Chapter 147: Staking a Claim

The crystal chandeliers of the Grand Theater lit up row by row.

The light dispelled the last bit of gloom created by the magical light and shadow on the stage.

The sounds of rustling fabric and seats being flipped up echoed from the audience.

Lia sat in her red velvet chair, her gaze still lingering on the now-closed curtains.

A warm sensation came from her right hand.

It was Klein’s hand.

Since the climax of the performance, this hand had been resting over hers, and it showed no intention of moving even after the lights had come on.

Lia shifted her fingers.

Klein’s palm was large, his knuckles long and powerful, and his skin dry.

He did not let go; instead, he closed his fingers, completely enveloping her hand in his palm.

“It’s over,” Klein’s voice whispered in her ear.

“Mm.” Lia snapped out of it. “The ending was a bit forced in its sentimentality.”

“The public likes that sort of thing.”

Klein stood up, his other hand picking up his mage robes from the back of the chair and draping them over his arm.

He naturally led Lia by the hand as they walked out of the box.

Lia did not pull away, allowing him to lead her out.

The corridor was packed with the dispersing audience.

Noblewomen waved feather fans while discussing the plot, and gentlemen adjusted their cravats.

Klein walked half a step ahead.

His shoulders were broad, and his custom-made mage robes made him stand out prominently in the crowd.

Whenever someone tried to squeeze past, he would wordlessly turn his body, using his back to block any potential collisions.

Lia followed behind him, looking at the back of his head.

***

Behind a pillar in a corner of the hall.

Two old men in plain clothes were sneakily poking their heads out.

Horace pulled his hat brim lower, revealing only a single monocle.

Laplace was clutching a handful of melon seeds he had just swindled from a child nearby.

“They’re out.”

Laplace spat out a seed shell. “He still hasn’t let go.”

“According to the research reports I’ve read, this is called ‘staking a claim’.”

Horace lowered his voice. “Look at Klein’s positioning; he’s completely blocking any angle for other members of the opposite s*x to approach Lia.”

“Mm.”

A magical vibration thrummed through the air.

Horace’s expression changed.

A palm-sized light screen snapped open before him out of thin air.

On the screen, Eleonora was sitting in a white iron chair, holding a pair of shears for pruning flowers.

The background was her greenhouse garden.

“Horace.”

Eleonora’s voice came through an amplification array; though not loud, it carried a distinct chill. “It is dinner time. Which gutter are you and Laplace hiding in?”

Horace frantically gestured at Eleonora.

“Hey! Lower your voice!”

“What are you doing?”

Eleonora stopped her pruning, her gaze turning dangerous. “If you’ve gone out for drinks and entertainment, I am going to burn the manuscripts in your study right now.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

Horace grew frantic.

He rotated the light screen, pointing the camera at the crowd in the center of the hall.

“We are conducting an inspection.”

“An inspection?”

Eleonora leaned closer to the screen.

The image wobbled for a moment before settling on a pair of figures on the red carpet.

The tall man was holding a blonde girl’s hand.

The girl was looking up and saying something, while the man lowered his head slightly, his profile appearing unusually soft.

Their hands were tightly clasped together.

The chill in Eleonora’s eyes dissipated.

She set down her shears and took a sip of the red tea beside her.

“Oh.”

“See? I told you.”

Laplace poked his head into the screen’s field of view. “This kid finally made his move.”

“Finally.”

The corners of Eleonora’s mouth curled up. “I thought he was going to wait until Lia reached the Ninth Circle before he dared to hold her hand.”

“You knew?” Horace turned the screen back.

“I sent flowers.”

Eleonora adjusted her sitting posture. “The pink one. The child accepted it, but she probably didn’t understand the meaning.”

“She definitely didn’t,” Laplace interjected. “She doesn’t have that kind of concept in her head.”

“Eleonora.”

“Laplace.”

“What are you making a fuss about now?” Eleonora asked.

“Now, we need to discuss some important matters.”

