The Villain Who Invests in a Witch to Survive Chapter 136 : Chapter 136

Chapter 136: The Dance

As those hands guided him through the turn, the force behind them was not strong, yet it was steady in a way that made one feel strangely at ease.

The sensation stirred an odd feeling in Ryan’s chest, sothing he could not quite na.

In his mory, Ilis had always been Cecilia’s shadow. From the very first day she appeared at the academy gates, she had stood half a step behind the Princess in that deep blue uniform of hers—always silent, always expressionless, always like a blade kept sheathed.

She did not speak to anyone. Not to classmates, not to instructors, not even to anyone beyond the Princess herself. People in class had gossiped about her in private. They said they had never heard her speak more than three sentences. They wondered if she was mute. Soone claid they had once heard her say “Yes” to the Princess, and that had been the beginning and end of it.

That was how she had always existed in Ryan’s eyes—lowered gaze, pressed lips, a presence so faint she resembled mist on the verge of dispersing. She was Cecilia’s backdrop, a blade forever hidden in its sheath and never drawn.

But now that mist had condensed into sothing solid. That blade had co out.

Objectively speaking, Ilis’s actions tonight went far beyond rely being unusual. First she had delivered his formalwear, even delaying her own preparations to make sure he appeared in proper dress. Then, when those two noble girls had approached to ask him for a dance, she had stepped in directly, looped her arm through his, and said, “He’s my partner.” Now she was actively teaching him to dance, holding his hand and leading him in turns across the floor.

Such actions would already have counted as intimacy from almost anyone. Coming from a “shadow” who had never voluntarily spoken more than a few words to him, and who had never voluntarily engaged with anyone at all, it was almost incomprehensible.

This was not the Ilis he knew.

Or rather, this was not the Ilis he had thought he knew.

Away from Cecilia, it was as if sothing long sealed had been released. Or as if sothing that had always slumbered beneath the surface had finally awakened, expressing an entirely different sort of presence.

Ryan even had the faint impression that she was trying, in her own way, to draw closer to him.

He told himself he was probably overthinking it. There was that old joke about the classic illusions people fell for. Perhaps it was only the warm light and gentle atmosphere of the evening making him imagine things. Yet the strange feeling still weighed quietly in the back of his mind.

Warm golden candlelight spilled from above, wrapping the two of them in a soft halo. Around them, dance partners were already turning in twos and threes, skirts and hems brushing together with fine rustling sounds.

“Follow ,” Ilis said softly. “Left foot. Step back.”

Ryan lowered his eyes.

As her steps moved, the hem of her black dress swayed gently, revealing a pair of black high heels. A few tiny violet crystals had been set into the surface of the shoes, like fallen stars that flashed in and out of sight as she moved.

The shoes made the arch of her foot look even paler, her skin so thin it was almost translucent. Faint blue veins could be seen trailing along the top of her foot and extending all the way to her slender ankle.

That ankle was so slim it looked as though it might snap, and yet every step she placed on the ground was astonishingly steady.

He followed her lead and stepped down—straight onto the hem of her dress.

Ilis stopped. Ryan stopped too.

“…My apologies.”

Ilis said nothing. She lowered her gaze to the section of skirt trapped beneath his foot, then raised her eyes to look at him. There was no anger in those violet eyes, only a trace of helplessness.

“Relax,” she said. “Don’t look down at your feet. Look at .”

Ryan raised his head and looked at her.

Her black hair was pinned high, revealing the long line of her neck. Her makeup was so light it was almost imperceptible, but it made her features look deeper than usual, and her lips seed softer and fuller than they normally did.

That simple black gown followed every line of her body. The neckline opened just enough to reveal a pale stretch of collarbone, and the tiny star pendant above it swayed gently with each breath.

Ryan took a slow breath and tried to let the tension leave his shoulders.

“Left foot. Step back,” Ilis repeated.

He followed her lead. This ti he did not tread on her skirt.

“Right foot. Forward.”

Another step.

The two of them began moving slowly along the edge of the dance floor. Ryan’s movents were stiff, his shoulders taut, his hands just as tense. Every step felt as though he were asuring the ground itself. Ilis led him with unshakable steadiness, as though guiding a child who had only just learned to walk.

“Relax,” she said again. “You’re too tense.”

Ryan inhaled deeply and tried once more to loosen his shoulders.

“Yes,” Ilis said near his ear. “Like that.”

They turned again.

Ryan’s movents gradually beca less rigid. In truth, dancing was little more than a sequence of bodily rhythms. As long as one grasped the beat and aligned with the music, then matched that to the proper movents, one could get through it.

He had undergone more than a month of Barton’s special training. After so many different forms of combat and bodily drills, his control over his own body had already beco remarkably refined. It did not take long before he began to understand the pattern. His steps gradually smoothed out, and the turns beca more natural.

By the ti the second piece of music was halfway over, he was already moving with Ilis’s rhythm in a manner that looked reasonably convincing.

More and more people drifted onto the dance floor. Skirts spun, coattails flared, and the warm candlelight softened every face it touched. So laughed, so whispered, and the air was filled with the scent of wine and powder.

Ilis’s gaze passed over Ryan’s shoulder and began sweeping the surroundings.

“Look at the three o’clock direction,” she said softly. “The one by the pillar.”

Using the montum of the turn, Ryan glanced in that direction.

By the pillar stood a young man in a deep blue formal suit. His short blond hair was cut very close, revealing clean, sharp sideburns. He held a wine glass in his hand but did not drink from it. His gaze rested on the couples turning across the dance floor as though he were counting sothing.

He stood ramrod straight. One could make out the outline of shoulder and back muscles beneath the formalwear. He was soone who had trained, and trained hard. His skin was sowhat dark, and there were faint traces of wind and hardship along his cheekbones.

“Parker Hewitt,” Ilis said. “One of the Second Prince’s people. His father is the deputy commander of the Second Legion. He has eight thousand border troops under him.”

Ryan let his gaze linger on Parker for a mont longer.

Two paces behind him stood a brown-haired young man in deep gray formalwear. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes never strayed far from Parker.

“Hayden,” Ilis said. “His father is a retainer of House Hewitt. He himself was raised as Parker’s study companion. Hayden’s swordsmanship is better than Parker’s, but he never shows it.”

The two complented each other, one in the open and one in the shadows, and were among the most formidable young talents in the Second Prince’s faction.

The Empire’s heaviest frontier pressure had always co from the Northern Border. The Orcs invaded year after year, and most of the military legions were stationed there on the front lines. The Second Prince controlled three legions, one of which had been permanently garrisoned in the Northern Border for years.

Parker and Hayden had both co out of those Northern Border legions. They counted as household retainers and aides of the Second Prince, and the fact that they had been sent here for the Starfall Ruins made it obvious enough that they ant to contend for whatever was inside.

“The seven o’clock direction,” Ilis said.

The two of them turned that way.

By the long table stood a man in a gray robe. His face was hard, his cheekbones high, his eye sockets deep, and a shallow scar crossed one brow. He held a wine glass but did not drink from it. He rely rotated the stem lightly between his fingers.