Chapter Fifteen: Madness

When morning broke, Daisy and Lanty were still sound asleep.

Their wildness the night before had left them utterly exhausted.

As for Hugh, Daisy and Lanty suspected he might have used one of the alchemists’ famed potions said to keep a man’s vigor ever-present, for even after bestowing such overwhelming ecstasy upon them, he remained both clear-minded and robust.

This boy possessed a maturity in matters of love far beyond his years—his techniques deft, his touch skillful, nothing at all like someone experiencing his first time.

Hugh could only respond to their suspicions with a helpless regret.

With two lifetimes of memories, no matter how he tried to act, it was inevitable that he would slip up now and then—university was not only an ivory tower for students but also a crucible where boys were forged into men.

Regardless, as this body matured, Hugh’s second passage through adolescence was marked less by awkward confusion and more by a youthful sophistication.

He was grateful to Daisy and Lanty for their peculiar regard over nearly four years of servitude—an experience that kept his nerves perpetually taut and often left him with an almost desperate urge for catharsis. Meeting Daisy and Lanty had given him another outlet, allowing him to vent his anger and hatred in a different way—keeping him, at least, from losing himself entirely.

His gentle gaze drifted along Daisy’s smooth skin, finally pausing at the line of her lower back. Unable to resist, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to that mysterious, hidden place.

His scent lingered there still.

Perhaps roused by Hugh’s playful mischief, Daisy turned over and, with a sly smile, trapped his neck between her legs, refusing to let him leave.

In the next moment, a rush of warmth spread from her hips through her body.

Lanty, too, was awakened by the amorous scene unfolding beside her—and to her astonishment, found Hugh indulging in acts she had never imagined.

With tongue and fingers, he drove Daisy to the very brink.

Then he turned his attention to Lanty.

It was a beautiful, playful morning.

At least, it remained so until the arrival of Alec, the company steward.

The door to the room rattled under Alec’s insistent pounding.

“Mr. Fink! Mr. Fink!” Alec’s breathless voice was laced with anxiety.

“What is it, Alec?”

“It’s the director—she might be in trouble.”

Hugh sat bolt upright, disentangling himself from the two girls.

He dressed quickly, signaling for them to stay snug beneath the covers, then quietly opened the door.

“What happened to Clarice?” he asked Alec.

The old man paid no attention to the scene inside the room—he’d seen it all before. He spoke urgently, “Early this morning, Director Clarice went to the Lanya Grand Theatre. You know she’s always hoped to stage ‘Turandot’ at the Lanya Theatre on Christmas Day.”

“I know,” Hugh replied.

Christmas was perhaps the grandest festival at year’s end in the Windchime continent.

On this day, commoners took to the streets with candles, celebrating the coming of the new year. Merchants organized floats to parade through town, each adorned with their shop’s name—a kind of old-world advertising. Nobles rode in private carriages, led by attendants, bringing their families to the opera houses for performances.

Ambitious troupes would seize this opportunity to present new, painstakingly prepared works, hoping to win the favor of the nobility and swiftly make a name for themselves across the country. At the very least, the holiday offered a golden chance for profit.

Of course, securing theatre bookings for this period required an astronomical sum. If a performance failed to fill at least a third of the seats, the troupe would suffer a loss. Theatre bookings were arranged in advance—no company could simply cancel after a poor showing, so losses could quickly mount to several performances or even days.

On Christmas, the theatre scheduled six shows, each two hours long with a half-hour intermission, running from midday until late at night.

These six performances were the most fiercely contested and expensive slots—after all, for most troupes, a successful debut here meant far more than mere profit.

For Clarice, the earnings from training other troupes’ singers and coaching rehearsals were nowhere near enough to cover the cost of renting the Lanya Theatre for even a single show on Christmas. At best, she could manage smaller venues. But with Hugh’s two thousand gold vitas, her hopes had changed—though she hardly intended to squander all the money at once.

She dreamed that, come Christmas, the Violet Troupe would present her new production, ‘Turandot,’ at the Lanya Grand Theatre.

‘Turandot’ was, in her eyes, the finest script she had ever encountered, with its arias already considered classics. While Hugh was no composer, he could hum the melodies for her, and Clarice, a musical genius, could bring them fully to life. Thus, all the music came together smoothly.

For this work she held so dear, Clarice believed only the Lanya Grand Theatre could fulfill her ambitions. She saved that money, hoping to secure a slot for the big day.

But staging a work there required more than just money. Clarice needed to convince the theatre manager that the Violet Troupe had the talent to captivate the nobility.

So she had been in talks with the manager for days.

The good news: the manager seemed highly impressed with ‘Turandot.’

The bad news: his interest seemed to extend to Clarice herself.

As Daisy and Lanty had said, from the moment a girl joined a troupe, she faced such challenges.

Alec spoke anxiously, “Director Clarice doesn’t want to win the booking that way—she believes the excellence of ‘Turandot’ should be enough. But it seems the manager disagrees. He thinks the Violet Troupe, with its modest reputation and strength, must offer more than just the rental fee to perform at Lanya.”

“So? What happened next?”

“This morning, the director and I went to the theatre together. I sensed something was off, since I saw that manager…”

“Get to the point, Alec—short and clear,” Hugh said sharply, already guessing what had happened.

