Still pondering a few things, a man suddenly pulled out a chair at her table and sat down. His hair was so light it appeared golden, like the sun from ancient texts. He had a delicate face, framed by a narrow jawline, and wore a simple white coat—unbuttoned to reveal a black shirt underneath. His white trousers completed the outfit, but what stood out most were the numerous rings on his right fingers, each set with an expensive-looking gem.

From a knight city? Jean thought. She knew that in the central part of the knight cities, particularly Clegane—the place often referred to as the capital—women wore accessories on their right hands, while men typically wore multiple rings on their fingers. This made them easily identifiable.

Jean glanced at her table—there was no food. No wonder he came directly to her. Now, she couldn’t eat until he left. Still, he was quite handsome, but from a single glance, Jean could tell he was far from pure. In fact, he was the opposite.

She chose to ignore him. For all she knew, he could be some noble, and given how she felt about that lot, engaging in conversation with him might lead to bloodshed.

However, the man did not leave. He continued to stare at her with a small smile, long enough for people to start glancing over. After all, it was unusual for a man to be so openly attentive to a woman in public. Especially one with red hair.

After some time, just as Jean was about to get up and leave, the man finally spoke. "Won’t you give me a hug? Isn’t that how Canen men greet their women?"

Jean was stunned. The man’s voice was so soft and smooth, like a gentle breeze or still water. It had an ethereal quality—surely a Sanguine evolution. But he wasn’t wearing kefna, so using his abilities like this would be a violation of the ruler's law. Did he not know that?

The man continued to wait, as if expecting the hug he’d requested, though Jean had no intention of giving it. She disliked being courted so directly, no matter the form.

With a shrug, she responded, "I don’t hug men without a name."

"Ah?" The handsome man jerked back in surprise, almost foolishly. "By the shattered heavens."

Jean froze. Why did he say that? Is he a believer in the warrior god? Doesn't he know he should be reserved about that in canen?

"Call me Klaus," he finally said.

"A strange name for someone from a knight city," Jean replied, uninterested, as she surveyed her prospects for tonight’s warmth.

Klaus continued to stare but gestured for a servant to bring him a glass of wine. As he drank, his lips touched the cup in a way that made Jean feel... strange. Is that all it takes to affect me? She took a breath. Damn the shattered heavens. This was her being defiant.

"What’s your name?" Klaus asked. "Maybe after telling me, we can finally get that hug you wanted."

Jean raised an eyebrow. "I wanted?" she said. "Perhaps one of us has had too much to drink and has started acting like a fool."

"Not necessarily a drink," Klaus replied, flashing a coy smile. "Perhaps I got swept away by the face before me. Intoxication can happen in many ways. I happen to like this kind."

"Then I apologize, as it seems you’re the type to get intoxicated without actually tasting it," Jean said, locking eyes with him. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds.

"When the scent and sight are perfect, tasting isn’t always necessary. I, for one, am quite content with what I’m getting." Klaus's smile deepened.

A smile nearly tugged at Jean’s lips before she forced it down. Give others pleasure, but not yourself, she reminded herself. Taking a breath, she asked, "Who are you, Klaus? And why are you here?"

"Oh, I see..." He seemed surprised. "You really don’t know who I am?"

Just then, a powerful voice, likely amplified by some form of evolution, boomed across the room.

"We welcome the singer, Klaus!"

Cheers and applause filled the hall as all eyes turned toward him. Jean was momentarily awestruck, but also uncomfortable with so much attention focused on her.

It’s him? He’s the singer? She was taken aback by the revelation.

Klaus finally looked away from her, waving to the cheering crowd before standing and heading toward the stage. He unlocked his eyes as if he wasn't just mesmerized by a long span of time. Jean almost snorted.

The white curtain on the stage parted, revealing a black piano. Supposedly crafted by an ancestor or descendant of the ruler, it was a rare instrument, with only a few in the entire empire. The 12 High Lords likely owned one, as did... the Ventures. How could they not, when she would always hear a melody when the spiders of the bits bit into her? Jean frowned, dismissing the memory.

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Klaus continued waving until he reached the piano, then sat down and placed his fingers on the keys. As he began to play, Jean was stunned again.

The melody was soft, rhythmic, yet rough around the edges—oddly calming. He’s good. Jean couldn’t help but admire him. For a moment, she even considered breaking her one rule.

As Klaus played, a young man approached her, speaking in a stiff, formal tone. Clearly, having spoken to the star of the show had elevated her status in the eyes of those around her. Jean fought the urge to frown. Am I a noble now? Susan skittering underneath helped suppress the reaction.

Jean glanced back at Klaus, still playing the piano. The music was beautiful—almost a deep, blood-red in its intensity. It would be a shame not to get something from that annoying man.

"I would love to," Jean said, opening her arms for a hug as she rose to her feet.

The young man froze, clearly confused. Normally, men were the ones who initiated hugs with women, especially if they did not know each other. But Jean felt a little defiant. Maybe Klaus did get under my skin.

