Succubus Magician Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Lancelot Motley inherited the title, becoming the new Viscount Motley.

Allen, as the son of the former Viscount’s mistress, still lived in the castle, quiet and unremarkable as usual; few people even knew he was still there.

In the afternoon, after eating a small piece of bread, Allen went to the castle library.

The Motley family had spanned over a thousand years in this place. At its peak, the family boasted one Duke, one Earl, and three Viscounts.

Although it had long since declined, its foundation was much deeper than that of ordinary minor noble families. Minor nobles didn’t necessarily have castles, let alone private libraries.

The library was empty. Allen selected two books and sat down at the long table.

The sunlight outside was perfect, and the half-open window allowed the breeze to flow unimpeded, bringing with it the fragrance of evening primrose and roses.

Allen glanced over the expanse of greenery, then withdrew his gaze, lowering his head to concentrate on his book.

“Knock, knock, knock.”

The heavy wooden door outside the library was gently knocked three times.

Allen looked up to see a familiar senior male servant standing outside, seemingly looking for him.

Allen gestured for him to enter.

The servant walked up to Allen and bowed slightly. “Young Master Allen, your birthday is approaching. Lord Brewer asked me to inquire how you would like to celebrate it.”

The hand Allen used to hold his book tightened slightly.

As a dependent in the castle, ever since his birth mother passed away, he had kept a low profile, avoiding the master Lancelot and the steward Brewer. He hadn’t expected the steward to remember him.

His eighteenth birthday was coming soon. This was likely an implicit reminder from the steward—he was coming of age and should leave this castle. Not just children born to the master’s mistress like him, but even legitimate noble young masters without inheritance rights had to make their own way in the world.

The servant waited a moment, and when he received no reply, he called out softly, “Young Master Allen?”

Allen placed his hands on the table and said quietly, “Please let Lord Brewer arrange it as he sees fit. I have no objections.”

The servant bowed slightly. “Very well, I will convey your wishes.”

The servant quickly departed.

Allen stared blankly at the books on the table for a long time, then let out a soft sigh.

Allen’s birthday was indeed not a small matter for Brewer.

During the daily report, after detailing the affairs of the castle and the domain, Brewer specifically asked, “My Lord, Young Master Allen’s eighteenth birthday is near. Do you have any arrangements?”

Lancelot said, “So soon?”

He recalled the slender figure he had glimpsed during dinner, the white-gold hair draped behind his back, yet not paler than his master’s skin.

After a pause, Lancelot asked, “What are Allen’s thoughts?”

Brewer replied, “Young Master Allen is willing to follow arrangements and hopes for a simpler life.”

Lancelot considered briefly. “Have him become a priest. He has magical talent; the Goddess will look after him.”

Brewer suggested, “Kurt Town is in need of an apprentice priest. Shall we send him there?”

Lancelot nodded in agreement. “You deliver him personally, and convey my regards to Priest Alvan. Tell him I have Entrusted my most beloved younger brother to his care, and ask him to look after him well.”

Brewer responded, “I understand, I will warn him.”

Lancelot added, “After sending him off, have Allen write back if he needs anything, and you should also keep an eye on him. Allen seems the type who isn’t good at dealing with people; give him more time to adjust.”

Brewer replied, “Yes, my Lord.”

Allen was unaware that his destination had already been decided.

His birthday approached day by day.

On the morning of his birthday, he was in the library as usual.

A young maid came to find him, saying someone outside had a letter for him, but refused to hand it to the designated messenger, insisting on giving it to him personally.

He guessed what the letter might be about. When he went out, the contents were indeed as he expected.

Because he had encountered a rare piece of good news, a smile touched Allen’s face.

Holding the letter, he walked briskly along the castle path, intending to return through the side gate.

Halfway there, the senior male servant under Brewer called out to him, “Young Master Allen.”

Allen stopped.

The servant hurried over and stood before him.

Allen clutched the letter, his snow-white fingertips slightly pink, far more attractive than the white of the envelope.

The servant glanced at it quickly before averting his gaze. “Young Master Allen, Lord Brewer requests your presence.”

Allen asked, “Is this about my birthday?”

The servant smiled. “Yes, there’s a surprise.”

Allen felt a wave of relief, turned to the servant, a slight smile on his face. “What surprise? Tell me a little.”

The servant replied, “It’s about work. His Lordship Lancelot has found a good position for you.”

Allen’s expression froze. His fingers gripping the envelope tightened, creasing the paper. After a few seconds, he said, “I understand.”

Brewer and Allen had never gotten along well. Perhaps the old steward, whose family had served the Motley family for generations, disliked commoners like Allen and his mother intruding into the castle the most. Even a mistress should have been a noble, shouldn’t she?

Allen understood some of the old steward’s thoughts and usually avoided appearing before him to be an eyesore.

Today, Brewer’s attitude was unusually mild. He informed Allen that he had secured him a position as an apprentice priest in Kurt Town. Kurt Town had always been Motley family territory. If he went there, the local priest would mentor him until he became a full priest.

For tutors and senior servants, an apprentice priest position was already a rare and good job. Such opportunities were almost exclusively reserved for favored children of noble families. If Allen hadn’t shown magical talent earlier, this position would have been virtually impossible for him to obtain. And once he successfully became a full priest, he would have a chance to advance, perhaps even becoming a noble in the future.

