Succubus Magician Chapter 4

Chapter 4

That evening, Lancelot personally instructed Allen on the principles of being a lover.

It was just that these principles were not easy to learn.

In the dim room, Allen knelt on the large, soft bed, wearing only a thin, snow-white nightgown.

His skin flushed pink, and the snow-white fabric draped over him rubbed against his skin, releasing a warm fragrance that grew stronger in the room.

Midway through, Allen reached back, attempting to push the person behind him away.

His hand was halfway there when his slender wrist was seized. His entire upper body was forced backward, bringing him even closer to the culprit.

His lean waist arched, and his long neck stretched out. In the dim candlelight, he looked like a swan forcibly captured in a hunter’s embrace.

At midnight, dew began to settle in the garden.

The cool night breeze swept away the humid heat, and the sound of insects rose from the garden.

Because someone opened a window, the cold air from outside was drawn in, sweeping away the heat inside the room as well.

Allen lay on his back on the soft, large bed, still breathing heavily.

A large hand with distinct knuckles reached over, cupping the back of Allen’s head, gently removing the silk blindfold tied over his eyes.

The blindfold was soaked through, heavy, as if steeped in honey.

Lancelot paused slightly as he held the blindfold, then tucked it into his palm.

“How was it?” Lancelot knelt on one knee on the soft bed, leaning down to look at Allen, his chin held in Lancelot’s hand. There seemed to be a hint of a smile in his voice. “Are you satisfied with my instruction?”

Exhausted, Allen did not reply. He waved his hand, his soft fingertips brushing against Lancelot’s wrist, trying to push him away, but it was ineffective. Only the rise and fall of his chest became more pronounced than before.

Lancelot supported Allen’s waist and lifted him up with one arm. “I’ll take you to bathe.”

Allen murmured, “Brother, there are classes tomorrow.”

Lancelot lowered his head and kissed Allen’s pale forehead. “I know.”

After bathing, Lancelot did not send Allen back to his own room but carried him to his own.

Even though both rooms used the same bedding, Lancelot’s bed was clearly larger and more comfortable. Allen could completely bury himself in the soft covers, gaining a sufficient sense of security.

Once settled, Allen gently burrowed in the covers, trying to sink deeper.

Lancelot chuckled softly behind him again. Before Allen could protest, Lancelot pulled him back, pressing him into his embrace, then patted his back. “Sleep.”

Allen wanted to say something more, but a heavy drowsiness quickly dragged him into a deep sleep.

He slept soundly through the night. When he woke the next day, it was already quite bright.

Allen shot up in bed, his eyes wide. “I’m going to be late.”

“You have time,” Lancelot said, sitting in the reception area of the room and turning to look at him. “The carriage is ready.”

Allen jumped out of bed and ran to the washroom to freshen up.

His personal attendant had already packed everything he needed for school.

He rushed out and took the items from the attendant’s hand.

Lancelot walked over. “Are you still uncomfortable?”

“No,” Allen looked at him and said, “Brother, I have to go to school now.”

Lancelot nodded. “Go ahead.”

Allen hurried out, but as he left the door, he turned back, poking his head around the frame. “Brother.”

Lancelot looked up. “Yes?”

Allen: “Are you coming to school with me?”

Lancelot raised the scroll in his hand. “I still have matters to attend to.”

Allen’s gaze fell on the scroll, then quickly retracted, his smile unchanged. “Okay, Brother, see you tonight.”

As Allen boarded the carriage, he looked back one last time.

Montigny Manor was vast. From this angle, Lancelot’s room was not visible.

Lancelot had classes today and should have been leaving for the academy, but he had not appeared.

Allen was not late.

After finishing his morning classes, Spurt invited him to the lawn for lunch and sunshine.

Usually, Allen would decline, but today he did not refuse.

On the way to the lawn, Allen asked, “After Magic History, were you discussing the Swordsman Academy?”

Spurt looked at Allen with some surprise, then said enthusiastically, “Yes, I was talking about Lord Motley.”

Adeline, who had caught up, asked, “Lord Motley will also participate in the Golden Ball competition at the end of the month. Shall I get you tickets then?”

Allen: “Maybe I’ll see then. I heard someone mention being late, and in the end, we didn’t know who was late—was it Lord Motley?”

Spurt: “Probably not. Lord Motley made it.”

