Succubus Magician Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Lancelot added a potion-making room for Allen in the manor.

With a dedicated potion room, he no longer had to hide in his own room to brew potions.

Allen loved this potion room very much. Whether he was making potions that day or not, he would come here to spend some time after school.

When Lancelot returned, if he wanted to find Allen, he could always find him in the potion-making room immediately.

“My Lord.” Brewer noticed Lancelot heading toward the potion room and hurried to catch up, saying in a low voice, “A letter arrived from Gamemond Palace.”

Lancelot paused: “Urgent?”

Brewer: “No, just a regular letter.”

Lancelot nodded: “Take it to my study, I’ll deal with it later.”

Brewer wanted to say something more, but Lancelot made a gesture, indicating he didn’t need to follow.

Brewer had no choice but to stop where he was, watching the master of the manor walk toward the potion-making room.

Inside the potion room, Allen stood before the magic table, carefully raising the temperature of the cauldron.

Many magical herbs were very sensitive to temperature; even a slight increase or decrease during brewing would lead to failure.

The problem was that this world lacked thermometers, so everything relied on the mage’s perception and experience.

Allen was extremely careful and focused every time he brewed a potion.

Once a potion was finished, he looked at the clear, purplish translucent liquid in the cauldron and breathed a sigh of relief.

It was then that he noticed someone at the doorway. Turning his head, he saw Lancelot, just as expected.

“Brother,” Allen smiled at the doorway, “Have you been here long?”

Lancelot, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, replied, “Not long.”

Saying that, Lancelot walked in and watched Allen carefully transfer the magical potion into a crystal vial and seal it: “Clapton Potion?”

Allen: “Yes, it treats swamp gas invasion. It’s a common potion for adventurers.”

“It looks successful,” Lancelot commented.

Lancelot waited for him to seal the potion and apply the magic mark, then put his hands on Allen’s shoulders and kissed his cheek.

After the kiss, he kissed Allen’s petal-like lips.

Allen tilted his head back to kiss Lancelot.

After a long kiss, Lancelot let go of Allen.

Allen raised a hand to touch Lancelot’s face, his eyes filled with concern: “Brother, are you a bit tired today?”

Lancelot gently grasped Allen’s wrist and lowered his head to kiss his hair again: “I’m fine.”

Even so, Lancelot kept holding Allen and didn’t let go.

It was as if he was drawing energy from him.

After holding him for a while, Lancelot released Allen and pulled him along: “Let’s go have dinner. We have your favorite Morla Seed Cake today.”

Allen turned to look at Lancelot’s profile. He watched for a long time, confirming he was alright, and didn’t ask further, happily going with him to dinner.

Allen could clearly feel that his relationship with Lancelot had entered a period of warming up.

Often, when he was brewing potions or reading in the family library, he would turn his head and see Lancelot quietly watching him with a particularly peaceful gaze.

At such times, if Allen met his eyes, he would always receive a gentle kiss.

One day, Lancelot brought Allen new magic books. These were also collections from the Royal Library, with theories and magical case studies written in a very accessible way.

Allen thought there wouldn’t be any more, but Lancelot had borrowed new ones for him.

Allen cheered when he received the books: “Thank you, Brother.”

He tilted his head back and kissed Lancelot’s cheek like a gust of wind, then eagerly sat down to read.

Lancelot didn’t leave. He sat at a nearby table, resting his long legs, watching Allen.

Allen was already used to his gaze and was completely unaffected, focusing intently and excitedly on flipping through the magic book.

After reading through it once, he would copy the entire book down to review slowly later.

After a long time, Lancelot suddenly spoke: “Allen.”

Allen immediately looked up: “What is it, Brother?”

The two looked at each other, their pupils clearly reflecting the other’s image.

Lancelot asked, “Allen, what do you want to do?”

Allen blinked in confusion: “Huh?”

Lancelot lowered his eyelashes.

Allen immediately reacted, stood up, walked in front of Lancelot, and leaned down to ask, “Brother, have I made you uneasy?”

Lancelot: “I just wanted to ask about your plans.”

Allen thought for a moment: “I want to become a powerful mage.”

Lancelot: “Do you want to marry a lady and start a family?”

Allen smiled: “Brother, I only like men.”

Allen’s fingers lightly touched Lancelot’s collar: “Besides, I am your lover, aren’t I?”

Lancelot placed both hands on Allen’s slender waist: “Yes.”

Allen lowered his head to kiss Lancelot. His soft fingers rested on his shoulders, and his platinum-blonde hair cascaded down like a waterfall, also resting on Lancelot’s shoulders.

Lancelot was thus enveloped in Allen’s scent.

Allen’s petal-like lips pressed against Lancelot’s, and he whispered by his lips, “Don’t worry, Brother, I truly love you the most.”

Lancelot tightened his arms, gripping Allen’s slender waist: “Do you love me the most compared to others, or do you love me?”

The two looked at each other, neither able to hide their expressions.

Allen dropped his usual sweet smile, put away his shyness and softness, shed his usual mask, and looked calmly at Lancelot: “Brother, even if I don’t go to the magic academy, I can still become a magic apprentice through an adventure team.”

