[Western Fantasy] The black-skinned elf also wants to hug the rich woman’s lap today

O'Brien took the priest's wrist and slid onto the dance floor, just as they had planned. The adventurers never let go of any opportunity to get information. After all, in this continent, information is linked to money and even life, so every time the music ends, the change of dance partners is accompanied by the exchange of information. The ladies in the adventure group were all dancing there, which was the only bright color among the dark men's formal attire in the entire hall of mirrors. O'Brien glanced hastily, and sure enough, the dwarf had blended into the crowd and disappeared.

Slippery.

He tried to chuckle as usual, in his usual unruly mercenary style, to hide the pressure in his heart, but he obviously failed. He knew what he should do next, and he knew that it would be ridiculous to stand beside the dance floor with Sylvia, but he inevitably hesitated.

His left hand had held a sword before, but now it was trembling because it was about to cover the girl's white and harmless palm. ridiculous.

Maybe it's time for Alvin and I to switch places. he thinks. I really can't handle women. I will never be able to do it in this life.

Sylvia obviously misunderstood his hesitation.

"This is a ballroom dance. It's very simple. I will take you. Keep up with my pace." She explained, "In the future, at your wedding, you and your bride will dance the first dance in front of the blessing people. A dance. It’s worth learning.”

Fuck marriage. Fuck the bride. The elf was expressionless, feeling like he was being tortured.

The tones of the violin and harp were lowered by one degree, and the end of one piece connected with the beginning of the next. This was a melodious melody, depicting the rose on a midsummer night, still showing her beauty to the night dew under the moonlight.

There was not much time left for the elf to think.

three, two, one

O'Brien gritted his teeth, suppressed the creeping fear in his heart, and followed the example of the men around him and bowed in a decent manner. He calmly touched the palm of her hand with his fingertips, giving her the control of his body through this small area of ​​physical contact, signaling that she could start.

The pastor lowered his eyes and smiled, holding his hand with his backhand. Another hand rested on his shoulder. It was exactly the same height as she expected. Stand on tiptoes slightly, shift your center of gravity downward to maintain balance, and the remaining space becomes a little thinner.

She led him, spinning slowly around the dance floor.

So bright. So bright.

O'Brien blinked rapidly, wondering if there was a drop of sweat flowing into the back of his eyes.

That crystal chandelier, the brilliant crystal chandelier, each small piece of crystal reflects a different crystal clear. The light of pure gold is collected, focused and bloomed, grand and magnificent, like a myrtle blooming at its most beautiful point, pouring down along the chandelier arms, violently breaking into the eye.

A thousand bright yellow shadows are reflected in a thousand pieces of crystal. The lamp is shining, and she is also shining, a light that is bright enough even without heat.

Turn, turn. Light is everywhere. His palm, which was close to the priest, had lost most of its feeling. It was too much heat for him, as if it was melting him and then becoming one again.

It shouldn't be like this. he thinks. The male dark elf is afraid of light and women. Even if his reason tells him that the light cannot hurt him, the priest is gentle enough, but this is the fear engraved in his bones.

Every minute, every second, he was going against his instincts.

This feeling is neither good nor bad. His brain was buzzing.

"I guess I will be invited by the city lord soon." The priest suddenly said.

O'Brien didn't react and subconsciously asked, "What?"

So Sylvia repeated it again.

O'Brien said nothing more. The priest always has her own way of reasoning. And she was always right.

Sure enough, when the song ended, there was a waiter waiting aside.

"Miss." The waiter's words showed no emotion at all. They were completely a tool to convey information, "Your flowers."

The priest showed him a secretly proud expression, indicating that this was just as she expected, so she let go of his hand, grabbed the immortal velvet flower, followed the waiter's lead, and walked behind the curtain.

After watching the yellow figure disappear behind the curtain, O'Brien let out a breath of relief. Although the phased tasks were not completed, the result of being invited by the priest has to be said to be far beyond expectations, and it can even be said to be much better than the expected results.

Then it would be useless for him to stay on the dance floor. With a desperate attitude, O'Brien locked onto Ivan with his peripheral vision. Although they are all wearing uniforms of the same color, I have to say that the leader is indeed a flower in Gabu City. Both his figure and golden hair are surprisingly dazzling.

I have to find a chance to tell him the good news.

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The waiter's steps were light. Soft-soled cloth shoes make almost no friction on the floor tiles.

Sylvia listened quietly, followed his guidance, and did not ask any questions. These waiters in the city lord's palace are servants passed down from generation to generation. They serve every lord of Gabu City and abide by professional standards. They will never leak anything they shouldn't say. It is useless to pry for information.