Alec wiped sweat from his brow. “Director went into the manager’s office and didn’t come out. The manager refused to let me see her.”

Hugh called back into the room, “You two stay here—don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

Two frightened faces turned to him. “Fink, be careful. Those people aren’t to be trifled with.”

“Don’t worry. I’m just going for a chat,” Hugh assured them.

He strode briskly out of the inn.

Untying the reins of a horse, he cast a Wind Glide spell upon it, and the steed shot down the street like lightning.

The Lanya Grand Theatre stood at the northern edge of Fragrant Leaf City.

Given it bore the name of the Queen Mother, it was clear its owner was no mere merchant.

But Hugh cared nothing for that.

Racing with the wind, he felt only one emotion: rage.

The horse, under the spell, sped to the theatre in no time. Charging through the main doors, Hugh dismounted as several attendants rushed at him.

He spun gracefully, sending the would-be attackers flying before they got close.

A steward emerged, terror on his face as he turned to flee.

A moment later, Hugh seized him by the neck and slammed him against the wall. “Where’s your manager?”

“I don’t know! But I know you’re in trouble, boy! Do you know where you are? This is—”

Hugh snapped one of his fingers.

The steward shrieked in agony.

Hugh’s tone was icy. “Don’t give me useless answers. Tell me where your manager is, or you’ll lose a hand.”

“He’s inside, on the second floor—please, let me go!” the steward howled.

Hugh tossed him aside and marched upstairs.

A warrior stood at the stairway, hefting a massive sword. “You shouldn’t have come, boy. I know you’re with the Violet Troupe. When the steward ran back, I knew someone would come, but I didn’t expect this.”

Hugh replied, “I must admit, force is sometimes the most efficient solution.”

“The consequences can be dire.”

Hugh shook his head. “I don’t think so. Asahi, he’s yours.”

From Hugh’s arms, a small black dog shot out like a streak of midnight.

Tiny when nestled in his embrace, the dog grew rapidly in midair. By the time it landed on the warrior, it was the size of a young calf.

The warrior’s eyes went wide with horror.

“No!” he screamed as Asahi, like a crazed dire wolf, ripped into his throat.

Hugh didn’t spare the scene a glance, continuing up the stairs.

Though Asahi was still young, if he couldn’t deal with a novice warrior, he’d hardly be worthy of his lineage.

The warriors on the second floor, having heard their comrade’s scream, realized trouble had come.

Warily, they hid around the corner of the stairs, two raising heavy crossbows aimed at the intruder.

Yet they failed to notice a transparent wind wren perched above, observing their every move.

Two brilliantly colored birds burst from Hugh’s shoulders, expanding into great eagles as they soared.

With joyful cries, they unleashed torrents of flame from their beaks.

The four warriors, driven from their cover by fire and pain, stumbled into the open. Hugh’s face was grim as he darted past them, his sword flashing—swift, precise, deadly, just as Lancelot had taught him.

With the guards dispatched, Hugh stood before the manager’s office.

He could even hear Clarice’s ragged breathing within.

With a crash, the door was kicked open.

A young man turned, panic on his face, Clarice pinned beneath him—her outer clothes already torn, pale skin exposed.

To Hugh’s surprise, Clarice showed no sign of resistance.

“I hope you haven’t done anything to her yet,” Hugh said coldly, “or you may find you’ll never need your manhood again.” He strode over and punched the perfumed, disheveled manager across the room.

Clarice lay sprawled on the desk, her clothes in disarray. Seeing Hugh, she laughed with wild abandon. “Oh, Fink, you came too? Hurry, I need you now.”

Hugh checked her—fortunately, her vital modesty remained intact. He had arrived in time.

He tore down a length of curtain and wrapped her tightly, though she struggled, moaning deliriously.

The young manager cursed from the floor. “You bastard! Can’t you see? She’s willing! I didn’t force her!”

The man wasn’t stupid; rather than threaten with his family name, he quickly cast himself on the side of truth.

“If dosing her with Mindblossom counts as consent, then no woman is unwilling,” Hugh said, leaning close to sniff Clarice’s breath for traces of the drug.

He lifted her eyelids, examining her eyes.

He turned a cold gaze on the manager. “You fool. The dose you gave her could burn out her mind.”

“Oh no—how could you know?” the young man cried, panic-stricken.

“I know far more than you think.” Hugh swiftly produced an awakening potion and poured it into Clarice’s mouth. She babbled, “Oh, Fink, hurry—I want you. You know, when you fell from the sky, I knew you were mine. Do you know how much I wanted you then, my handsome boy? But Daisy and Lanty kept stealing you from me. Oh, how I hate being the director—it forces me to be dignified and reserved. You think I don’t know what you did with them last night? Oh God, their cries were shameless. It drove me wild.”

Damn, she was completely delirious.

“You need a good sleep. Don’t worry, you’ll be fine when you wake,” Hugh said resignedly, tapping her gently on the back of the head.

He turned to the young manager.

“Perhaps I should feed you something as well—it might do us all some good,” Hugh said coldly.

He took out a bottle of inky green liquid and advanced on the manager…