Adeline: “I heard he was rushing. Lord Motley’s scent was practically evaporating; the whole class smelled like him. Allen, you’re interested in Lord Motley too. Do you want to watch their training together this evening?”

Allen shook his head. “I might need to look at wands this evening.”

Adeline: “Oh, I need to go too. My mother said if I pass the Magic Apprentice exam, she’ll buy me a Phoenix Wood wand.”

Spurt: “I’ve already picked out a Dragon Blood wand. Once I get the qualification certificate, I’ll bring it home.”

The two of them turned to look at Allen.

Adeline: “Allen, what kind of wand do you want? A Phoenix Wood one? It’s agile and light; it must suit you perfectly.”

Spurt: “An Elf Wood wand is also very good. Maybe you want a powerful and beautiful wand.”

Allen: “I need to see this evening before I can say.”

Adeline said excitedly, “I’ll go with you. I don’t have anything else to do this evening anyway.”

Spurt: “I’m free too. I know the owner of that wand shop on Dwarf Street very well. Maybe we can start looking there.”

Before Allen could speak, the two had already arranged to go look at wands that evening.

In the evening, their three carriages dropped them off outside Dwarf Street.

Spurt and Adeline accompanied Allen, visiting every wand shop.

The staff at every shop were very polite. The elf who owned one wand shop stared at Allen and even offered him a 40% discount, selling him an Elf Wood wand for only two hundred gold coins.

As dusk deepened, the magic lamps on the stone houses lit up.

Adeline was picked up first by her servant, leaving Allen and Spurt behind.

Spurt looked around. “We’ve visited all the official wand shops. Do you want to check out the homes of private wand makers? I know several.”

“No,” Allen said quietly. “I wanted to ask you about something.”

Spurt: “Go ahead.”

Allen: “Do you know of any reliable potion shops that buy potions?”

Spurt hesitated. “Potions we make? Our level of magic—”

Allen put on an embarrassed expression. “I want to earn some pocket money to surprise my brother. It’s just him and me left at home, so I thought…”

Spurt: “I understand. Maybe you can talk to Hodgson. His family owns many potion shops, and some of them accept consignment sales.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him.” Allen requested of Spurt, “I don’t want my brother to know. Can you keep it a secret for me?”

Spurt thumped his chest. “Of course. I’ll also tell Hodgson to keep it confidential.”

Allen’s eyes curved slightly. “Thank you.”

As Allen boarded the Motley family carriage, Spurt was still watching him.

Allen waved, and Spurt waved back even more enthusiastically from behind.

It seemed asking Spurt to keep the potion matter a secret wouldn’t be difficult.

Outside Elves Magic Academy, there were shops selling potion ingredients.

Allen’s magic power level was indeed not high, but there weren’t many mages in the Shulain and Moncali United Kingdom to begin with.

It wasn’t difficult for him to brew some low-level potions related to blessings.

Allen didn’t have a dedicated potion room in Montigny Manor, but fortunately, the reception area in his room was large enough.

He asked the servants to set up a small area, and he began brewing potions in the reception area.

Mages needed a lot of practice, so it wasn’t strange for him to set up a potion-making station.

From that day on, Allen brewed potions every night.

When he first started brewing, his success rate was low. As he gained proficiency, his potion-making skills improved significantly, sometimes not failing even once in an entire night.

This delighted him so much that his focus shifted away from Lancelot quite a bit.

One evening, Allen’s door was knocked on.

“Brother?” Allen asked through the door.

“It’s me,” Lancelot opened the door. “Perhaps you should be sleeping now.”

Allen: “Almost done, I’ll come as soon as I finish brewing this last potion.”

Lancelot leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You’ve been brewing potions constantly these past few days.”

Allen blinked. “I’m practicing for my assignments.”

Lancelot looked at him deeply.

Allen: “It’ll be ready soon, I promise.”

Lancelot said nothing, just waited at the doorway.

Allen skillfully finished brewing the last potion for the night and sealed it in a crystal vial.

Lancelot walked in and scooped him up around the waist.

“Hey!” Allen protested, wrinkling his nose. “Brother, I haven’t cleaned up yet.”

Lancelot: “Someone will clean up. You need to sleep.”

Allen held onto Lancelot’s shoulder and thought for a moment. “Brother, I need to bathe first.”

Lancelot’s hold remained unchanged, and he said lazily, “Together.”