PATRIARCH FOWL
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Casual Heroing, Chapter 242
🕑 Added 2024-02-21 21:01:08 +0000 UTCSPARKS OF LOVE!?! ❤️💞💝
Next chapter comes out on February 23rd!
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Chapter 242 - A Night to Remember
Trying to mingle among the Elves at a party is not the easiest thing to do. See, it might not be immediately clear, but they kind of hate me. Well, not me—or, to be more precise, not just me. A lot of people here hate Humans. A lot of [Merchants] are not happy with me taking control over all the bread supply, quite a few fields in the Green Stretches, and so on. It’s... not that easy to be me around here.
But what I can tell you is that a beautiful woman at your side always makes even the nastiest situation better. And one like Lucinda, well, she makes everything better. Do I have my doubts? Perhaps. Am I going to discard them because I just got a peak into her decolletage, and it looks like I’ll need Google Maps to navigate it? Maybe. But what’s most important is this: am I going to let my thoughts get in the way of some good, deserved fun?
Nah.
I look at the ballroom we’re standing in, where most people chat instead of dancing to the tunes that are being played. I can already imagine a midnight kiss with the beautiful redhead beside me—maybe outside, on a balcony. Something extremely romantic like that. Yeah, that’s pretty much all I need right now.
I look at the ceiling where there’s a painted canopy of branches and leaves—very on theme with all the Flora Sanguinis that they brought in for the Day of Blooming. Sure, there’s a chance that someone might want to paint it red with my blood, but it’s still pretty, let me tell you that. These plants are hauntingly beautiful, just like Elven women. Still, the weight of this celebration’s history presses down on me; the decorations are not just for looks. They are symbols of victory, of a time when the Elves triumphed over the Humans and claimed the continent as their own.
I lean closer to Lucinda, my voice hushed in awe. "This is incredible," I say, unable to keep the wonder from my tone. "I’ve visited many places, but nothing quite like this. It’s... breathtaking."
Lucinda smiles, her eyes lighting up as she takes in the surroundings. "It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The Day of Blooming is one of our most cherished celebrations."
As we move through the crowd, I’m struck by the diversity of the crowd. I would have imagined a more elitist environment, but people seem to mingle despite their rank. I can even see some people chatting up a server with some drinks on his tray.
Say what you might; Elves don’t seem too bad with people who do humble jobs. They’re not the best with the homeless, but that’s pretty much a military thing, so.
"I’m just happy that, out of all places, I landed here," I tell Lucinda, my voice tinged with sincerity. "Meeting you and all of this—it’s been... let’s just say I’m very grateful for it."
“Are you feeling nostalgic?” She asks with a raised eyebrow, snatching a drink from a tray, bringing it to her full lips, and smiling at me.
“I’m feeling lucky,” I give her my custom wink-cum-tongue-click. “It’s nice to relax every once in a while. That is if the Dungeon monsters don’t invade the entire city.”
“Are you worried about that?” She asks curiously.
“I’m worried about so many things,” I cringe, “but I’m still lucky because the beautiful woman in front of me makes them seem so unimportant.”
We pause for a moment, taking in the scene before us. The music, the laughter, and the soft rustling of leaves.
But then, Lucinda points to a figure across the room, his presence commanding attention even from a distance. "Look, there’s [General] Aurelianus," she says, her voice low. "He was Plinius’s mentor."
“Huh,” I mutter, studying the man.
That’s the guy that was with Cornelia on the balcony on the day of my duel with Appius.
A stray thought attacks me.
Yo, old man, are you there? Hello! I’m getting worried here! And it would help if you could scan the place to tell me if it’s all good! I’ve got a date, I can’t do it myself!
But no response comes my way.
Where the hell has he gone? Have I disappointed him to the point that he erased my memories and stripped me of my magic? Certainly, the old bore would definitely show that much clemency to me. He would most likely rub it in my face and even curse me for all I know.
So, what the hell happened to him? Why isn’t he answering?
