Chapter 18: Red wine.

One month later.

As the Iron Sword Party became increasingly active in C-rank dungeons, the name of the beautiful silver-haired, red-eyed swordswoman began to spread through Ordis’s adventurer circles.

People started calling her the Silver Waltz.

…

Afternoon at the guild tavern.

Hill, fresh from a mission, sat at her usual window seat.

Perhaps because she had just slain a troll, her mood was excellent, and old habits from her previous life naturally resurfaced.

She didn’t sit with the prim, knees-together posture of a typical noble lady. Instead, she boldly crossed her right ankle over her left knee.

Leaning back in the chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, the other idly swirling a wooden mug filled with iced fruit juice.

It was the classic “alpha male” manspread pose, full of testosterone.

Paired with her exquisitely flawless face and that pure-white lace-trimmed leather armor, the stark contrast created a suffocating, aggressively beautiful aura.

Across from her, Phyllis’s fingers tightened slightly around her teacup.

Through the rising steam, she stared at Hill with burning intensity.

Ah… this is it.

That commanding gaze, that effortless wildness.

A body with the softest waist in the world, yet a soul forged of steel.

Phyllis’s breathing quickened.

She wanted to kneel and kiss that crossed ankle.

Wanted to be roughly pulled into the embrace of that arm resting on the chair back.

But…

The stares around them were too noisy.

Those male adventurers…

Some pretended to drink, some whispered, but their eyes were all glued to the slightly exposed hem of Hill’s skirt and the lines of her inner thighs.

…Disgusting.

Don’t look.

She’s mine.

Phyllis set down her teacup.

The porcelain made an almost inaudible clink.

She stood, took the large pure-white knitted shawl draped over her shoulders, walked around the table, and approached Hill.

“Hill, there’s a draft here.”

Phyllis’s voice was honey-sweet, but her movements were lightning-fast.

She bent down and draped the shawl—warm with her body heat and scent—gently yet firmly over Hill’s legs, completely covering that tantalizing absolute territory.

“…I’m not cold?”

Hill blinked, reaching to remove it.

“Shh.”

Phyllis pressed Hill’s hand down, then smoothly perched on the armrest of Hill’s chair.

The position perfectly blocked nearly every line of sight in the hall directed at Hill.

“You were sweating earlier. A draft would be bad for your knees.”

As she spoke, Phyllis naturally adjusted Hill’s collar, her fingertips brushing—seemingly by accident—across Hill’s collarbone.

“And… Hill looked so cool just now.”

She leaned close to Hill’s ear, whispering in a voice only the two of them could hear, her tone carrying a hint of coquettish complaint.

“I’ll get jealous. Can’t you save that expression for home only?”

Hill’s face flushed. She instinctively uncrossed her legs and sat up straight.

“Ahem… habit. Sorry.”

Phyllis smiled in satisfaction.

She didn’t return to her own seat. Instead she stayed perched there, leaning against Hill, openly staking her claim.

But of course, someone always had to test the line.

“Excuse me, beautiful lady.”

A smooth, magnetic male voice sounded.

A handsome blond youth in fine light armor, rapier at his waist, approached.

Elegant manners, striking features, followed by two capable-looking subordinates.

Raymond, leader of the Rose Cross Party.

Ordis’s infamous playboy—and one of the few A-rank adventurers in the city.

Raymond’s gaze went straight past Phyllis, locking onto Hill.

Her bold sitting posture didn’t repel him—it ignited his desire to conquer.

A thorny wild rose like this was exactly his type.

“I’m Raymond.”

The youth performed a perfect noble bow, flashing a confident smile.

“I’ve long heard of the Silver Waltz. Might I have the honor of inviting Miss Hill to dinner tonight? I know an excellent private restaurant—their red wine is—”

“Sorry, she doesn’t drink.”

Before Hill could respond, Phyllis cut him off coolly.

She didn’t stand.

She remained leaning against Hill, not even bothering to look at Raymond properly.

Her attention was fully on twirling a lock of Hill’s silver hair around her finger.

“And our schedule is already full.”

Raymond’s eyebrow twitched.

He clearly wasn’t used to rejection—especially not from what appeared to be a mere accessory nun.

He kept his smile but leaned forward slightly, trying to bypass Phyllis and speak directly to Hill.

“I’m asking Miss Hill.”

His voice gained a hint of pressure.

“As captain, surely she has the right to decide her own private time?”

Hill frowned.

In her previous life she’d always hated this kind of smug, effeminate noble.

“Raymond, right?”

Hill looked up, her gaze returning to that sharp, icy calm from earlier.

“My vice-captain speaks for me. We’re heading back to maintain our gear. No time.”

A clean, decisive refusal.

Raymond’s smile froze on his face.

But he clearly wasn’t ready to give up.

He reached out, aiming to take Hill’s hand resting on the table…

That fair, slender hand holding the wooden cup.

“Don’t be so cold.”

