An Aura Farmer's Guide to Another World
Chapter 48: Castle of Light - Part 2

Chapter 48: Castle of Light - Part 2

At the center of the ballroom, beneath a golden chandelier glowing with candlelight, Lady Beatrice stood close; her right hand on my left shoulder, her left hand interlaced with mine at shoulder height.

Leaning in close, she whispered, "Waltz is a simple dance. Follow my lead."

A solo pianist began to play a waltz. The music swept through the grand hall, wrapping the space in a romantic, dreamlike atmosphere.

"Oom-pah-pah."

"I’m nervous," I admitted, locking eyes with Lady Beatrice as she lifted her chin to match my height.

Lady Beatrice gave my hand a slight squeeze and smiled softly. "Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine."

I swallowed hard, my eyes flicking toward the audience waiting in silence. "What should I do?" I asked.

"Step forward with your left foot," she instructed.

My leg moved forward, and simultaneously, Lady Beatrice elegantly backstepped, allowing me to push her leg back.

"Now, step your right foot sideways to the right."

Following her command, I shifted my right leg, landing it forward and to the right.

"Okay, bring your left foot close beside your right."

I did as Lady Beatrice said, dragging my left foot, which had been wide open, to meet my right.

"You’re doing great," Lady Beatrice complimented, her curly orange hair softly brushing against my hand on her shoulder.

"Step back with your right foot," she continued.

My right foot retreated, followed by Lady Beatrice’s left foot, trailing neatly behind.

"Step your left foot sideways to the left."

Carefully, my left foot also pulled back, landing wide beside my right.

"This is the final step," Lady Beatrice said, her red eyes glowing as they met mine. "Bring your right foot close beside your left."

With that final step, we were back where we started, having completed the six-step sequence of the waltz.

"I’m impressed," Lady Beatrice said, continuing the dance and gracefully twisting, inviting me to move with her.

"It’s all because of your teachings," I replied, pulling my leg to the side, our hands still interlaced.

"Did you have fun?" she asked, maintaining a warm, rosy-lipped smile.

I twisted my body, inviting her to shift to the next area, and she followed seamlessly. "Compared to my first experience with a noble, being with you is practically heaven."

Lady Beatrice blushed and chuckled. "What happened?" she inquired.

My right leg pushed forward, immediately followed by my left. I leaned in, "It’s a secret."

She glanced at the pianist, then her gaze fell back to me. "Let me guess, the House of Sinners won’t let you reveal anything about your past."

"You guessed it right," I affirmed, my eyes resting on the green gemstone on her chest.

Lady Beatrice has been nothing but kind, teaching me to dance and allowing me to touch her skin, despite her noble status and my position as only a Second Lieutenant.

While I’ve kept my composure, I’m deeply worried. The Queen has commanded us to protect Lady Beatrice at all costs, yet the system has issued a quest demanding I kill her.

It even warned I’d regret not killing her, offering a staggering 50 million berries as a reward.

Why is the system offering so much money? Is Lady Beatrice truly that dangerous? I glance at her as we dance; her face is as smooth as a baby’s, completely free of wrinkles.

Should I obey the system and blow her head off with my Gravity wave?

The thought of obeying the system, of blowing her head off with my Gravity Wave, crossed my mind, but I quickly shook my head, banishing the thought.

I refused to become a dog on a leash, blindly obeying the system’s every command. I’ll determine for myself whether Lady Beatrice is genuinely kind or merely wearing a mask.

***

After we finished dancing, the floor opened to all guests, music electrifying the air.

The five of us stood before three golden statues shaped like women, each draped in a pink V-neck gown and holding the new perfume.

Joséphine remained by Lady Beatrice’s side, while I took position just behind her, guarding her back.

"Marie’s husband has been coming home late," said one of Lady Beatrice’s friends as she sipped her red wine.

Her gaze lingered on the gold statue beside us, the one clutching a bag from the cherry perfume line. "They say he’s seeing someone; the receptionist at his office."

Lady Beatrice’s fingers rested thoughtfully against her mouth. "So that’s why she came to me asking whether to confront him or file for divorce?"

"I didn’t know she was planning a divorce," another woman chimed in. "But he’s rich. Even if she divorced him, she’d be the one to lose, because he’d replace her with his mistress in a heartbeat."

I faced the dance floor, my eyes darting from couple to couple. Further back, I noticed Cupcake seated at the piano, one hand resting on it, her fingers crossed as she observed the dancing guests.

At the rear of the event hall, my eyes caught sight of Evelyn seated at a table. Lucy stood close by, and surrounding them was a growing crowd of more than thirty guests watching intently.

Gulp-gulp.

Evelyn chugged an entire bottle of red wine, then opened her mouth, extending it toward the crowd.

"I can’t believe she drank seven bottles of wine and shows no sign of getting drunk," a guest remarked.

"Bring another bottle," Lucy said.

A staff member handed her a bottle. She tore the lid off with her teeth and thrust it toward Evelyn. "Drink. You’ve still got five more to go."

Evelyn accepted the bottle with a smirk. "You fool," she said, lifting it. "You should’ve known I’m immune to toxins before making that bet." I stared, curious about what kind of bet they were playing at.

Thud-thud.

A lady in a black gown and matching lipstick approached, her hair tied in a sleek bun. As she neared, I noticed her hairpin—long, thick, and oddly shaped, more like a stick than an accessory.

"I recognize you from the newspaper," she said.

I walked toward the dance floor to meet her, trying to prevent her from eavesdropping on Lady Beatrice’s gossip.

"Are you sure it’s the right person?" I asked, standing next to her.

She rested a hand on her chin, her black tongue gliding over equally dark lips. "I’m sure it’s you. You were the guy who assaulted a reporter and kissed her."

"Shhh!" I quickly leaned in and placed my hand over her lips. "Quiet down, okay?"

Brushing my hand away, she met my gaze. "I came to offer you a deal."

I jerked backward, raising an eyebrow. "What deal?"

Her lips curled into a thin, cruel smile, her eyes remaining cold and unreadable. "Look at my hair," she instructed.

I complied. "Nothing out of place," I commented.

The lady eliminated the small distance between us and leaped forward until her mouth reached my left ear. "The hairpin I used to hold my bun in place is laced with poison," she whispered.

"What!"

"Shhh!" she yelled. "Take a view of the hall. Among the 136 guests present, 22 of them have the same hairstyle as me, with a poisonous, shaped hairpin attached to it."

She drew back and fixed her gaze on me. "Here’s the deal," she said. "Let me kill Lady Beatrice, then you can kill me. Otherwise, there’ll be a massacre. And their blood will be on your hands."