Chapter 42: Loki’s Shura Field?
Chapter 42: Loki’s Shura Field?
The courtyard air smelled of damp earth and the high-grade leather of combat boots. The distinct step-step carried a rhythmic, heavy bite that always made the small hairs on the back of Loki’s neck stand up—a sound straight out of his most specific, high-stress nightmares.
Lisa was mid-sentence, her fingers nervously tucked into the hem of her academic cardigan. "I don’t want to cause you real problems, Loki," she murmured, her eyes darting toward the stone archways where several upper-year students lingered. "I’m a teacher, the President’s student, and a widow... It will look really bad in the royal court on both of us. I’ll just have dinner and go home, alright?"
Loki was already nodding—fast, earnest, and deeply appreciative of any woman tactful enough to offer him a diplomatic exit—when a long, dark shadow fell over them.
"I am a teacher, but I’ll stay after dinner, right Loki?"
The voice didn’t come from Lisa. It slid into the conversation from behind them, smooth and heavy as poured honey, carrying the faint, dry rustle of scales. Lisa froze. Ayala, who had been leaning against a marble pillar with her arms crossed and a smug expression on her face, instantly stiffened.
"Hello Lisa," Shehuang said, stepping into the sunlight. Her golden eyes were slitted, catching the midday glare with an oily, reptilian sheen. "You are intending to come to my man’s home, huh?"
She didn’t wait for the teacher to stammer an excuse. Shehuang turned her chin slightly, those amber slits fixing on Ayala. The air between them instantly grew five degrees colder. "Ayala, you aren’t trying to assume you are the lady of the home, forgetting you’re a mere mistress, right? I believe the Master’s only official wives are Duchess Sky and his first love, Shade Winter, correct?"
Ayala’s red hair seemed to bristle. On any normal day, with any normal human woman—or even most high-tier cultivators—Ayala would have already had her knuckles buried in their jaw. She wasn't afraid of a bloodbath. But three nights ago, she had spent exactly four minutes pinned inside the massive, cold, crushing coils of this insane Snake Lamia. Those four minutes had involved a very thorough, very terrifying lesson in the courtyard’s true pecking order. Her ribs still felt tender when she breathed deeply.
With a sharp, defensive flick of her long red hair, Ayala took a half-step back. "Hello Shehuang, long time no see..." she said, her voice tight but proud.
"I don’t dare. But Loki won’t chase the mother of his child out of the house, right?"
Shehuang’s slitted eyes widened a fraction, then softened into a look of sleek contentment. The answer carried the proper amount of deference to the household hierarchy while maintaining the dignity necessary for someone carrying the master's lineage. Shehuang gave a slow, magnanimous nod.
"As the future mother to Master’s children, you will be given a permanent room in the home as his mistress and consort," the Lamia decreed, her voice dropping into a smooth, territorial purr. "You can move in tonight if you like."
Ayala blinked, a small sigh escaping her lips. She hadn't expected to secure a permanent wing in the estate quite so easily. She was too satisfied with the result to notice she had just been perfectly tamed with the classic carrot-and-stick method.
Lisa, however, was entirely lost. Her gaze bounced from Shehuang to Ayala’s midriff, her jaw slightly slack. "You and Loki?!" She pointed a trembling finger. "You are pregnant? Are you sure?! Why didn’t you tell me?"
"Mwah!"
Before Loki could open his mouth to offer a diplomatic explanation, Ayala lunged. Her fingers tangled into the back of his red hair, yanking his head up with enough force to click his teeth together. It wasn't a gentle kiss; it was an aggressive, territorial branding that left Loki tasting copper and mint, and left Lisa standing there looking entirely stupid.
Ayala broke away with a wet smack, her thumb deliberately rubbing Loki's lower lip before she dropped her hand to her own belly. Her grin was feral.
"My man did it in just one go," she boasted, loud enough to echo off the masonry. "But sex with him is too good to end, so we are forever, right Loki?"
"Yes, Ayala," Loki choked out, his face burning as he tried to adjust his collar under the weight of dozens of staring eyes. "But can you let me go? The students are looking over and I can't hide it now, sigh..."
Instead of releasing him properly, Ayala leaned in and literally licked the corner of his lips, her eyes fixed on the small crowd of teenagers hovering by the library steps.
"Loki and I are lovers!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice carrying across the entire quad. "Tell everyone you know... I don’t care!"
