"Now that’s interesting. The word ‘surprise’... Is it possible that I’ve had the honor of being recognized by you, the esteemed violinist"

Moen swirled his wine glass and spoke with a teasing smile.

"That’s... not it at all! I don’t even know you!"

The beauty violinist’s tone noticeably wavered.

"What I meant was... I was just surprised to be suddenly summoned by someone like you—a noble gentleman!"

A noble gentleman?

Moen raised an eyebrow and turned to look at the nearby Shawn, signaling with his eyes.

Shawn shook his head.

After all, visiting a place like the Lower City District made it obvious that Moen wouldn’t be wearing the luxurious, formal attire meant for an audience with His Majesty. Before coming here, he had already changed into simple casual clothes.

Now, he looked nothing more than an unremarkable blond handsome man, with no traces of nobility visible on him.

In this world, being blond and wealthy doesn’t mean nobility.

Moen didn’t press the matter, perhaps chalking it up to the beauty violinist simply making a wild guess. He continued smiling leisurely and said:

"Is that so? I see. But you claim you don’t know me—yet, Miss, why do I feel that you look somewhat familiar?"

"F... familiar?"

"Indeed. Your height, aura, tone of speech, and even..."

Moen’s gaze drifted, sweeping over the beauty violinist standing before him. His eyes took a quick scan around her, until, as if guided by something irresistible, they landed unmistakably on a certain prominent... feature.

"You..."

Feeling Moen’s overt gaze, the musician immediately covered her chest, her tone flustered and indignant:

"Y-you pervert!"

"Ahem..."

Moen coughed awkwardly, his expression somewhat sheepish.

"My apologies—truly, I didn’t mean to offend. But you’ve had your face concealed a bit too thoroughly."

Heaven above knows, Moen wasn’t referring to "that." What he truly intended to remark on was the “overall impression” she gave.

After all, he wasn’t the sort to obsess over appearances. It wasn't his habit to fixate on such... anatomical aspects.

In conversation, it’s basic etiquette to maintain eye contact or focus on a person’s face. That, at least, was something he understood.

But the problem was...

Her face was fully shrouded by a magical veiling spell. It wasn’t as though he could stare endlessly into a thick mist of indistinct fog.

The human eye naturally seizes upon focal points.

And thus, Moen’s gaze had naturally, involuntarily, uncontrollably settled where it appeared most prominent.

It's because his attention is involuntary, not because he wants to see it!

"In... in any case, you've got the wrong person. I don’t know you, nor do I share any association with someone you’d call a acquaintance."

The beauty violinist hugged her chest defensively, completely unaware that her attempt to squeeze her posture inadvertently exaggerated certain features from Moen’s perspective. Her tone feigned fierceness as she declared:

"If summoning me here was just an excuse to flirt with me, then allow me to decline right now. The payment you handed the waitstaff earlier—I’ll return every last coin, the entirety of it!"

"Is that so?"

Moen sighed after hearing this, his focus shifting. He didn’t persist in pursuing her concealed identity.

Forcing a young woman to reveal her face would be extraordinarily rude, after all. He’d merely been curious.

...Perhaps this had all boiled down to a case of mistaken identity.

While her overall demeanor did resemble someone from his mind’s eye, the individual he was recalling should, at this moment, still be at Santa Maria College. The correlation of identity and location, personality, motive—all didn’t seem to line up with the elegant beauty violinist playing tunes at a late-night restaurant.

As for the Holy Light... it didn’t signify much. This was a world full of believers in deities. Those adept at wielding divine Holy Light were hardly uncommon. Frankly, given his experiences, even Elizabeth’s radiance from a simple summoning was far more intense than the trace display earlier.

"My deepest apologies for my earlier rudeness, Miss."

Moen set down his wine glass and offered an earnest gesture of clasping a hand to his chest in apology.

"There’s no need to return the payment. Please believe me—I didn’t summon you here to tease you frivolously. I genuinely have a request of importance."

"A... a request?"

The musician blinked in surprise. "What is it?"

"My friend here deeply admires your music."

Moen gestured toward Shawn beside him.

"Today marks the remembrance day of his late wife. I hope you might be willing to honor him with a special performance—a melody just for his memory."

"P-please play once more!"