“Where are you two right now?” Eleonora asked.

***

On the plaza outside the theater, the setting sun dyed the sky orange-red.

A evening breeze blew past, carrying a hint of a chill.

Lia took a deep breath.

The air was a mix of the leathery scent of carriages and the aroma of food drifting from a distance.

“It’s still early.” Lia glanced at the sun in the sky.

“Mm.”

“Back to the tower?”

“No rush.”

Klein looked ahead. “Adèle is still busy; there’s no one in the tower even if we go back now.”

“Then where to?”

Lia patted her stomach.

“How about over there?” Lia pointed toward a street on the south side of the plaza. “I smell roasted meat.”

That was the capital’s famous snack street.

Normally, high-level mages would never set foot in such a place.

It was too noisy, too chaotic, and too undignified.

Klein looked in the direction she was pointing.

It was filled with smoke and fire, and a cacophony of voices.

“Let’s go.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he led Lia over.

The ground of the snack street was paved with bluestone, appearing somewhat greasy.

The stalls on both sides hung various magical lanterns.

Squid sizzled on iron plates, fried chicken tumbled in oil vats, and there were even fruit tarts chilled with ice magic.

Lia felt like she had come back to life.

“I want this.”

Lia stopped at a stall selling roasted bird eggs.

The owner was a chubby middle-aged man, skillfully flipping the iron skewers.

“Coming right up! Two skewers!”

The man handed over two skewers of bird eggs slathered in sauce.

Klein pulled out his coin purse.

It was filled entirely with gold coins.

The stall owner froze.

“This… My Lord, I can’t make change for this.”

Klein frowned.

He rarely carried small change.

Lia fished two silver coins from her own pocket and placed them on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

She took the skewers and impatiently took a bite.

The sauce exploded in her mouth, so hot she breathed out a puff of white mist.

“Delicious.”

Lia held the other skewer up to Klein’s lips.

“Try some.”

Klein looked at the dark sauce.

He felt it was somewhat difficult to bring himself to eat it.

But Lia’s hand was right there, her eyes sparkling as she watched him.

Klein lowered his head.

He looked at Lia’s hand and bit off a bird egg.

The flavor was intense.

Spices, smoke, and the heavy taste of cheap oil.

But the texture was surprisingly good.

“How is it?” Lia asked.

“Not bad.” Klein swallowed.

Lia smiled and finished the remaining half of her skewer.

A bit of sauce was left at the corner of her mouth.

Klein raised his hand.

The pad of his thumb gently wiped the corner of her mouth.

The movement was very light.

Lia froze for a second.

The spot where their skin touched felt somewhat hot.

“It was dirty.”

Klein withdrew his hand and spoke as if it were nothing.

Lia lowered her head, looking at her toes.

“Oh.”

The two continued forward.

This time, the distance between them was closer.

Their shoulders occasionally brushed against each other.

Klein’s hand changed from leading her to holding her hand, his thumb unconsciously stroking the back of her hand.

***

The three peepers were hiding behind a stall selling masks.

Horace leaned out, tinkering with a magical device recently invented for photography.

Laplace was gnawing on a pig’s trotter he had just bought.

“Did you see that? Laplace, his mouth is full of oil—wiping her mouth! Manually wiping her mouth! He clearly knows a cleaning spell!”

“That’s called ‘romance’.”

Eleonora commented from behind. “Klein is testing the waters.”

“Lia blushed.” Horace adjusted the focus. Though it was fleeting, she had definitely blushed.

“Has this girl finally seen the light?”

Laplace spat out a bone.

“Hard to say.”

Eleonora shook her head. “She might just think it’s from the heat.”

***

Night fell.

At the end of the snack street was a stone bridge spanning the canal.

Quite a few people had gathered on the bridge.

Several wandering mages were performing tricks.

Flames turned into birds, and water currents became swimming fish.

Lia and Klein stood by the bridge railing.

The river breeze ruffled Lia’s long hair.