From the side, Shehuang gave a single, dignified nod of approval. The efficiency of the announcement pleased her. The students, meanwhile, didn't wait to hear more. The moment Ayala’s voice hit that specific, jagged register, three dozen teenagers turned on their heels and ran for their lives.
Everyone in the academy knew that an agitated Ayala didn't hand out detentions; she handed out broken noses.
Lisa watched the dust clear from the stampede, her face pale. She looked at Loki, her voice dropping to a small, uncertain whisper. "Maybe I shouldn't come over tonight?"
Loki looked past her, his eyes catching the distant silhouette of Vali’s carriage near the eastern gates. The Prince’s spies were always thick around the academy grounds. If Lisa stayed behind now, she would be isolated—a prime target for Vali's petty revenges.
"Tonight you have to come," Loki said, his tone dropping its usual playful edge. "I don’t want Vali to make things harder on you... Let’s go."
A soft, sudden warmth flushed through Lisa’s cheeks. She looked down, her small hand gripping the strap of her bag a little tighter, a profound sense of safety blooming in her chest. He was doing it for her protection.
Ayala was glaring at the two horses. Shehuang had already taken the spot behind Loki, leaving no room for anyone.
"You're riding with the teacher, red-head," Shehuang called out mildly.
Ayala’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in her cheek, but she didn't argue. She got on the horse with Lisa and followed them home.
The Castle Albion...
The formal dining room of Castle Albion was a monument to the ancient, heavy architecture of the Balder Kingdom. High stone arches held up a ceiling lit by magic cores, and the long oak table in the center was polished to such a high gloss that the silver platters seemed to float on dark water.
At the head sat Queen Angelica Cross. She was a beautiful woman, but it was the beauty of a carved winter frost—regal, pale, and entirely devoid of accidental warmth. To her left sat her only son, Vali, his shoulders straight, his eyes fixed on the roast pheasant before him with a look of supreme entitlement. Next to him was Lana, her adopted sister, her small hands tucked firmly out of sight beneath the heavy white linen tablecloth.
Across from them, sitting directly to the Queen’s right, was Thorin Sky. He was sweating through his high-collared doublet.
The servants moved like ghosts, pouring dark, heavy Mystian wine into crystal chalices. Angelica watched the young man over the rim of her glass. To an older, calculating woman like herself, Thorin’s obvious terror was almost endearing. He was like a large, clumsy hound trying not to break the pottery. She knew his type well—Myst was a world that respected the bond of marriage with a religious ferocity that Earth could never replicate. Even the most notorious scoundrels, the likes of Owen, Loki, or old Count Sky himself, would never dare touch another man’s wife; the social execution that followed such a betrayal of honor was permanent.
But widows? Widows were the designated fields where the nobility spent their excess lust and found their secret comforts. That was why, when Thorin had managed to get that beautiful widow in Sky City pregnant, he had immediately done the honorable thing and married her. To abandon a woman in that state was unmanly—and Thorin, for all his flaws, took his manhood very seriously.
"Sir Sky," Angelica’s voice cut through the soft clatter of silver. "Do you understand why we are meeting tonight? Did my son fully explain what we want to offer you?"
Thorin swallowed hard, his throat clicking. He looked at the Queen. If the Elf Leandra was his absolute pinnacle of foreign, exotic beauty, then Angelica Cross was his perfect human type. She was mature, powerful, and carried herself with the terrifying grace of a woman who ruled men. Internal curses flew through Thorin's mind—he found himself silently wishing that Owen would hurry up and die on some campaign, leaving behind a few more magnificent widows for his own collection.
"Queen Cross," Thorin stammered, straightening his spine to look more martial. "It... it was brought to my attention that you are currently looking for a Champion-Protector Knight for your daughter? And that I am a candidate for this longed-for post?"
"Yes, Sir Thorin, that is indeed the case," Angelica said, her lips curving into a thin, political smile. "This post is an ancient tradition held for the Princesses of the Balder Kingdom. Its purpose is simple: to protect the dignity, chastity, and heart of our royal daughters from those who might wish to taint them."
She glanced briefly at Lana, whose head remained bowed.
"My daughter Lana had Vali as her proxy protector until she turned eighteen," the Queen continued, her voice hardening slightly as she reached the core of her pitch. "But now she needs a true Knight. Vali has his own royal duties and cannot remain at her flank at all hours. The perfect candidate must be of the same age range, capable of acting as a loyal companion, and must hold the safety of the Princess above all else in their heart. After reviewing many applicants, I found you. And Lana also seems to enjoy your company..."