The sound insulation effect of the Hall of Mirrors is very good. I wonder if a special magic circle is used. Just a few dozen steps away, the noise inside is almost inaudible.

Their route was toward the interior of the mansion, and the coolness that permeated the night was gradually dissipated by the heat in the room. A scent of fat began to spread, a strong smell of spices, like embalmed animal offal.

The waiter's steps paused for a moment, then moved up in an orderly manner.

Five hundred and two steps. Sylvia lowered her head and thought. Then there are the stairs.

Climb up the stairs. The handrails are made of brass, with the coolness of the metal and the cold fishy smell. The sixty steps, winding eight turns, are like being in the belly of a snake.

Set foot on level ground again. There was a woolen carpet underfoot, and every step made a dull sound, absorbing the sound of footsteps. There was an evening breeze blowing by the side, carrying the moist scent of roses, where was the terrace.

Only then did Sylvia realize that this passage was located directly above the Hall of Mirrors. She calmed down and listened, and sure enough, she could vaguely hear the noise like a celebration in the hall of mirrors.

At the moment of distraction, the waiter in front stopped.

Sylvia lowered her head slightly in confusion. This is not only based on judgment, but I even feel the irrationality of this moment from deep inside. It's like a perfect song that suddenly gets stuck at the climax.

She "looked" ahead. The magic circle that forbids magic will deprive elements from the environment and even the human body. The elements in the city lord's mansion are extremely rare, and only a certain amount of them will gather at the magic circle. At this moment, the elements were dim, and her vision was filled with empty black.

This could not be the place where the city lord would meet. The witch would not let herself be exposed unpreparedly to the eyes of mercenaries who did not know the details. It doesn't seem like there are enough guards here. She slowly moved her thumb, and the space ring was just under her touch. She would take out her staff as soon as there was any movement.

Five seconds. The waiter's footsteps did not sound again. In the darkness ahead, she couldn't tell whether he was still where he was.

Sixth second. She heard a "sizzling" sound, like silk rubbing against some metal.

Then, in the direction where the waiter disappeared, a high-pitched voice sounded.

"Good evening, miss." His voice was so sharp that it made Sylvia frown.

"Someone is paying me to do the assassination." He laughed loudly, reminding her of the clowns who performed on the streets of the imperial city. "Please give me your advice."

---------------

"Ah, there's a fight." Jane covered her mouth in feigned surprise, as if the puppet master wasn't hired by her. She looked at a small glass window with interest. The mirrors were superimposed on each other in the hidden narrow passage, transmitting the movement downstairs to her eyes.

In the room where the residual warmth of the flame still remained, the incense burner and the flames had been extinguished, and light smoke dispersed into the air. A woman in black was sitting behind her. Her black dress and black veil carefully covered most of her exposed skin, as if she had some strange disease that caused her to be afraid of light. She raised her neck and straightened her back in a strangely haughty manner. Compared to Jane's cheerful laughter, she said nothing.

"Alas." Jane let out a short sigh, her eyes still staring at the small window, but her words were directly directed at the person behind her, "Tell me, when will Chris come? It's very disrespectful to leave me, a guest, here like this. Eh."

The woman in black stiffened for a moment.

"Stop pretending." Jane laughed jokingly, "You're good at pretending to deceive those brainless mercenaries, but it's far worse to deceive me, a scholar."

The woman in black grasped her hand unconsciously, and finally, as if she had made up her mind, she pulled off the black gloves covering them, revealing her honey-colored skin.

The maid Melissa looked at Jane expressionlessly, "Please be respectful and don't call my mistress by her first name."

"Ha." Jane twitched, as if she had heard a big joke. For this reason, she turned around and looked at the innocent maid. "Do you know the name of the last witch in the world?"

Melissa stared at her indifferently, feeling that the black-haired scholar was like a hateful crow.

So Jane had to ask and answer herself, "Oh, it wasn't that long ago. Forty years ago, there was also a witch who came into the world and was loved to death by the infamous 'King of Absurdity'."

"Later generations tacitly concealed this royal stain, but books don't deceive us."

"That witch's name is Chrissy."

Jane took a good look at the shocked face of the maid, and then explained slowly, "Chrissy, which means 'servant of God'. Isn't it just the right name for those witches who have abandoned their past and merged with the outside gods?" .”

"Okay." She clapped her hands in front of the startled Melissa, "Well, my dear lady, could you please tell me what our 'Chrissy' is busy with now? "