She was a bit tired.

After strolling for the whole afternoon, her calves felt a bit sore.

She adjusted her stance, leaning her body weight toward the right.

Toward Klein.

Her shoulder leaned against Klein’s arm.

Klein’s body stiffened for a moment.

But he did not move away.

Instead, he slightly adjusted his posture so his arm could more steadily support her weight.

A cheer erupted from the crowd in the distance.

A massive magical firework exploded over the river.

Multicolored sparks were reflected in the river water, shimmering brightly.

Lia watched the points of light.

She leaned against him like that, watching the river flow.

The noise of the surrounding crowd seemed to recede.

Only the temperature coming from where their arms touched felt real.

Klein looked down at the top of her head.

A few strands of blonde hair had been blown up by the wind.

He really wanted to reach out and smooth them down.

But he restrained himself.

He was afraid of breaking this rare tranquility.

***

On top of the distant clock tower.

Three heads were huddled together.

“She leaned in! She leaned in!” Laplace was so excited he almost dropped his newly bought pig’s trotter.

“Be quiet.” Horace pressed down on his old friend’s shoulder.

In front of them, Eleonora propped her chin on her hand, her eyes gentle.

“The atmosphere is nice.”

“Let’s make a bet.”

Laplace wiped the oil from his hands.

“Bet on when they’ll break through this layer of window paper.”

“I bet one year,” Horace analyzed.

“Given Lia’s level of emotional density combined with Klein’s ‘stuffy gourd’ personality, one year is the most likely.”

“I bet three years.” Laplace gave a chuckle.

“Lia still has to do follow-up research on the photoelectric effect; once she gets busy, this matter will be pushed to the back of the line.”

“You both understand nothing.”

Eleonora’s voice drifted over lazily.

“I bet half a year.”

“Half a year?”

Horace and Laplace looked at Eleonora simultaneously.

“Klein won’t be able to hold out that long.”

Eleonora pointed at the man in the image. “Look at his eyes.”

The image zoomed in.

The way Klein looked at the top of Lia’s head was focused and deep, carrying an almost greedy possessiveness.

It was the look of a predator watching prey that had fallen into its net.

It was also the only treasure a dragon would guard.

“He has already tightened the net.”

Eleonora laughed softly. “Lia won’t get away.”

“What’s the wager?” Laplace asked.

“If I win,” Eleonora looked at Horace, “you go and turn the soil in my garden once. No magic allowed.”

Horace’s face turned green.

“If I win,” Laplace said, “give me that bottle of Elven Brew you’ve been hiding for a hundred years.”

“Deal!”

Three mages of the Eighth Circle and above, on this cool night, set a wager for the sake of these two juniors’ gossip.

***

On the bridge.

Lia let out a yawn.

“Sleepy?” Klein asked.

“A little.”

“Then let’s head back.”

“Mm.”

Lia straightened her body.

But Klein did not move.

He looked at Lia and suddenly spoke.

“If you’re tired…”

He paused for a second.

“I can carry you.”

Lia was stunned. She looked up at Klein. Under the streetlights, those blue eyes were bottomless.

“No need…”

“It’s fine.”

Klein interrupted her. “No one recognizes us.”

He turned around and half-crouched. His broad back was right before her eyes.

Lia hesitated for two seconds. She was indeed very tired.

And…

That impulse to be close seemed to override her reason.

She leaned onto him.

Klein supported the crook of her legs with both hands and stood up steadily.

Lia buried her face in the crook of his neck. A faint scent of cedar. It smelled very nice.

“Am I heavy?” she asked.

“Light as a feather.”

Klein said, “Eat more tomorrow.”

He carried her on his back, walking down the stone bridge one step at a time.

Their shadow was stretched very long under the streetlights, eventually merging into one.

***

On the distant clock tower.

The pig’s trotter in Laplace’s hand finally fell.

Horace’s mouth hung wide open.

And Eleonora laughed until her form swayed.

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