A few days had passed since I made Silica my pawn...
*Click!**Fwoosh!*
"Hmm hmm hmm~"
The azure flame glittered and burned in my hands, its warmth licking at my fingertips as I shaped it—stretching, shrinking, curling it into delicate spirals before letting it flare into something wilder. A happy tune hummed from my lips as I worked, the azure glow reflecting in my eyes.
I pressed my fingers together, narrowing my focus, and the fire shrank into a tiny, flickering ember. Then, with a twitch of my wrist, it bloomed again, a bright, hungry flame. The heat kissed my skin, but I welcomed it. It was mine—a power I could wield, mold, and command however I pleased.
*Clop* *clop* *clink...*
Behind me, I heard hesitant footsteps. A quiet clink of porcelain.
"L-Lady Sophia…"
Silica's voice was soft, barely above a whisper. She stood near the door, carrying a tray of sweets and tea, her hands trembling just slightly. She had been like this ever since I had pressed my little recording orbment against her chest and watched the color drain from her face. Ever since I had turned the tables and collared her with her own crimes.
(She's been even more submissive ever since then...)
I barely held back a smirk as the memory flickered through my mind.
A few nights ago, after I had revealed the recording to Silica...
She had tried something pathetic.
She must have thought I would be foolish enough to leave the recording out in the open, carelessly tucked beneath my pillow or placed on my nightstand, ripe for the taking. How typical of someone like her—someone who had always taken the easy road, believing herself entitled to things she never earned.
But I had known.
I had counted on it....
So when she crept into my room, hands ghosting over my belongings, trying to be silent yet failing miserably, I had already been awake—waiting. I had hidden the orbment elsewhere, far from her reach, and instead left a perfect little trap for her to fall into.
The moment she lifted my pillow, my voice had cut through the darkness.
"Are you looking for something, Silica?"
She had frozen. I could still picture it now—her spine going rigid, her fingers twitching mid-air, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she had turned her head, only to find me staring right at her.
"U-uhm...m-milady. I-I was just..."
She had tried to stammer out an excuse. A lie. Something about fluffing my pillow or checking on me.
"..."
I had let the silence stretch. Let her wallow in it.
Then, ever so sweetly, I had asked:
"Shall I tell my father that you tried to steal from me in the middle of the night? I'm sure he would love to hear that along with your little "splurging" of his money"
I can't remember clearly since it was dark but I think I was grinning quite widely while I said that.
"P-please forgive me!"
She had dropped to her knees then and there, pleading. Apologizing. Her voice had been frantic, choking on panic. I hadn't even needed to raise my voice or make threats—I had simply watched as she crumbled under the weight of her own terror.
And ever since that night?
She hadn't dared to defy me.
Not once.
Back to the present...
Even now, as she stood before me, offering me tea with trembling hands, I could still see the remnants of that fear in her downcast eyes.
"Right…taste the tea and sweets for me, Silica"
I didn't phrase that as a request, it was an order.
"Pardon?"
She stiffened.
"I'm a noble. Who knows when someone might try to poison me?"
I met her gaze, unfazed as I reasoned. It was a simple statement—as well as an implied threat, I didn't fully trust her and I don't think I ever will.
"A-ah, yes…"
She hesitated only a moment before taking a sip. No sign of fear, no reluctance at least not when the tea is concerned, she was still very afraid of me and hesitant to do as I say, she did the same for the snacks and nothing happened. That was enough proof.
(Good...at least she didn't try anything as stupid as putting things in my food or drinks)
I thought coldly.
*Fwoosh*
Blue flame flickered in my palm as I toyed with my magic, shaping it idly into a ring of fire. Across from me, Silica watched in silence, her fingers trembling slightly against her cup.
"..."
"..."
A few seconds passed in heavy silence before Silica found the courage to speak again.
"My lady…you shouldn't play with fire…"
Her voice was weak, a pitiful attempt at caution. I let the fire crackle as I turned my gaze to her, my lips still curved in a light hum. Then I tilted my head.
"And tell me, Silica…since when does a slave like you have any right to dictate what I can or cannot do?"
Her breath hitched.
A faint tremor ran through her frame as she bit back her words, her mouth parting—only to snap shut again. For a moment, I saw the briefest flicker of defiance in her eyes, but it was immediately smothered by fear. Her hands clenched into small fists at her sides before she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor.
"F-Forgive me, m-my lady!"
She whimpered pathetically.
"I spoke out of turn..."
She bowed her head as low as she could without outright prostrating.
"Heh..."