Upon hearing Moen’s request, Shawn froze briefly but soon stood, a hopeful fervor igniting his gestures as he implored:

"It’s been ten years. I thought I'd forgotten her face altogether. But your music—your notes—brought her image back to me in vivid clarity. Please, perform again. I haven’t seen enough; I wish to—wish to see her again, even for a fleeting moment..."

"I..."

The beauty violinist, moved by the sincerity pouring visibly from Shawn’s tear-streaked expression, hesitated. His pain was genuine, impossible to dismiss. Her large eyes under the mist not help but blink.

Her mist-concealed eyes flicked briefly toward Moen, borne with a flicker of doubt.

This guy... Was his real intention solely to have me play for his grieving companion?

Not to expose hidden truths or find an excuse purely to tease me?

Had I misunderstood?

"...Unwilling?" Moen smiled mildly, watching her keenly—all playfulness now erased from his crystal-clear gaze, a serene and straightforward blue that held not a trace of speculation or ulterior motive.

"...Alright."

Shawn’s heartfelt sorrow tugged too strongly for her to turn away, so she slowly raised her violin once more, offering a quiet remark:

"If it’s for a tune, that much I can do."

"Thank you."

Moen and Shawn spoke in unified gratitude, sitting upright to listen.

And so, the music began anew.

Softly, the melody swelled up like ethereal hymnals descending from celestial heights, weaving intangible solace meant to mend the broken heart.

"Olia... Olia..."

Shawn whispered in sotto tones as he once again sank into memories of his departed wife.

Meanwhile, Moen—perhaps due to time spent wielding Elizabeth’s divine extensions—found no reaction stirred by the faint light naturally dissipating from portions of the violin’s aura.

He lay pensively against his bare hand, bearing subtle observation toward the musician herself instead.

Affected now by Shawn’s resonant grieving heart visibly shared across each expression, posture, and attentive penchant toward remembrance, the violinist rendered none of her movements mechanical, forthright bow gestures mere formulas—but swayed unconstrained by present empathy projected upon every chord she reached.

Even with no holy light, Moen can still clearly feel that the tune...has come to life.

The tune that came to life displayed a power that was very different from what it was, and even Moen was completely enthralled by it.

In a trance, it was as if a holy saintess appeared in front of Moen.

With a hazy beauty, the saintess was opening her vast and warm embrace towards Moen, guiding him to keep moving closer, closer, and closer to her...

"Bang!"

Suddenly, there was a loud bang.

The music was interrupted.

The image in his mind disappeared, and his sight once again returned to the dimly lit restaurant.

Shawn opened his eyes blankly, not having regained his senses, while the beauty violinist's petite body shivered and startled.

Moen frowned and looked in the direction from which the voice came with displeasure.

"For... for which reason?"

Not far from the their table, a man suddenly slapped the table and howled,

"On what grounds can you play solo for them and not... not for me?"

With this, he walked towards Moen's side.

His face and neck was reddened and his footsteps were shaky.

Is he......

drunk?

"Guest ...... guest, please don't be like this."

The waiter who had received a lot of kickbacks from Moen just now rushed over and tried to stop the drunken man.

However, the thin and weak waiter obviously couldn't stop the him and could only be dragged along with him towards Moen.

It wasn't until he was very close to Moen that the man pushed the waiter away with one hand and stretched out his hand, pointing at Moen with a ferocious expression:

"Tell me, for......why? Is ...... is that just because you, a little brat, are good looking?"

The strong smell of alcohol smoked Moen even more unpleasantly.

He was about to push this drunken lunatic, who was obviously just an ordinary person, away. But perhaps under the effect of alcohol, the staggering man, before Moen could do anything, he actually stepped on one foot on the flat ground, towards Moen then fell.

Subconsciously, Moen wanted to catch him.

But, just then.

The man's hand that was pointing towards Moen, suddenly, swelled violently without warning.

Hideous muscles, stacked like gnarled dragons, instantly broke through his sleeves.

The skin of that arm shone with a metallic lustre, and when the five fingers were slightly curved, they popped out sharp claws like daggers!

This is ...... bestiality?

Moen's pupils shrunk.

There wasn't any battle aura.

There wasn't any magic power.

Not even any killing intent.

It was only just a purely physical change.

Therefore, when that dagger-like sharp claw was almost about to touch Moen's chest, his death warning, which he had always relied on greatly, rang belatedly!