Brewer said a lot, but Allen didn’t retain a single word. He kept his head down, his thoughts already drifting far away.

That evening, almost everyone in the castle came to celebrate Allen’s eighteenth birthday. The honey cake smeared with cream carried an intoxicating aroma, and the well-chilled wine was sweet and rich.

Allen didn’t get drunk, but he seemed somewhat distracted.

Lancelot also attended his birthday party. Although he only raised his glass in a toast, to everyone present, this was already a great honor. This young Viscount, the most formidable master swordsman in Mayneuin County, was willing to toast Allen; it was truly beyond everyone’s expectations.

Almost everyone enjoyed the revelry, except Allen. After tonight, he might have to leave the Motley family castle to become a minor apprentice priest elsewhere. Perhaps one day he would become a senior priest, a noble—maybe, just maybe. Before becoming a senior priest, countless trivial matters and strict rules would consume all his energy.

As the time grew late, the candles inside and outside the castle were extinguished one by one, and the noise gradually subsided. The servants cleaned up and returned to their rooms.

Allen also returned to his room and asked the on-duty servant for water.

The on-duty servant looked at his flushed lips and asked with some concern, “Young Master Allen, are you alright alone? Shall I stay and attend to you?”

Allen looked up with his green eyes at the servant before him. Only when the servant became uncomfortable and averted his gaze did he finally open his mouth and reply slowly, “No need, I am not drunk.”

The on-duty servant said, “I will wait outside your door.”

Allen emphasized, “No need. Go back. I don’t like having someone listen while I bathe.”

The on-duty servant nodded slightly awkwardly. “As you command.”

The water the servant brought was very hot, and the rose essential oil by the bathtub was Allen’s favorite scent. He took a bath, washing his face until it was rosy, then put on his snow-white silk pajamas and left the bathroom.

The window in the room was half-open, and the cool night air blew in, hitting his flushed face and making him shiver involuntarily. The heat receded, and he stood by the window, hesitating for a long time. Finally, he picked up the light cloak draped over the chair and put it on over his pajamas.

His slender, snow-white fingers gripped the doorknob, and he gently pulled the door open. His slender figure slipped out, moving up the dimly lit corridor, all the way to the floor above, to the door of the suite with the best view in the castle. His slightly trembling fingers knocked on the door.

“What is it?” Lancelot’s deep voice came from inside.

“Brother, it’s me,” Allen said through gritted teeth at the door. “I have something private to discuss with you.”

“Come in.”

With a creak, Allen opened the door and walked in. Only two candlesticks were lit in the room, providing a faint source of light for the large space. Lancelot was sitting on the bed; Allen couldn’t make out his expression, only seeing his snow-white sleepwear.

Allen swallowed lightly, and as he closed the door, he locked it.

Lancelot looked up. “What is it?”

Allen walked over, holding the envelope with both hands, and presented it to Lancelot. “Brother, I have been accepted into the Elves Magic Academy.”

Lancelot glanced at him, took the envelope, and opened it. Inside was an acceptance letter, the seal on it emitting a faint magical fluctuation, making forgery impossible.

Allen’s voice trembled as he stood before Lancelot’s bed. “Brother, I want to go to school.”

Lancelot looked up at him, his eyes sharp. “I believe you know that the Elves Magic Academy tuition is three hundred gold coins a year.”

Allen took a small step toward the bed. “Yes, I beg you.” He gently pushed down the hood of his cloak, bent over, and kissed the corner of Lancelot’s mouth with lips like flower petals, whispering softly near Lancelot’s lips, “I am willing to pay the price.”

Lancelot’s eyes were deep, as if assessing him. “Have you thought this through?”

Allen’s slender, pale fingers gently pressed onto Lancelot’s shoulder, and he nodded. “I have thought it through.”

Lancelot remained still for a long time. Allen felt sweat bead on his back like a nest of ants. He gritted his teeth, about to make his next move. Lancelot’s long arm wrapped around his waist, and with a pull, he pressed Allen entirely onto the bed, pinning him between the mattress and his embrace.

Lancelot’s unique scent washed over him. He closed his eyes, his thick eyelashes trembling. Lancelot looked at his face, slipped his hand under the snow-white nightgown, tracing up his calf, and spoke in a low, slow voice, “I think you know what this means. Are you truly willing?”

The youth’s response was to reach up and wrap his arms around Lancelot’s neck, pulling him down and kissing him fiercely, like a small beast rushing into a hunter’s trap.

Rain began to fall, starting slowly and then intensifying, pattering down, enveloping the entire world in a curtain of rain, muffling all other sounds. The rain fell for half the night, and the sounds beneath the downpour echoed for half the night.

At dawn, the distant sound of the bell carried over.

Allen spat out the bedsheet he had been biting. His slightly cracked lips were as red as his mouth. He gasped softly. “Thank you, Brother.”

Lancelot’s rough, hot fingers moved up from his leg, his low, husky voice carrying satisfaction. “No need to thank me. Just work hard enough.”

Allen automatically ignored the suggestive remark and staggered, trying to get off the bed. “I should go back first.”

His voice was thick with nasal congestion. Lancelot held his waist with one hand. “No need. Sleep here.”

Allen struggled slightly. “Lord Brewer…”

Lancelot turned his face, staring into his emerald eyes. “You don’t want people to know?”

Allen paused and said in a low voice, “No, it doesn’t matter.”

Lancelot tightened his grip. “Then sleep here.”