I simply smiled and turned back to my fire, letting it flicker and twist into serpentine coils, shaping it however I pleased.
"Whatever, you caught me in a good mood so I'll let it go. Now scurry off like a good little pooch"
I said dismissively shooing her away.
"Y-yes my lady...your grace is truly endless"
Silica stammered before wisely stepping away, retreating toward the door with quick, quiet steps. She hesitated for only a second before pulling it open and slipping out.
*Fwoosh!* *FOOM!*
The moment she was gone, I let the fire in my hands flare brighter, my smile widening as I continued my little experiments.
"Phew~"
But despite the thrill still lingering in my veins, I waited until I heard Silica's footsteps fade beyond my door before finally allowing myself to relax, letting out a small sigh of relief.
(That was nerve-wracking…)
The thought came unbidden, my fingers unconsciously curling as I finally let my expression slip.
*Fwoosh...*
The azure flame in my hand flickered, dimming slightly as if responding to my momentary lapse.
(Don't get me wrong, putting that broad in her place was delicious…but keeping up that arrogant, haughty act is more exhausting than I thought)
I tilted my head, watching the flame dance in my palm, twisting and curling like something alive. It was beautiful—almost hypnotic.
"Haaa~"
Then, with a slow breath, I closed my fist.
*Sizzle* *sizzle*
The fire vanished, leaving only the faintest warmth against my skin.
"How do the maids keep up with this insufferable attitude every day?"
I muttered to myself, leaning back in my chair.
"I feel like I need a shower just for this. Acting so puke-inducingly arrogant is far more tiring than I expected"
I reached for my tea, lifting the delicate porcelain cup with careful hands. The scent of it curled into my nose, warm and slightly floral. I took a slow sip, letting the heat settle on my tongue before swallowing with a soft *gulp*.
(But nevertheless…this is a good start. A very good start.)
I placed the teacup back onto its tray, my fingers idly tracing its rim.
(""Take control of your life… before it takes control of you…"")
His words echoed in my mind again—clear, unwavering. A reminder. A push.
"Haaaaaa~"
I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening as I pulled out my personalized orbment, turning it over in my hands.
"Now…let's see. How do I get a meeting with dear old father? Heh..."
A small smirk ghosted across my lips.
One way or another, I'd make him listen.
*Meanwhile, Irkalla, city of Calavera...
"Haa—haa—haa—"
A man's frantic gasps filled the air as he stumbled through a narrow alley, his feet slipping against the damp cobblestone.
*Splash!* *clop!* *clop!* *clop!*
His boots kicked up filthy water as he ran, sending up droplets that clung to his ragged clothes.
His breath was a choked, panicked wheeze, his heartbeat a drum I could hear.
More than that—I could smell him.
((The sour, acrid stench of terror. It's practically leaking from his skin, mixing with the grime and sweat on his body. Cold sweat—panic. Adrenaline—flight response. A faint, almost bitter note—piss. He'd lost control of his bladder a while ago...))
I glided calmly like a gentle breeze towards my panicked prey, the stronger the scent, the worse his judgment. He was running blind.
((Good, makes his tracks obvious...))
I followed him in silence, my pace steady, unhurried. No need to rush. Fear made mistakes. Panic bred recklessness.
He was practically leading himself into a corner.
"Shit—!"
His yelp was immediate as he skidded to a stop.
((And so my little prey corners himself for me...how convenient))
A moss-covered brick wall loomed before him, sealing his escape. He whirled around, and his entire body went rigid.
""…""
I was already there. Blocking the only way out.
"H-HEEEEK!"
His breath hitched—then came the scream.
"Y-you...a-are-"
The color drained from his face, his pupils shrunken dots in a sea of white.
"Y-you—J-Jackal—!"
His voice cracked, his throat working uselessly as he pressed his back against the cold brick. His legs wobbled. His chest heaved.
"Please! I swear it wasn't me! I don't know anything!"
""...""
((A lie...at least try to make it less obvious))
I tilted my head slightly. Expressionless. Wordless. Watching.
His lips trembled. His whole body shook.
"N-no—!"
His denial barely left his throat before I moved.
*Slam!* *crack!*
"Ghkk—!"
""...""
I grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall, his eyes were dilating rapidly indicating that he didn't even see me move.
"Hhhkk—!"
A choked, gargled gasp. His feet barely touched the ground, legs kicking weakly beneath him.
I pressed my forearm into his throat—not enough to kill. Yet.
""I don't like repeating myself so I'll only ask once...where are the documents?""