Nevertheless, the man composed himself, stepping forward to embrace her. Taking the opportunity, Jean released a small amount of charm, just enough to make him more susceptible. He shuddered in her arms, likely feeling pleasure from the brief, intimate contact.

She gently pulled away from the embrace—any longer and he might never have let go. The man’s face was flushed with a deep blush. Seeing this, Jean felt a spark of excitement. He’s pure!

"I’m Hill," the man said, still blushing.

And I’m going to climb it, Jean thought, smiling. "I’m Susan," she said, using the name she always gave in such situations. The spider inside her skittered—surely pleased to hear its name.

Despite his blush, Hill seemed hesitant. Jean knew why. Red hair will always be associated with a vixen... Not that I wasn’t one.

Still, she smiled as he led her to the dance floor, though some guests remained seated, watching Klaus perform. It didn’t bother her. She had already found her warmth for the night. The music shifted to a slower, more ethereal tune. There’s no way that’s possible without evolution.

They began to dance. Hill’s face was still flushed, and she could feel his hands trembling with warmth. Can’t wait to have me, can you? Jean thought. You must be one of those men who come to places like this, hoping to get lucky.

Hill seemed younger than Jean, at least judging by the innocence radiating from his expression. He likely wasn’t used to such balls. And to get lucky on his first try? He must be pure chosen... or maybe Mother chosen.

Jean stepped closer to him, so close that if she made the slightest misstep, her legs would undoubtedly collide with his. But thankfully, she wasn’t wearing heels or a hole would be the consequence. The boy froze, likely lost in fantasies of many things. Fantasies Jean had no problem entertaining.

She moved even closer now, her chest nearly pressing against his. This should do.

"The dance should be more intimate, Hill," Jean said with a smile.

"I... I think so too," Hill stammered, his voice unsteady. He immediately looked away, clearly embarrassed by his eagerness. But Jean didn’t mind. She pulled closer and whispered into his ear.

"Why waste time with all of this? Why don’t you just take me somewhere more private?"

Hill froze, a grin spreading across his face. His hands were sweating so much that Jean had to be careful they didn’t slip from her grasp.

"Would you please accompany me, Miss Susan?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with lustful desire. Perfect.

Jean was about to respond when, suddenly, Hill was pushed aside. A man with bright blonde hair grabbed her hand and, without invitation, began dancing with her.

Klaus.

Jean quickly glanced at the stage. A different person was now playing the piano—he was good, but not as good as Klaus. Meanwhile, many eyes had turned to her. She shot a glare at Klaus before her gaze shifted to Hill, who stood by the side, looking confused. He was slowly backing away, likely not wanting to antagonize the supposed star of the show.

You’re going nowhere, Jean thought, then spoke aloud with a smile. "Sir Hill, just wait a moment, and I will join you shortly."

A beam of happiness lit up Hill’s face. He nodded eagerly, like a loyal ash-hound, before going to sit, patiently waiting for her. With him gone, Jean turned back to Klaus, who was smiling at her. "What does a star like you want with a vixen?" she asked.

Klaus paused for a moment. Did he not know she was a vixen? How ignorant could he be?

Finally, he replied, "Vixen? Is that why you have red hair?"

"What else did you think the reason was?" Jean asked, intrigued.

"I thought it might have been dye," Klaus said with a soft laugh, a sound like a gentle breeze. "You know, I know many women with red hair who aren’t vixens."

I see, so that’s why, Jean thought, then said, "It must be troublesome, knowing so many redheads."

"It can be," Klaus chuckled again. "But I try to keep myself out of trouble, considering many of them have fond ideas of ending the night in my bed." He twirled her gracefully. "Luckily, I’ve gotten quite skilled at making fake bed puppets and jumping out of windows."

"Yeah, right," Jean shrugged, barely containing a laugh. What man would say no to that? Only a man without a pole would. A smile slipped through despite her best efforts.

"What’s this?" Klaus raised a coy brow. "Did the almighty vixen just laugh at something I said?"

"Not in your dreams," Jean retorted. Strange, how easy it is to talk to him.

"My dreams are mine," Klaus said with a playful smile, "and in them, I can ‘do’ anything to ‘anyone.’"

Jean shrugged again. "Must be nice for a believer in the Warrior God to be so... lacking in honor."

Klaus paused.

Did I offend him? Believers in the Warrior God had a particular sensitivity when it came to honor.

"I apolo—" she began, but Klaus suddenly laughed.

"Honor? What good is that?" he asked. "In my experience, those who cling to honor are the ones who die the quickest."

Jean froze. She remembered... Dunn had been a guardsman, and it was some misguided sense of honor that had taken his life.

Honor was a weakness. She would always tell him that, but he, being as stubborn as he was, never cared to listen. What a fool. Jean went quiet, saying nothing. Sensing her sudden silence, Klaus spoke up. "So, what’s a vixen doing at a ball meant for music?"

Jean glanced at him, pushing down the emotions steadily rising within her. "I did some cleaning and thought I deserved a bit of fun."

"True," Klaus said simply.