Layne face-planted on the ground, grimacing as he lifted his head to stare at Alan standing on the steps ahead. Oh no—if Alan found out he’d held his fiancée, he’d beat the crap out of him for sure.
Wait, no—she was a DarkMage! Her words couldn’t be trusted, absolutely not. This fiancé nonsense was definitely a lie.
“Hey, young man, what’s wrong?” Medi called out. “You look shocked. Scared? If you are, just release me, and I’ll pretend today never happened.”
Medi saw Alan staring blankly at her and assumed he was terrified. A smug gleam flashed in her bewitching eyes. Heh, I’m your guild master’s wife—let’s see if you’re not afraid now.
Alan was scared, truly scared. Trouble was brewing. Just this evening, a beast-eared girl claimed to be his fiancée, and now a DarkMage showed up. Wasn’t this exactly causing chaos?
Wait—he couldn’t panic. Without proof, he wouldn’t admit to any fiancée, especially not one who was a DarkMage. That was even less acceptable.
He wasn’t some lust-driven fool who’d fall for a fox-spirit face like hers.
DarkMages were far deadlier than beast-eared girls. Their enemies were the Light Cathedral, legitimate mages, and mercenary guilds.
If Medi really was his fiancée, his ancestral magic guild might vanish by tomorrow.
Snapping back to reality, Alan dragged Medi straight into the guild. Layne, leaning against the wall, followed. He needed clarity too—if this woman truly was Alan’s fiancée, he had to clear his own name.
Inside, Layne thought hard. Besides holding this female DarkMage, he hadn’t done anything remotely intimate.
Even when she absorbed his magic, she hadn’t used her mouth.
Layne recalled: when Medi drained his power, his neck had stung briefly, then his magic flowed out endlessly.
Damn it! Weren’t evil Dark Mages supposed to suck magic with their mouths? Why did it become his neck?
“Bacas Medi,” Alan said sharply, “you claim Cloud Peak Guild’s master is your fiancé. Got proof? Without evidence, he won’t admit it. A handsome, pure-hearted young man like him isn’t someone just anyone can marry.”
Thud!
Layne, about to sit, heard Alan’s words. His hand jerked, and he crashed to the floor with the chair.
Handsome and pure-hearted? Damn—was praising himself really okay? Handsome, sure. But pure-hearted?
A guy who used magic to peep on girls bathing since childhood—pure-hearted? If he counted, Layne could call himself a pure-hearted young master.
Alan and Medi both turned to stare at Layne. Flustered, he blurted, “Sorry! I was just startled by the ‘pure-hearted young man.’ Ignore me—keep talking.”
Layne stood, righted the chair, and sat quietly aside.
“Bacas Medi,” Alan continued, “no proof means I won’t believe you. I won’t hand you to our guild master. Instead, I’ll deliver you to Newdali City’s mayor before you see him.”
“What a scary young man,” Medi purred. “I have evidence, but you must release me first. Otherwise, I can’t show it.”
Bacas Medi smiled faintly at Alan, lips pursed.
Magic star arrays flared on Alan’s palms. “Anti-Magic: Disperse.”
Bacas Medi’s hands lit up with matching arrays—then shattered into nothingness.
Alan had only freed her hands; her inner magic remained sealed.
“What a cautious young man,” she murmured, flexing her fingers with narrowed, bewitching eyes.
“Evidence?”
“Right away.” Bacas Medi slipped her hand into her ample bosom. A parchment appeared in her grip. “Here. This is what you want.”
The moment Alan saw the parchment, his right eyelid twitched violently. That familiar dread surged.
He didn’t reach for it. His ink-black eyes locked on her. “You said you’d never seen an old man in white mage robes or a handsome middle-aged man. So where did that parchment come from?”
Damn parchment. It screamed of those two conspirators who loved tricking grandsons and sons.
“Yes, I never saw a robed elder,” Medi replied smoothly. “But this came from a beggar-like old man. Pitiful—he leaned on a wooden stick, collapsed before me. If I hadn’t given him a potato out of kindness, he might’ve starved.”
Alan: “...”
Damn that beggar. Alan knew—it was definitely his own grandfather!!!
Darn old man!!! Last time, he sold Alan cheaply to the Beastmen for a jar of wine. Now? A potato for a female DarkMage!!!
A female DarkMage!!! Was this his ruin in motion?!!!
“Bacas Medi, you’re not a qualified DarkMage!” Alan growled through gritted teeth. “A real one would’ve let that beggar starve!”
At his grandfather’s level, starvation was a joke. Instant spells, forbidden magic—he could wipe out dragons. Would anyone believe he’d starve?
Even pranks need limits!
If the old man kept this up, Alan might pay his debts and flee.
He’d been guild master for days—two fiancées already. A year? Who knew how many more would come.
Darn old man—skipping his son to torment his grandson. So annoying!
Still, the old man had good judgment. Girls he favored weren’t truly bad. So the question was: this female DarkMage—hand her over? Hand her over? Or hand her over?
