Chapter Twenty-One: The Field of Seduction

Night had not yet fallen, yet the skies above Camphor Leaf City were already aglow with countless candles. The sweeping search had dampened the festive spirit, but those who still held hope in their hearts insisted on lighting the lamp that symbolized their yearning.

Thus, the streets of Camphor Leaf City shone bright, and tonight, sleep would elude all.

According to tradition, the Violet Oriole Troupe would perform during the golden hour at eight o’clock. The young women were required to arrive as early as five to prepare—makeup, a final rehearsal, and all the myriad tasks before the curtains rose.

Daisy noticed the redness around Clarice’s eyes and asked softly, “Is something wrong, Clarice?”

Clarice quickly replied, “It’s nothing, I’m just a bit nervous.”

Lanty came running over, exclaiming, “I haven’t seen Fink at all today, not once! Damn it, this is our big night—where could he have gone?”

“He’s at the theater,” Clarice answered. “He said he wanted to watch the other troupes perform first, to compare and see whose show stands out more.”

“Does he even have to ask? Of course ours is the best. We’re the finest troupe in the country!” Lanty retorted proudly. “Tonight, I’ll show him my very best performance.”

“All right, enough talk. Time to go in and get ready, darlings,” Clarice urged.

The Lanya Theater, the city’s most lavish venue, boasted state-of-the-art facilities and the largest audience capacity—up to eight thousand guests at once. The ticket prices were equally impressive: regular seats cost twenty silver vit, while premium boxes ranged from three to five gold vit. On average, each seat fetched about thirty silver vit.

A full house meant the theater could rake in as much as 2,400 gold vit in a single night, with the troupe earning at least eight hundred gold vit of that sum. But if the show flopped or attendance was poor, the troupe would still owe the theater a hefty fee.

At the theater’s topmost floor was an open-air terrace—the preferred site for aristocratic cocktail parties. The elite often chose to host gatherings here while watching the performances below, indulging in a double portion of pleasure. Even those nobles with no taste for the opera found their niche at the Lanya Grand Theater.

Occasionally, the nobles would invite the most captivating songstresses up onto the terrace, where they would drink, converse, and, without hesitation, lavish money to take any favored young lady to their rooms for a night of indulgence.

Thus, that open platform earned its notorious nickname: The Hunting Ground.

Clarice had no idea that before her troupe even entered the Lanya, Hugh was already ensconced in that very Hunting Ground.

On this terrace—Camphor Leaf City's most exclusive perch—Hugh gazed around with an air of nonchalance. Even within the entirety of the Lans Empire, this so-called Hunting Ground was famed for its opulence and extravagance.

Built atop the theater, the oval-shaped terrace was reached by twin winding staircases. A sumptuous red carpet began at the stair’s mouth, unfurling across the entire platform. The base was sculpted from massive jade slabs, the railings etched with exquisite designs. On either side stood crystal curtain walls, offering a clear view of the stage below—and, conversely, allowing the audience to glimpse the revelry above.

The terrace was divided into three concentric zones: the outermost for servants to rest, the middle ring laden with elegant pastries and fine wines, where attendants in white uniforms waited with golden trays to serve the guests at a moment’s notice. The innermost circle was the heart of the cocktail party, separated from the middle by a cordon of vigilant guards.

Long tables lined the inner ring, arrayed with delicacies, and a large open space at the center was reserved for dancing. A raised platform overhead served as a dais for speeches.

Hundreds of magical lamps blazed from every corner, so that even on moonless, starless nights, the terrace gleamed as bright as day.

Tonight, the Brownie family was hosting a grand cocktail party upon that terrace, drawing all the city's most illustrious nobility. This was their annual custom for Christmas, to strengthen ties with the city’s eminent families.

Most of the gentlemen arrived in elaborate masks; some wore black bowties at their chests, a few sported waistcoats and carried riding crops, as if just returned from a hunt. The ladies were adorned in voluminous evening gowns, their skirts held aloft by bamboo hoops to maintain a lofty silhouette. Some donned velvet hats, others veils or silk scarves.

