“Ouch!” Thomas moaned bitterly, trying to push me away as I pinched his cheeks.

  “I’m really sorry, Allen! I just can’t help it, you know! My favourite song!”

  That barely scratched a tenth of my frustrations.

  “Mister Thomas, I hope you have not forgotten our dear family in the orphanage.”

  I grit my teeth, spitting the words at him.

  “I remember everyone vividly!” He cried.

  “I—I knew it—it was Levia’s Caprice! That’s right, Allen, all His tricks!”

  He saw the fire in my eyes, and desperately searched for a way to escape.

  Ugly Thomas—still scrambling for excuses?

  Did that deep devotion you showed at the shrine fade so quickly?

  This guy was praising Lord Levia for His blessings just moments ago!

  Hopeless…

  Thomas rubbed his cheeks with one hand, while holding the drift-reaver mask in the other.

  Their spontaneous little play drew a crowd, boosting the old merchant’s sales.

  The mask was a token of appreciation—payment for his performance, really.

  I only wished he’d ask for some coins instead…

  My stamina felt completely drained. I dragged my heavy feet as we continued toward the North Gate.

  Thomas walked at my side, wearing the mask on his face to hide the reddish pinch marks.

  Moments later, he flipped it playfully to the back of his head, so the painted grin leered at passersby.

  Children giggled, mistaking him for a jester, while I only sighed at his antics.

  We turned at the junction from the main square—only to find a solid wall of people.

  Shoulder-to-shoulder, they blocked the way.

  “What’s going on? They’re packed so tight we can’t even squeeze through!”

  Thomas stood on his toes, swaying left and right, trying to see over the crowd.

  “Watch our belongings, this is a sweet spot for sticky-fingers,” I warned, clutching my satchel.

  Thomas turned to say something, but I didn’t catch a word.

  A sudden flourish of trumpets echoed down the street, followed by a booming, arrogant announcement:

  “Clear the path! Make way for the Baron Whiskie’s carriage!”

  A herald in a neat ceremonial coat rode past, chin raised, proudly proclaiming the Baron’s arrival.

  Thomas and I looked at each other—great minds think alike.

  Without a word, we both ducked low.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  From near the ground, we had a fragmented view between ladies’ voluminous skirts and travellers’ boots.

  Around us, voices rose in a jumble—damsels swooning over handsome minstrels, pointing at the brawny drummer and his massive chest?drum, travellers debating whether Whiskie’s band could rival the royal city’s.

  A troop of stout town guards pressed the crowd back with spear shafts. Merchants instinctively covered their coin pouches cautiously, wary of sticky-fingers.

  “Ouch!”

  A young boy squealed as his hand brushed a spear blade.

  “Lord Levia’s mercy, you little fool! I told you to keep close!”

  His mother yanked him close, scolding sharply while shooting a wary glance at the guards.

  “I beg of you, Thomas, don’t do anything foolish this time. That is a nobleman, you understand?”

  I pleaded to him, hoping that he wouldn’t be silly enough to sing aloud again.

  He chuckled, smacking my shoulder with a grin,

  “That’s rude, Allen—what do you think of me in your head?”

  Before I could retort, the parade began.

  A band of minstrels marched down the street, playing majestic processional music without pause.

  Four trumpeters led the front, followed by a drummer, then two pipers.

  They wore fine leather tunics layered with blue jerkins, silver crests gleaming proudly on their chests.

  The crowd watched in delight, while the town guards remained tense, eyes scanning for trouble.

  Soon, three intricately decorated carriages rolled past, escorted by four formidable knights in polished cuirasses.

  Bells jingled on the horses’ harnesses, blending with the music—a deliberate, unmistakable display of authority.

  “Did you see that golden Moon Whisperer emblem?”

  Thomas traced its shape in the air as the procession crept forward, flaunting noble power.

  “Pipe down, Thomas, we’ll head off as soon as the street opens.”

  I reminded him, waiting patiently for Baron Whiskie to pass.

  They’d surely be staying at the mayor’s manor in the West District.

  The crowd’s buzz softened into murmurs; harsh punishments awaited anyone who dared show disrespect.

  “Markswell mentioned them at the shrine… so they are here now. I don’t really know them, but I hope they don’t stir trouble in Delmar,”

  I muttered under my breath.

  “It’s not wise to say that in the street,”

  The low, stern voice uncomfortably close behind me.

  I turned sharply.

  “It’s harsh punishment—even for a boy like you.”

  A sun-darkened face with sharp eyes scrutinised my reaction.

  Daunting—yet strangely, I didn’t feel much fear.

  Had my courage grown after meeting Yarissa?

  My heart pounded as I forced myself to observe.

  The man was muscular, perhaps mid-thirties, dressed in a well-kept leather tunic.

  He was half-kneeling, attentively adjusting the shoelaces of a gentleman in a finely tailored coat—and must have overheard my muttering.

  Was this the Levia’s Curse?

  The muscular man whispered something into the gentleman’s ear.

  The gentleman, roughly in his mid-fifties, listened with a faint grin.

  Then he bent forward, hands clasped behind his back, and regarded me like a mischievous grandchild.

  “You’re bolder than you look. Act wisely.”

  His voice was elegant, yet carried an unmistakable weight—like a ruler accustomed to obedience.

  “Yes sir…thank you, sir.”

  I bowed deeply. If they reported me, I’d be doomed. Worse—it could drag everyone into trouble.

  A sudden gust of wind slipped through. The gentleman’s outer coat fluttered open.

  My breath caught.

  Embroidered upon his inner tunic was the emblem of the Rampant Gryphon.

  Shock and confusion must have been written all over my face.

  He swiftly pulled his coat closed, eyes flicking to me. Then, to my surprise, he laughed heartily.

  The muscular man, on the other hand, looked ready to tear me apart.

  “So that’s Levia’s will.”

  The gentleman sighed, shaking his head.

  “That can’t be helped.”

  He met my gaze one last time and lowered his voice deliberately.

  “Keep this to yourself, all right?”

  He pressed something into my palm.

  I nodded vigorously, swallowing hard.

  That emblem outranked even Yarissa’s—I had faced the merchant guild mistress and lived—yet this was something else entirely, far beyond even the Baron.

  My throat felt dry and tight.

  Before I could speak, he called out:

  “Claus, let’s go.”

  They vanished into the crowd, leaving me frozen, as if the encounter had been nothing more than a dream.

  My hand stayed clenched around the object in my palm, fingers white, cold sweat seeping between them. I couldn’t bring myself to look, not here in the open street.

  Not yet.

  I inhaled deeply. Cold air filled my lungs, steadying me.

  I turned to check on Thomas, wondering why he’d gone quiet.

  …My dear friend was still completely engrossed in the spectacle, utterly unaware of what had just happened.

  “Did you see that gold trim?”

  He yelled over the noise, oblivious to my silence.

  At last, the music thinned and faded as the procession moved on.

  The town guards lowered their spears and marched after the carriages, dust from the horses swirled around our feet.

  The street slowly began to breathe again as the crowd dispersed.

  I exhaled slowly, my palms still trembling from the encounter, while Thomas remained enthralled by the lingering echoes of trumpets.