Episode 17

Those who live with hope dance the sword dance even without music.
–English Proverb

“You must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes and your partner, Ms. Jane Watson. Your invitation has been verified. Please, proceed inside.”

After presenting our invitation in the reception room, we handed over our coats and followed the attendant deeper into the building.
Before entering the corridor leading to the ballroom, Watson and I each received a card folded in half.
The card was equipped with a thread and a small pen to hang on the wrist.
It was similar to the ‘dance card’ given only to ladies at balls in the world I lived in before the regression.

Just like a dance card with spaces to write the names of partners promised for each musical piece to be performed that day, this was for writing the names of other attendees.
Of course, in a masquerade ball like today’s, one must write an alias instead of a real name.

[1881 Spring Debutante Ball]
[U-35 Spring Invitational 1881]

“They’ve certainly put a lot of effort into the design.”

Watson murmured while examining the card modeled after the wings of a phoenix.

“Are you planning to keep speaking in that manner in front of others?”
“…This is why habits are frightening.”

Watson cleared her throat and began to act as an elegant lady, straightening her back.
Perhaps the gentlemanly demeanor she usually shows me is an act, and this side is the real Watson.

“Regardless, this card is indeed beautiful, just as you said. It could be called a work of art.”

As Watson mentioned earlier, the card was lavishly adorned.
Starting with the gold leaf edging, the quality of the string, and even the fragrance emanating from the paper.
The ability to judge the host’s status and wealth from an invitation and card was not much different in this world either.

-Thud.

As the door at the end of the short hallway opened, I could truly feel the majesty of the two groups hosting the ball.

In its heyday, the Willis ballroom, graced by hundreds of upper-class men and women, was truly magnificent.
Beautiful ceiling paintings and chandeliers, walls adorned with gold leaf and artworks.
Huge mirrors installed throughout the ballroom made the already vast space appear even larger, and the floor was polished to a mirror-like finish.

Among the young ladies and gentlemen of Murim who arrived early, donning masks and chatting, stood statues prepared by Wenham on pedestals, each crafted with clear and transparent ice in exquisite skill, eliciting admiration.

“The ball’s return gifts are visible there.”

When I pointed to the platform, Watson quickly turned her gaze in that direction.
There, various return gifts, including two inner cores of the Unicorn Salamander, encased in glass, were displayed.
Each one was a precious item that could not be bought even for millions of Pence, and they were to be distributed differentially to the attendees.

“I’ve heard rumors of the Debutante Ball, but I never imagined it would be to this extent.”

Watson gave a brief impression as she looked around the lavish social venue.

Even if threatened in status by the North Sea Ice Palace, Wenham is an ice-selling company that commands absolute support from London’s upper class.

And The Royal Combat Society, co-hosting the ball, is one of the two groups representing the Orthodox Murim of the British Empire.

Wenham Lake sponsored the ball to engrave its brand name into the minds of patrons wealthy enough to afford luxury ice, but the masters of The Royal Combat Academy had gathered here with an entirely different purpose in mind.
The Debutante Ball was ostensibly a place for young martial artists and their affiliated sects or clans to interact, but it was also a test to select talents to attend the court ball to be held at Buckingham.

“…The VIP seats are filled with nothing but masters.”

I looked up at those sitting on the balcony protruding from the second floor, and the aura they exuded was extraordinary.
Though their faces were hidden by masks, many of them were likely full members of The Royal Combat Society.
They had gathered to pick out the most accomplished among the gathered rising prodigies.

Meanwhile, those who seemed to have lower martial prowess were presumed to be chaperones dispatched from various sects and noble families.
Chaperones acted as overseers sent by each sect and noble family, observing the rising prodigies under their guidance and offering advice as needed.
Even if their martial prowess was lower than that of The Royal Combat Society’s full members, they were not to be underestimated, as they were protectors or elders of their respective sects or clans.
Even now, they were observing the people entering the ballroom with exceptional vigilance, continually sending messages to the Murim debutantes.

“…Good grief. Someone’s recognized me already.”

It was then.
My senses picked up on multiple sharp killing intents.

-Zap!

A sensation as if needles were piercing through the tuxedo into my skin.
A few of the VIPs on the second floor were showing an excessive amount of interest in me.

“The mask you’re wearing is attracting quite a bit of attention. People are looking this way.”
“Ignore it. There’s no need to react.”

It seems that among those on the second floor, quite a few have been struck by my master in the past.
Even those who knew nothing began to grow curious as they blatantly cast their gazes upon me.

What can I do, but consider it all my master’s karma?

In truth, I had anticipated this outcome from the beginning.
Had my mischievous master not insisted that I wear this mask at the Debutante Ball, I wouldn’t have felt this pressure.
It was a mistake to promise my master years ago that I would wear the mask at the Debutante Ball in exchange for learning a new Baritsu technique.