If I have to be honest, the paranoid part of me is most worried about the fact that I’m not even being zapped by Magister Mulligan. That’s what’s really upsetting.
The worry about my magic's condition gnaws at me, especially after what Aemilianus mentioned about it potentially being a matter of the soul.
Due to the lack of the old man’s reassuring presence at my side, even amidst all this beauty and history, I still feel a pang of isolation, acutely aware of how much I rely on my magic, how it's a part of who I am—or at least, who I was.
“Are you ok?” Lucinda asks after a long stretch of silence between us.
“Heh, Aemilianus said I might have some damage in my soul and that it might be the reason I can’t cast magic now. I’ve been ruminating about that. I’m not sure he’s right, but I’m also not sure he’s wrong. And if he isn’t wrong, then I do have quite the situation on my hands.”
“How would you solve a problem like that?” She frowns.
“No idea,” I exhale. “Maybe I’d go into Dungeon and try to find some artifacts and riches? I still have my physical class, and that is strong enough for me to have a career as an Adventurer if I wanted to. [Captain] Drusillus would be so very glad to conscript me into doing some dirty work for the Watch as an Adventurer. He seemed quite enthusiastic about Truffle’s parents signing me up with the Adventuring Guild, although the word ‘enthusiastic’ can’t really describe that man.”
“By the way,” Lucinda says out of the blue, “are Truffles and Flavia a thing?”
“They are something for sure. Not sure about what thing exactly, but they are one,” I reply with a smile. But like all obsessed and worried people, I can’t help to bring this back to myself and my worries. “How would you approach not being able to cast magic for a while? Would you look for a solution right away or maybe sit on it for a while? Maybe it’ll just come back on its own.”
“Well,” Lucinda sighs, “I don’t know. You’re the one with the unorthodox solutions. I’d probably rot my brain and cry my eyes out at first, then do something.”
“That sounds reasonable,” I say, scratching my chin. Then, in a very insecure manner, I ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask her from the first moment I couldn’t cast a [Light] spell. “What if I lose my magic forever?”
I study all her reactions carefully and see her roll her eyes up and think about it earnestly.
“Well, I would dedicate myself to the other class you have. You never really explained to me what’s your style of combat, by the way. You cut Appius down like a dry twig. Why do you worry so much about your magic?”
I watch Lucinda closely, trying to gauge her reactions, searching for any sign of waning interest or, worse, pity. The very idea that she might see me as less than I am because of my magic—or the lack thereof—fills me with quiet desperation. I'm struck by the realization that my identity, my sense of self-worth, is so intricately tied to my magical abilities that the thought of losing them feels akin to losing a part of my soul.
And is she really not interested in the fact that I might not be able to cast magic anymore? Wasn’t she looking forward to learning from me? Would she really stay with me even if I didn’t have any magic?
“Never mind, I’m just being stupid,” I say.
It's then that I notice a figure approaching, his large frame cutting through the crowd with an ease that speaks of confidence. Aemilianus, out of nowhere, makes his way to us and quickly taps me on the shoulder. "That's Marcus, the Dragon," he reminds me, his voice low. Before I can process this information further, he adds, "Be careful around him."
As Marcus draws nearer, his yellow eyes scanning the room with an intensity that feels almost tangible, I crack my neck, ready for just about anything.
But, before any words can be exchanged, the crowd parts like the sea once more, revealing a beautiful woman – a Human, nonetheless – with black hair and blue eyes, who steps forward with a grace that commands attention. She moves with purpose, her eyes locked on me as she navigates the space between us with more confidence than the Dragon himself. The reason for such confidence is about to be revealed to me. But there’s something very distinct about the way she moves and looks that I just can’t quite put a finger on. It’s so familiar. It’s on the tip of my tongue.
"You must be the man I’ve heard so much of," she begins with a commanding voice. Her presence is imposing, and it looks like I’m being tested for something. "Nice to meet you, I’m Penelope Rossi. I’m from Italy."
Of course she is.
