Dragon King's Harem Chapter 550. Lonely Witch II
Dragon King's Harem Chapter 550. Lonely Witch II
Almeric’s PoV
Al smiled, lifted a goblet from the tray, and poured ale into two cups.
“You sing beautifully,” he said, voice smooth and sincere enough to not trigger suspicion. “A toast.”
She hesitated only a moment before accepting the cup. “To… what?”
“To surviving dwarven architecture,” he replied lightly.
That earned a soft laugh.
They clinked.
Ale touched lips.
He watched her closely as she drank.
Not poison.
He hated poison.
Too crude.
Instead, he leaned forward slightly and let his gaze sharpen just enough.
“Lira,” he said gently, voice lowering into a rhythm woven with faint threads of dark mana. “You’re tired.”
She blinked.
“I… am?”
“Yes.”
The melody faltered.
Her breathing slowed.
“You’ve been rehearsing all day. Singing. Serving. Smiling.”
Her shoulders loosened slightly.
“That’s right.”
“You deserve rest.”
Her eyelids fluttered.
“I…”
“Sleep,” Al whispered as he used his Hypnosis skills.
The word carried weight.
Not forceful.
Not violent.
Just persuasive.
Her fingers slackened around the cup.
The goblet tilted and he caught it smoothly before it spilled.
Her head dipped forward.
Then sideways.
She exhaled once and slipped into gentle unconsciousness.
Almeric stood quickly and caught her before she slid from the chair.
He eased her carefully onto the bed.
“Sorry,” he muttered softly. “I promise this is for the greater good.”
He reached into the leather pouch and drew out the vial.
Camouflage powder.
His own invention.
Shadow-reflective particles woven with illusion threads.
He dusted it across his shoulders, chest, arms.
The powder clung, then shimmered faintly before settling.
His features softened.
Edges shifted.
Hair lengthened slightly.
Jawline narrowed.
The transformation wasn’t perfect perfection, but in dim torchlight and quick movement, it would pass.
He glanced at the polished metal mirror.
“A…”
He cleared his throat.
“A… ah…”
He tried again, adjusting his pitch.
“A… yes, that’s closer.”
He mimicked Lira’s tone lightly.
“A bit breathier.”
He coughed once, annoyed.
“Good enough.”
Time was limited.
He quickly removed Lira’s outer shawl and dress layer, muttering apologies under his breath.
“Don’t mean disrespect. Strictly operational.”
He dressed swiftly, adjusting fabric and tucking his own darker garments beneath the bed.
The dress hung slightly loose around the shoulders, but the illusion powder compensated for the silhouette.
He tucked her beneath the blanket carefully.
Ensured her breathing was steady.
Placed a small ward near the bed so she wouldn’t awaken too soon.
Then he took a slow breath.
Expression.
Posture.
Soft.
He practiced a shy smile.
Gods, this was humiliating.
He opened the door.
The guards straightened.
One blinked at him.
“Yes?”
Al adjusted the shawl modestly and dipped his head.
“The lord requests more food,” he said in Lira’s softened voice. “I will return shortly.”
The guards exchanged glances.
One grunted. “Make it fast.”
He bowed politely.
“Of course.”
He turned and walked away calmly.
Three steps.
Five.
Ten.
Then around the corner…
‘I can’t believe it worked,’ he thought wildly.
His heart pounded once.
But he didn’t slow.
Servant corridors branched in three directions.
He chose the one with faint incense scent drifting from below.
Once he was sure no one watched, he slipped into a side passage.
His fingers traced a sigil against the wall.
Shadow responded eagerly.
He exhaled and let his body dissolve.
Not physically.
Energetically.
His form thinned into dark silhouette, edges blending into stone seams.
Shadow form.
Silent.
Fast.
He moved.
Through walls.
Along beams.
Across ceiling arches.
Servants passed below him, unaware.
The incense preparation chamber came into view.
Wide stone basin.
Dry herbs stacked neatly.
Powders in small clay jars.
And…
There.
A separate container.
Marked not with dwarven script.
But nymphic glyph.
Almeric slowed.
He rematerialized silently in a dark corner.
The powder inside shimmered faintly.
Air-reactive.
He didn’t touch it yet.
Instead, he scanned the room.
Ventilation shafts above.
Multiple.
If this were lit during ceremony…
The entire hall would inhale.
Not death.
No.
Submission.
Subtle disorientation.
Open-mindedness.
Agreement.
Collective mood shift.
He inhaled slowly.
“Ambitious,” he muttered.
Footsteps approached.
He vanished into shadow again just as two nymph attendants entered.
They spoke softly.
“…Tomorrow during vow lighting…”
“…Timing must align…”
“…Mother will signal…”
Mother.
So the Nymph Queen was present.
Al’s mind sharpened.
The attendants carefully measured a small amount of the powder into incense bowls.
Not too much.
Calculated.
He memorized the ratios.
Memorized the gestures.
Once they left, he reformed quietly and approached the container.
He uncorked his own vial.
Neutralizer.
He sprinkled a precise amount into the main storage jar.
Not enough to discolor.
Not enough to be noticed.
But enough to destabilize the active property once heated.
He smiled faintly.
“Let’s see how your little spell behaves now.”
He replaced the lid exactly as it was.
Then moved to the ventilation shaft.
He climbed effortlessly in shadow form, slipping through the narrow ducts.
He traced a counter-ward along the interior stone.
Subtle.
If activated powder rose…
The ward would thin it further.
Dilute concentration.
Harmless.
He exhaled once he finished.
But then, he sensed something.
A faint ripple.
Another presence in shadow.
He froze.
Not dwarven.
Not dragon.
Nymphic.
Someone else was checking the ducts.
He remained still.
Seconds stretched.
Then the ripple passed.
They hadn’t sensed him.
Good.
He slipped back down, reforming near the incense chamber entrance.
He adjusted the shawl, ensuring the illusion still held.
Voice test.
“A… ah…”
Good enough.
He exited calmly.
Servants bustled nearby.
No suspicion.
He took some random food from the kitchen and walked back toward his room, posture demure.
The guards were still outside.
He approached slowly.
“Back already?” one asked.
“Yes,” he answered softly.
The guard snorted lightly.
“Good.”
He entered the room and closed the door.
Immediately, he dropped the illusion.
Powder dissipated.
He sagged against the stone wall and exhaled deeply.
“That,” he muttered, “was unnecessarily theatrical.”
He crossed to the bed and checked Lira.
Still asleep.
Breathing even.
He changed back into his own clothes quickly.
He dispelled the hypnosis gently, ensuring she would awaken naturally soon with only a hazy memory of singing and wine.