‘Tonight will likely be tiring.’

I felt a slight unease about the near future but smartly escorted Watson to a sofa by the wall.

“How about a cocktail?”
“I’ll pass.”

The attendant brought a cocktail made with Wenham’s ice, but neither Watson nor I intended to drink it.
Consuming alcohol when one needs to stay sharp is hardly a wise decision.

As time passed and the clock struck 8:30, the ball began.
When the representative of Wenham stood on the podium set up against one wall, the noise filling the excessively large hall for the number of Debutante Ball attendees subsided.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I greet you all! I am the representative of the Wenham Lake Ice Company! Despite being busy with your dedicated training, I sincerely thank you for sparing your precious time to attend—”

The audience’s attention was instantly drawn to the American’s loud greeting, imbued with the essence of the Lion’s Roar.
As this event was a masquerade ball, the man did not directly mention his or the guests’ names.
He seemed confident that everyone here, the rising prodigies, had received thorough induction before attending the Debutante Ball, so he felt no need to introduce himself.

“Then, I will conclude the opening remarks here. I hope you all have a wonderful time.”

The host’s greeting was brief, and immediately the orchestra hidden behind the decorations began tuning under the conductor’s direction.

“What do you say, Watson? Shall we have a dance?”
“…It’s the etiquette of the martial world to start the first dance with your escort, so I suppose I have no choice.”

We rose from the sofa and joined the crowd of attendees heading to the floor.
As the rising prodigies paired up and assumed their positions, the ballroom doors opened and dozens of attendants rushed in.

“We will collect them again after the first dance.”

What we received were short wooden swords.

“Are you ready, Watson?”
“Of course, Holmes.”

The host confirmed that the swords had been distributed and snapped his fingers, signaling the commencement of the music.

The first piece was a medley of arias from a popular opera.
We began to perform the Quadrille in time with the four-beat music.

“Don’t neglect to keep an eye on your surroundings.”
“You as well.”

To an uninformed observer, it might just look like dancing, but everyone on the floor, including the two of us, had begun to watch each other with hawk-like eyes.
The first sword dance of the Debutante Ball was merely a preliminary round to observe each other’s body techniques and footwork.
The real competition would begin after the end of the first piece.

“Twelve o’clock direction, do you see it? The steps are a mess. He’s a rich family’s young master who has only built internal energy with elixirs, lacking real combat experience.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“He appears to be right-handed, so aim for his left foot’s instep right after the start. You should be able to suppress him with Fingertips. Once he loses mobility, you can freely handle him.”
“That’s an impressive observation. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Watson responded, moving in a way that minimized strain on her uncomfortable leg.

“After the music ends, limp more than usual to expose your weakness. He’ll surely attack.”
“Isn’t that a cowardly act unbefitting a gentleman?”
“Have you forgotten, Watson? Today you’re attending not as a gentleman, but as a lady.”
“True. With the inner core at stake, I have no choice.”

While advising Watson, I moved across the floor, observing the movements of the masked participants.
Indeed, those who have been training since childhood with elixirs have not only outstanding appearances but also a depth of training evident even in simple actions.

“Ho.”

What caught my eye was a woman wearing an outdated dress.
There was something familiar about her aura. Her aura didn’t seem very strong. In fact, she appeared more ordinary compared to others.

While performing the sword dance with Watson, I approached and observed the woman’s dress, successfully extending my wooden sword from a blind spot to pick up the dust on her clothes.

‘A white Angora cat, and two Border Collies with different colored fur…’

What I retrieved with the sword’s tip was the fur of the animals she kept.
As I lightly channeled energy through the wooden sword, the fur in contact with the sword glowed faintly, confirming my expectations.

“Yes. A noble has come to a humble place.”
“What is so amusing, Holmes?”
“Nothing of importance.”

It wasn’t difficult to deduce the woman’s identity, but I didn’t feel the need to share it with Watson.

‘…Things are getting interesting.’

As I circled the floor and roughly assessed the skills of the 64 attendees, the music stopped, and Watson and I respectfully saluted each other in time with the beat.

“Well then, good luck.”
“It would be nice to share the last dance.”

After the exchange of encouragement, we turned and walked in opposite directions.
There were 5 minutes left until the second piece began.
Watson was already dragging her leg as she approached the first victim.
Her acting was a bit lacking, but the opponent looked foolish enough to take the bait.

“Shall we get started on this side too?”

There was no need to seek out an opponent like Watson.
In the world I originally lived in, it was customary for men to ask women to write their names on their dance cards, but the rules in this world are a bit different.

As expected, not even five seconds passed before a group of ladies approached me as I stood pretending to read the card with the dance order.