before drinking. The corner of her smooth, silky skin faintly blushed after a sip.

  My, my, to think she can also drink this smoothly. Now I might have to do a checklist of what she can’t do at this point.

  Scylla lightly exhaled as she drank her second, sipping half the wine.

  “You’re not tipsy, are you?”

  “No, young lord. I’m fine.”

  She twirled the cup again, then looked at mine, which hadn’t been drunk yet.

  “Oh, this? I’ve already drunk one earlier. It’s a bit dangerous to drink again since we’re at such an event. Being intoxicated is quite the hassle.”

  I tipped the cup to the side, watching how far I could tip it without dripping before holding it upright.

  “Please don’t play with your drink.”

  “I’m not.”

  Tipping the cup again, I poured a portion of my wine into Scylla’s. With a blank expression, she stared at the cup she was holding, then hesitantly drank from it. When the wine went down her throat, she exhaled and lowered her cup down to her waist.

  A laugh escaped my mouth.

  “Were you scared?”

  “Knowing the young lord, then yes, I was scared that there might have been poison in the wine.”

  “An adorable way of saying you owe me your life now.”

  Scylla’s mouth curled slightly.

  There was a low violin string that played, making Scylla’s frown disappear, followed by a sudden high, then low. All eyes were on the center of the ballroom, where the Demon Lord with a snake on her neck started playing a charcoal-black-colored violin. Her fingers were spider-like, tapping the violin chords gently and swiftly with enough precision that could make anyone who doesn’t know how to play the violin try it out. If someone can do things that make a complicated task seem mundane and simple, then those people are near perfection in their craft, a once in a millennia phenomenon, so to say.

  The beautiful melody of the violin was then complemented by a piano, then a cello, and lastly, an organ. Each of the instruments elevating the violinist’s solo, whether through soprano, mezzo, or contralto, would follow her rhythm, not overpowering and not too faint, just enough to make their presence known.

  Scylla watched the violinist intently.

  “Do you know her?”

  “She is the Demon Lord Valefor, young lord. One of Demon Lord Paimon’s close followers.”

  “Paimon? If I remember her correctly, she’s not present today, is she?”

  “Yes.”

  The floor below us trembled.

  All the other nobles started dancing at the sound that echoed throughout the ballroom, all of them whose eyes always observed and leeched upon one another.

  A sweep of Valefor’s hands and the melody had gone soft, then to long, elongated violin sheets. A sweep of the dancer’s feet as they converse with the steps they take and influence one another. A sweep of postponed dread to those who seek the freedom of such constricting repetition of pull and push, of forward and backward.

  The ballroom shook in fervor to these, not knowing what was beneath, all looking at that same dance.

  The dancing of nobles, or so, the dancing of plasticity.

  “Scylla.”

  I extended my hands towards her. Her attire was just the simple outfit we both picked out. She extended her hand but paused midway.

  “Young lord, I—this one cannot accept your hands in dance. This lowly one is a half-breed. You’ll get your name tainted if the young lord were to do what he does in private publicly.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “This one cares.”

  I grabbed her hands despite her protests.

  “We shall dance.”

  She looked away from me for a moment. Her hands reluctantly stuck to mine, but ultimately softened. Scylla faced me and regarded me with brief annoyance.

  “This one—” she paused, then sighed. “I truly cannot comprehend the young lord.”

  “So do I.”

  We walked slowly towards the place where nobles were dancing while bickering in a low voice. When both of us were there, eyes were on us—the eyes of judgment and perhaps resentment.

  Whispers started to follow.

  — Isn't that the maid holding hands with a noble?

  — That’s rather unsightly.

  — Hah. Look at that filth. She’s probably thinking so highly of herself for holding a noble’s hand.

  When we were on the dancefloor, I let go of Scylla’s hands and faced her once more. She tipped her head. I bowed in front of her and extended my hand.

  “Will you take this dance with me, fair lady?”

  “I’ll accept, oh noble one.”

  She placed her hand on mine again, now without any hesitation, now without any reluctance. I grabbed her waist, and we danced. Our steps faded into the loud steps of others. Our swing, our melody, only disappeared into the haze of other people. The world around us seemed to fade away, leaving us both in an empty ballroom, a place only ours. All of them see us, yet they cannot.

  Ah.

  Is she perhaps just being kind to me? I don’t know.

  Is she just obeying just because I ordered her to? I don’t know.

  What’s in her head? What is she thinking? Why are her hands so warm despite her dead, cold eyes? I don’t know. I don’t know anything about her.

  That’s why.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “Young lord, your flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

  “Well, we’re here now. That’s the only place I’d like to be.”

  The dance of two lost souls in a turbulent sea of nothingness.

  I see myself in you.

  I see myself lost.

  I see myself.

  . . .

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