Lana’s fingers clenched so tightly beneath the table that her knuckles went white against her skirts. She kept her eyes fixed on her plate, her teeth digging into the inside of her cheek. She didn't care about the racial slurs her "mother" usually dropped regarding her elven heritage. What she hated was the trap.
Thorin was being placed here for one reason: to keep him away. To keep Loki from ever getting within arm's reach of her again.
Thorin would have been perfect, she thought bitterly. He was strong, honorable, and standard. He was exactly what a princess was supposed to want—had she not met the red-haired monster with the scoundrel smile. Loki had looked at her with those heavy, lustful eyes that didn't see a princess or an elven bloodline; he saw a toy. He saw something to break, to shame, and to possess. It had terrified her, disgusted her, and awakened a deep, hot ache in her soul that she couldn't claw out.
"Lana is a strong Summoner," Angelica’s voice drifted back into her ears, heavy with maternal condescension. "But she is still weak and young. Going into the Royal Realm is fraught with dangers, especially with those despicable Elves and Cultivators crawling through the brush. Sir Thorin Sky, I—as Lana Balder’s mother—am formally inviting you to take this prestigious post as her Knight Protector. Join our royal family as a formal Knight... What do you think?"
Thorin’s face lit up with a raw, sycophantic heat. He looked across the table at Lana as if she were a prize he had already won. "It would be my personal honor to become Princess Lana’s Protector Knight and Champion!"
The sheer excitement in his voice made Lana feel physically ill. The fact that he was Loki’s brother only made the medicine more bitter. She wondered if Loki would see this as a betrayal. She wondered if he would think she had chosen his brother over him.
"Lana, my daughter," Angelica’s voice was smooth as silk. "Your father and I chose Thorin, and he has agreed. What say you, dear?"
Lana drew a slow, steady breath. She had always been terrible at lying. Her face usually gave away every secret she held. But looking up into the cold, calculating eyes of the Queen, something inside her shifted. She forced her lips to widen into a soft, bright, perfectly compliant smile.
"I am very blessed to have Sir Sky to be my Protector Knight," Lana said, her voice clear and sweet enough to deceive even the old bitch at the head of the table. "Please take care of me."
Everyone thought Lana was happy. Vali smirked, and Angelica felt thoroughly satisfied that the girl had been properly broken to the bit. Thorin looked ready to bark like a trained dog.
But beneath the shadow of the heavy tablecloth, hidden from the candlelight, two small, yellow eyes flickered in the dark between Lana’s boots. The shadow-summon watched her fists shake, recording every ounce of her hidden rage for its true master.
The Sky Townhouse...
Am I sweating?! I am definitely sweating!
Loki sat at the head of his own twelve-seat dining table, his knuckles white around the handle of his fork. The faint clatter-clank of his silver against the porcelain wasn't from the weight of the meat; it was the rhythmic trembling of a man who realized he was sitting in the exact center of a landmine field.
He didn't have Taki Tsuki’s True Sight—thank the gods—but he didn't need it to know that the room was currently thick with dark, crackling energy. If he had the ability, he’d probably see literal bolts of lightning arcing between the soup bowls. Every single woman at the table was smiling, and every single smile looked like it had been carved out of marble by a homicidal sculptor.
A Shura Field. A textbook, standard-issue Earth light novel Shura Field.
Technically, Sylvia—as his Duchess and first wife—should have been sitting at the far end to match him. But she had politely, firmly insisted on taking the seat directly to his left. Shade Winter, his first love, had taken the right.
At the absolute opposite end of the long table sat Shehuang, her golden eyes gleaming as she watched Loki’s collar soak through with cold sweat. To her left was Yin Meng; to her right was Taki Tsuki.
That left the center of the table. Two islands of pure, unadulterated hostility. Ayala sat on one side, her red hair practically vibrating with aggressive energy, directly facing Lisa, who looked like she wanted to slide under the floorboards and die.
Of all the days for Sylvia and Shade to show up at the estate without sending a messenger ahead, it had to be the exact evening he brought home a pregnant Amazon and a target teacher.