Nearly every noblewoman was bedecked in beads, rings, chains, gems, diamonds, jade, pearls, agate—so many ornaments that they resembled gem-encrusted beasts in human form. For these women, such occasions served as arenas for flaunting their wealth.

The gentlemen maintained impeccable manners, doffing their hats to greet the ladies, while never missing a chance to lavish attention on the most beautiful among them.

Before the party officially commenced, guests mingled freely, seeking out acquaintances deemed worthy of their attention. This was the aristocratic way: networking at gala after gala, building circles of influence, and positioning themselves for future advancement. Thus, such parties and balls became synonymous with the social life of the upper class.

Claude Brownie had invited Hugh to his party precisely to demonstrate the family’s might through the pressure of high society, and to fulfill his “brother’s request”—to confirm whether Hugh truly possessed treasures of inestimable value.

After a party such as this, if one or two guests vanished, it was hardly considered a scandal. Even the judicial authorities dared not pry too closely into the affairs of so many nobles.

“I hope you enjoy my party,” Claude Brownie said to Hugh.

“It’s a splendid affair. I see that nearly everyone of importance in Camphor Leaf City is present,” Hugh replied courteously.

Claude, with a touch of pride, said, “Ah, one could say the Brownie family commands some renown here—not just in the city, but throughout the entire Versaille Archipelago. Did you know? At least half the nobles here have benefited from the Brownies at some point. We have a knack for solving problems.”

“Your words make me blush. Only a few days ago, I was the source of trouble for your family. Yet you bear no grudge, invite me to such a magnificent event—I am truly honored.”

“Magnanimity is a virtue all nobles must embrace.” Claude laughed, draping an arm around Hugh’s shoulder. “Don’t dwell on the past. After all, you’re an alchemist. The Brownies are always eager to work with men of talent. If you ever have trouble, you may turn to us.”

“Indeed, just this morning I escaped some troublesome guards thanks to your people’s assistance… They’re rounding up all the young men in the city,” Hugh replied, feigning helplessness.

“Oh yes, I know about that. I hear they’re after a boy named Hugh Grelle. Hard to imagine what kind of person could stir the whole Empire into such an uproar. The Lord himself declared martial law today—no boys under seventeen allowed on the streets,” Claude said, fixing Hugh with a pointed look.

Hugh affected a casual air. “That depends on what reward there is for catching this fugitive.”

“Oh? You mean the reward of ten thousand gold vit?” Claude steered the conversation toward Hugh Grelle’s supposed worth, and Hugh played along.

He smiled. “Perhaps that’s only a fraction of his true value.”

Claude’s heart pounded. Forcing a laugh, he said, “I can scarcely imagine anyone worth such a fortune.”

Hugh replied leisurely, “That’s because you’re not an alchemist. Some treasures in our possession are worth more than a city. For example…”

He paused deliberately, then continued offhandedly, “For instance: a ring that can store vast quantities of goods; rare materials not found anywhere in this world; thousands of top-tier potions; even lost masterworks of alchemy…”

Claude drew a sharp breath, staring at the ring glowing with a faint magical light on Hugh’s left hand.

Greed blazed in Claude’s eyes. He had never dreamed he would so easily extract the great secret of Hugh Grelle from Hugh’s own lips. Smiling, he raised his glass, his hands trembling slightly to mask his excitement. “Fascinating. An excellent deduction, Mr. Danito.”

“Indeed.” Hugh raised his glass in return.

Glancing around, he asked, “Would you mind if I took a stroll?”

“Of course not. The party hasn’t begun in earnest—you’re free to explore. Look over there, that beautiful young lady has her eye on you. Why not go and chat? You might enjoy a lovely evening.”

“You’re quite right.” Hugh beckoned to a passing server, set his glass on the tray, and bowed to Claude. “Thank you for your generosity. As a token, please accept this potion as my gift to the Brownie family.”

He casually placed a vial into Claude’s hand and slipped away into the crowd.

Watching Hugh’s retreating figure, Claude uncorked the potion and sniffed—it was indeed a masterful brew.

He gestured, and a guard approached. In a low voice, Claude ordered, “Position all our family’s guards; secure the premises. Keep an eye on that boy—he must not leave this party tonight.”