His fingers were about to brush the back of Hill’s hand.

“Just making friends. Perhaps we could discuss A-rank dungeon intel—”

At that critical moment.

“Oop—”

Phyllis suddenly let out a short gasp.

Her elbow—resting on the table—“accidentally” slipped, knocking into the arm of Alyssa, who was busy devouring food beside them.

Alyssa’s massive tankard tilted under the impact.

Splash!

A full cup of deep red wine cascaded like a crimson waterfall—perfectly aimed—right onto Raymond’s expensive white silk trousers.

And the location… was extremely unfortunate. Dead center of the crotch.

“…”

The entire tavern fell dead silent.

Raymond stared blankly at the rapidly spreading red stain on his pants. It looked hilariously like he’d wet himself.

“Oh no! I’m so terribly sorry!”

Phyllis stood instantly, face a perfect mask of panicked remorse.

She quickly grabbed a napkin, making as if to help wipe it—stopping half a meter away.

“It’s all my fault—I lost my balance… and Miss Alyssa, how could you be so careless?”

She apologized profusely while making no actual contact.

She stood there, napkin in hand, wearing an innocent expression that screamed: “I want to help, but that spot is just too awkward, I can’t possibly touch it.”

Alyssa, still chewing a chicken leg, hadn’t processed what happened.

“Huh? Me? I didn’t move?”

A few stifled chuckles rose from the crowd.

Raymond’s face turned the color of liver.

For a noble obsessed with image, this humiliation was worse than death.

“You—”

He pointed at Phyllis with a trembling finger.

He saw it.

Deep in that golden-haired nun’s seemingly panicked eyes—a flash of cold, mocking cruelty.

This was no accident.

But Phyllis had already turned, placing herself in front of Hill, hands clasped together, tears even glistening at the corners of her eyes.

“Sir, if you want compensation, we’ll pay any amount. Please don’t blame Hill—it was all my clumsiness…”

The white-lotus defense was flawless.

If Raymond raged now, he’d look like he was bullying a fragile nun—utterly unbecoming.

If he didn’t…

He couldn’t stay in this state.

“…Forget it! Bad luck!”

Raymond gritted his teeth, shot Phyllis a furious glare, clutched his legs together, and fled the tavern in disgrace, the embarrassing red stain following him.

…

“Phew… that scared me.”

After Raymond left, Phyllis patted her chest and sat back beside Hill.

The panic vanished instantly, replaced by a cheerful, delighted expression.

“Phyllis, that was on purpose, wasn’t it?”

Hill looked at her with a half-smile.

The angle, the timing—it was calculated to perfection.

“How could it be?”

Phyllis blinked innocently, picked up Hill’s half-drunk fruit juice, and took a sip right from the spot Hill’s lips had touched—completely unbothered.

“It was divine will. Even God thinks that kind of sleazy man doesn’t deserve to approach Hill.”

“You…”

Hill shook her head helplessly, but inside she felt extremely satisfied.

Raymond’s humiliated exit had been hilarious.

“But…”

Phyllis lowered her voice, hooking her little finger around Hill’s under the table.

“The way Hill rejected him just now was really captivating.”

She gazed at Hill, eyes slightly dazed.

“That cold look that doesn’t care about anyone… I want to pluck it out and keep it forever… ah, no—I just want to keep watching it.”

Hill felt a chill down her spine, yet the warmth from their linked fingers burned her at the same time.

“Right, Hill.”

Phyllis suddenly remembered something and pulled out a pair of exquisite black leather gloves from her pocket.

“Wear these when we go out from now on.”

“Why? It’s not cold.”

“Because Hill’s hands are too white—they stand out too much when you hold your sword.”

Phyllis stated it as obvious fact.

“And earlier that man kept staring at Hill’s hands. It made me very uncomfortable.”

She took Hill’s hand and—without asking—slipped the gloves on.

The black leather hugged her slender fingers tightly, leaving only the fingertips exposed.

The ascetic style actually made Hill’s sharp aura even more striking.

Phyllis looked at Hill in the black gloves and nodded in satisfaction.

Perfect.

Skin covered.

Even cooler.

Though it might attract more girls… no matter. If that happens, I’ll deal with each one personally.

“Let’s go home.”

Phyllis stood, linked arms with Hill, and walked out of the tavern.

As they passed the spot where Raymond had stood, Phyllis’s shoe sole “accidentally” rubbed the floor.

A single drop of his leftover red wine stain remained.

A faint black ripple spread outward from it.

A curse of clinging misfortune.

For the next month, that Raymond fellow would probably trip inexplicably in public, humiliate himself, and maybe even get bombed by bird droppings.

How dare he look at my Hill with those eyes.

Drown in your pride in the swamp of bad luck.

Outside, the sun was bright.

Hill thought the weather was nice today, and her partner as reliable as ever.

Phyllis smiled softly, hugging Hill’s arm a little tighter.