His fingers stroked Lancelot’s soft lips, staring into his eyes: “Countless people have extended invitations to me, but I only sleep with you, Brother.”

Saying that, Allen chuckled lightly, tapped Lancelot’s chest, and kissed his lips again: “Brother, have a little more confidence in yourself.”

Lancelot stared at him fixedly, then took the initiative, fiercely pulling Allen into a hot, surging ocean.

Allen was submerged in the ocean, his beautifully shaped eyelashes drooping, willingly sinking.

For Allen, sometimes indulgence indeed brought him trouble.

His body was sore for several days, and even potions couldn’t completely erase the traces.

It even delayed some matters.

Once he finally recovered, Lancelot pinned him between the covers, and Allen gently nudged him with his knee: “Hey, Brother, we agreed, not today.”

Lancelot grabbed his calf and remembered: “Is there a Golden Ball match tomorrow?”

Allen: “Yes, a group match between our class and the next class.”

Allen’s emerald eyes stared into Lancelot’s, extending an invitation: “Brother, will you come watch our match?”

Lancelot: “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Allen: “I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow afternoon.”

The weather in Mayneuin County in June was beautiful. The grass had grown into a dense carpet, the sunlight was warm, and the wind was gentle.

Allen took off his loose robes and put on a short-sleeved shirt and shorts. Woolen long socks tightly encased his long, straight calves, perfectly displaying the beautiful lines of his legs.

It wasn’t just Lancelot whose gaze fell upon Allen’s long legs.

Lancelot withdrew his gaze and looked at Allen’s face.

On the Golden Ball field, the teams from the two classes were ready.

With a long whistle from the referee, the Golden Ball was tossed high into the air, hovering above.

Players from both classes immediately mounted their magic brooms, raised their wands, and cast spells at the Golden Ball.

The Golden Ball was struck by various elemental spells and sent high into the air.

All the players rode their magic brooms toward the sky.

Lancelot’s eyes were fixed tightly on Allen.

Allen’s speed was extremely fast, his tied-up platinum-blonde hair whipping high.

As he approached the Golden Ball, he accurately and quickly recited a Fireball spell.

The fireball struck the Golden Ball, causing it to trace a long line and land precisely in the opponent’s goal.

“Goddess above!”

“Allen, well done!”

“Allen! Allen! Allen!”

Cheers erupted from the stands, almost everyone looking at Allen with fervor, shouting praises for him.

All the players were energized. When the referee tossed the Golden Ball high again, all twenty-four magic brooms shot toward the Golden Ball in unison.

The players collided with each other, flying in opposite directions.

Some crashed directly to the ground, caught by defensive magic.

Some flew halfway into the air, struggling to stabilize their direction.

Others, despite being knocked away, immediately adjusted their angle, aimed their wands at the Golden Ball, and accurately recited the spell.

Allen was one of those who accurately recited the spell. The Golden Ball flew toward the opponent’s goal again under his control.

Even when intercepted by an opposing player, it didn’t stop him from quickly adding another spell, and the Golden Ball remained under his control.

Everyone was watching Allen.

No one expected that beneath his stunning face and slender body, such immense energy could erupt.

What was more outstanding than his stamina and accuracy was his will.

The people present shouted encouragement for Allen.

Those from his class shouted very hard, and even some ordinary spectators who came to watch joined in. Some from the opposing class couldn’t help but join in with a few shouts.

Lancelot stared at the dazzling Allen, unable to look away.

One Golden Ball match ended.

Allen’s team won the match, and as the main striker, Allen received the trophy wreath for the day.

His stamina wasn’t the best; compared to the strong players on his team and the opposing team, he was as fragile as a willow branch.

But he had the most tenacity, and his magic was the most precise.

He always found the right angle to unleash his magic, and he scored the most goals.

Allen stood on the platform, slightly lowering his head to let the referee place the wreath on his head.

Many strands of his tightly tied hair had scattered during the intense match, and the wreath had slipped to the back, leaving his hair messy.

He gently took off the wreath.

His flowing hair fell down, and set against the wreath, it looked like a beautiful youth in a goddess’s temple.

“Allen! Allen! Allen!”

Many people shouted. Seeing him look over, a burst of high-pitched screams erupted.

Allen’s gaze swept over the crowd and met Lancelot’s eyes precisely.

He smiled slightly.

Another wave of screams erupted in the venue.

Allen ran down from the platform, panting, and rushed to Lancelot’s side.

Many people turned around, continuing to listen to the referee’s summary.

Allen also turned his head to pay attention to the speech on the platform.

Lancelot spread his robe and draped it over Allen.

The evening breeze was starting to pick up, turning from warm to cool. Continuing to wear daytime clothes would be cold.

“Brother!” Allen called out, his eyes full of smiles.

Lancelot looked at him.

He glanced left and right, seeing that not many people were watching, and quickly raised the wreath above his head, placing it on Lancelot’s head.

Before Lancelot could refuse, Allen, still catching his breath, whispered, “This wreath is for Brother.”

After saying that, he raised his hand, and in the posture of wearing the wreath, he moved closer to Lancelot, smiling by Lancelot’s ear, and said in a very low voice, “Allen’s heart is also dedicated to Brother.”