The guard hesitated. “Shall we act now?”

Claude shook his head. “No, after the party ends. Let him enjoy himself for now. When you strike, be discreet—no one must discover what happens tonight. Not a soul.”

*

Strolling along the outer railings, Hugh took in his surroundings at a leisurely pace. He appeared to be simply admiring the view, occasionally pausing to watch the performance below—though it was not yet eight, so the Violet Oriole Troupe had not taken the stage.

Moving among the guests, sampling the fine wines and rare winter fruits, Hugh was busy with his own covert tasks. No one noticed that in his aimless wanderings, he had already passed through every corner of the terrace. Now and then, a fine white powder fell from his trouser seams, seeping into the red carpet before vanishing from sight. Occasionally, he tossed a small stone into some dim corner—unremarkable, save for a faint glow in the shadows.

The nobles chattered among themselves: the men discussed the Empire’s affairs, rumors of the Frankish and Georgian Empires preparing to strike back at Lans, and of Emperor Strick VI again mustering his armies for a great battle. The women gossiped about the weather, fashion, and the latest scandals involving the prodigal sons of various houses.

Perhaps it was curiosity at the sudden appearance of an unfamiliar youth in such rarefied company, or perhaps it was simply Hugh’s striking, refined features, but more than a few noblewomen cast him admiring glances.

“I thought we wouldn’t see any boys at tonight’s party,” a noble lady laughed, her companions likewise young ladies and noblewomen. “But here is such a handsome young man after all.”

One among them caught Hugh’s eye—a lady who, though surrounded by others, drew every gentleman’s gaze irresistibly to herself.

Her eyes sparkled like precious gems, shining as brightly as stars in the night. She wore a court gown of violet fabric, its low rounded neckline revealing a swath of alabaster skin, a necklace of rare diamonds gleaming at her throat. Her naturally curling hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing a delicately pointed chin and a beautiful face.

Compared to the extravagantly dressed noblewomen around her, her attire was simple, yet all the more tasteful for it. She leaned against a long table, left arm supporting her right, her right hand lifting a wineglass of agate red, filled with ruby-colored fruit wine—her pose was captivating, her vivid lips inviting every man to steal a kiss.

True beauty, after all, is revealed not only in a woman’s face, but also in her dress, her bearing, her speech, her every movement. The woman who relies solely on her looks to please men is the lowest of the low. A true beauty knows how to use every inch of herself to captivate—every gesture, every glance.

This lady was unmistakably such a woman. She wielded her gifts effortlessly, using subtle techniques to display her charms to the fullest. Hugh could tell, with just a glance, that even the way she held her glass must have been practiced countless times to appear so natural and harmonious with her demeanor.

Compared to her, Daisy and Lanty seemed like country girls—pretty, but clueless as to how to present themselves to their best advantage. Unlike the noblewomen who saw these gatherings as mere opportunities to flaunt their wealth, this lady had transformed the terrace into her own stage for charm.

Around her flocked a crowd of noble youths, most heirs to their houses, eager to seize the chance to court her favor.

Out of courtesy, and in response to the earlier lady’s teasing, Hugh bowed gracefully and replied, “If you’re referring to the inconvenience caused to young people by the Lord’s dragnet today, I must admit, I did run into some minor trouble on my way here.”

“Oh? And how did you manage to escape it?” the first noble lady inquired, curious.

“The Brownie family vouched for me,” Hugh answered.

“So you’re a guest of the host,” she smiled. “I thought perhaps you were…” She did not finish, but Hugh understood her implication: she suspected he might be a noblewoman’s young lover, brought along to experience high society.

In such decadent circles, nearly everyone—men and women alike—kept lovers of their own, so Hugh was not at all surprised by her assumption. He simply nodded and prepared to withdraw.

The lady laughed, “Let’s hope the Lord catches that wretched Hugh Grelle soon, or you’ll have to rely on the Brownie family’s protection every time you want to step outside.”

A noble youth in a silver bowtie interjected, “With the Lord’s abilities, I’m sure it won’t be difficult.”

Hugh bowed his head in thought, then replied languidly, “I fear it may prove not so easy after all.”