Lisa cleared her throat, her voice small but remarkably steady given the pressure in the room. She looked directly at Sylvia. "And that is why I am very sorry to have embarrassed myself and you during that wedding. Please forgive me. As for why I am here, it’s because Count Sky is protecting me from further requests from Vali Balder."
Sylvia didn't lose her poker face. She gave a single, slow nod, her movements carrying the immense, crushing weight of her ducal authority. She had read Loki's letters; she knew the context, but she wasn't about to let the household think she was soft.
"Then your apology is accepted," Sylvia said, her voice dropping like a small iron weight onto the linen. "Please make sure to not betray my husband going forward, Lady Swallow."
Loki let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The tension in his shoulders began to ease. The Shura Field was settling. The diplomatic lines had been drawn, the apology accepted—
Then Ayala reached for her wine glass.
Loki’s Earth-brain fired before his common sense could stop it. He didn't know anything about Amazon biology; all he knew was the strict medical pamphlets from his old life. He lunged slightly across the table, his hand snapping out.
"Ayala, stop!"
Ayala froze, her glass halfway to her lips. She blinked her large, emerald eyes at him. "Loki, what’s wrong?"
"You’re pregnant," Loki hissed, his eyes darting frantically around the table. "Drinking is bad for the baby’s development!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Shade’s head snapped toward Ayala like a bird of prey spotting a rabbit in the snow. Her eyes narrowed into tiny, glowing pale-blue slits. Loki felt a cold sweat break out along his spine. He slowly turned his head to the left—and found Sylvia looking at him with an expression that could have preserved beef for five winters.
He had told them about Ayala. He had definitely mentioned her in the letters. But somehow... during the rush of the campaigns and the logistics... he had entirely forgotten to mention the part about the positive pregnancy test. Oops.
"Gulp~!"
Ayala didn't care about the frost in the room. She tilted her head back, downed the entire glass of heavy Mystian wine in one throat-clearing swallow, and let out a loud, satisfied grin. She looked across the table at Sylvia.
"Alcohol doesn’t touch the babies in our bellies," she said, her chest swelling with racial pride. "If anything, it makes them stronger, hehe. Don’t worry, our children will come out strong."
Loki’s mouth started working before his brain could catch up to the disaster. "I... I hadn't heard the Healer pronounce it yet!" he stammered, his eyes darting between Shade and Sylvia as he flinched away from their stares. "So I wanted to get it confirmed before I told you, really... Right, Ayala? No, the truth is, this is something better said in person..."
He was floundering. He sounded like a guilty schoolboy caught behind the stables, and he knew it.
Pat, pat.
A small, cool hand landed on his right shoulder. Loki looked up to see Shade looking down at him. Her face was entirely blank—a perfect, pale mask of winter ice—but her fingers gave his shoulder a rhythmic, sympathetic squeeze that felt suspiciously like a funeral march.
"Don’t worry, Husband," Shade said, her voice dropping into that sweet, clear tone that usually preceded a blizzard. "No matter how guilty you look and sound, your wife here will always believe your lies."
Loki felt his soul leave his body through his ears.
Desperate to break the suffocating silence, Lisa quickly reached into her traveling bag. Her fingers wrapped around the necks of three heavy, dark glass bottles, and she set them on the table with a sharp thud.
"Before I leave after dinner," Lisa said, her voice loud enough to shatter the frost, "let me leave these gifts as a thank you and a greeting."
Loki’s eyes locked onto the labels. His jaw dropped. The gold foil wrapping, the royal crest of the Balder cellars—these were the hundred-gold-a-bottle reserves. The good shit. The stuff Prince Numbnuts kept under triple lock and key. Lisa had managed to scam three entire bottles off the royal idiot before she fled.
Ayala’s eyes lit up at the exact same moment. The collective gloom that had been hovering over Loki’s head vanished in an instant, replaced by the pure, unadulterated joy of an Earth degenerate looking at top-shelf liquor.
Buzz... clank, clank.
Before he could even reach for a corkscrew, a sudden gust of frosty air rolled across his right side. Shade was smiling now—a genuine, soft smile that reached her eyes. With a brief flick of her wrist, her ice magic hummed through the air, instantly forming perfectly carved, ice-cubes into the crystal glass right next to Loki's plate.
She picked up the first bottle of Balder Vodka, cracked the seal with her thumb, and poured a clear, heavy stream into the ice filled glass.
Loki looked at the white-haired woman, his chest swelling with a profound, tearful gratitude.
Shade is the best wife...
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