Flat. Monotone. A simple question.
His eyes bulged.
"P-please—"
I pressed harder.
"Ghkk—!"
A wet, desperate gurgle. His veins pulsed at his temples, his body convulsing under my grip.
Then, finally—
"O-okay! Okay! Just—*cough*—just let me talk!"
I eased my grip slightly. Barely.
He gasped, sucking in air like a dying fish. He coughed, and then spat a bloody glob onto the ground.
"I-it's true! I was working with them! The Scarlet Chorus! I passed them intel! Smuggled some hardware! But I had no choice! They made me—!"
He blurted out, voice cracking.
((He's not telling the entire story...))
""...""
I said nothing. Watching. Waiting.
He swallowed thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"I—I didn't tell them everything! I swear! Just—just some patrol routes! A few weapons caches! N-nothing important! I—I was careful! I—"
He stammered.
*Squeeze*
""...""
I tightened my grip.
"Grhhkk—!"
""You're not answering the right question...""
His face turned red.
"P-please! Please! I was going to stop! I—I didn't have a choice! Th-the documents are in..."
His eyes darted wildly, his breath quicker, shallower. Not just fear. Something else.
Then—his body tensed.
"Ghk-The...gala...n...no...nonono! Help m-!"
His veins bulged all over his body, the rippling channels of blood looking like they're ready to pop at any second.
((Blood magic! He's been planted with it!))
I recognized it instantly.
((Not enough time to delete the spell with Nihilomancy...damn))
My brain processed the information quickly and immediately converted it into action.
""Tch—""
*Thud!*
I dropped him to the ground and moved. Throwing myself back, dashing away just as his body began to swell.
*Squelch!* *Rip!*
His torso ballooned grotesquely, his skin stretched to the point of tearing. Veins turned black, pulsing violently beneath his flesh.
"A—!"
His eyes bulged, nearly popping from their sockets. His mouth widened in a soundless scream.
Then—
*SQUELCH!* *BOOM!* *SPLASH!* *SPLATTER!*
A wet, hideous explosion.
The alley was painted red.
Gore sprayed in every direction, chunks of meat and bone raining down. A ribcage clattered against the cobblestone, a dismembered arm twitched feebly. His intestines unfurled like a grotesque banner, draped over the walls, steam rising from the exposed flesh.
His skull, split open like a cracked egg, hit the ground with a sickening *crunch!*. One bloodshot eye dangled loosely, still connected by sinew.
The stench of death—hot, raw, putrid—filled the air, cloying and thick. The acrid bite of iron, bile, and ruptured bowels.
I landed at the edge of the carnage, my coat streaked with a crimson spray.
""...""
Expressionless. Unshaken. I stared down at the wet, pulpy remains.
The Scarlet Chorus had silenced the traitor before we could extract anything more from him. A crude yet effective method—sloppy, but thorough.
((A shame it wasn't possible to drag him through a hotel Nowhere door in time. He'd still be alive—conscious—even after this. We could've put him back together, made him talk more...))
""Haa~""
I exhaled quietly, flicking a chunk of flesh off my sleeve, it fell to the ground with a wet *splatter*.
""...""
*RRRRR...*
I used magic to purify the blood and gore from my clothes as to not look suspicious when I walk out of here.
((No matter. I already have what I need...))
The moment of regret passed as quickly as it came. The Scarlet Chorus had underestimated how much he could reveal in his final seconds. A single slip—a location—was more than enough.
*Step* *squech!*
*Sizzle* *sizzle*
I stepped over a still-steaming piece of his liver and turned away from the carnage. There was no use crying over spilled milk...or I guess spilt blood in this case?
((He said the gala…it has to be The Viridian Masquerade, right?))
The name surfaced in my mind, cold and deliberate.
""...Let's see now"
I stepped out onto the streets of Calavera, pulling my hood over my head as I melted into the city's pulse.
The Gondola City. The Pearl of Irkalla. The Blackened Jewel. It has many names—some poetic, some crude—but they all painted the same picture.
A city born of excess and rot, where filth and opulence danced hand in hand.
The Calaveria River, third largest on the continent, carved its way through the city's heart like a coiled serpent. It was the lifeblood of Calavera, its arteries in the form of canals and moats winding through its districts. Bridges, stone and wood alike, connected the labyrinthine streets, arching over the dark waters that swallowed the city's refuse. Gondolas drifted in eerie silence, their passengers hidden beneath cloaks, veils, and the occasional golden mask.
On the surface, Calavera was beautiful. Old-world architecture kissed by modern excess—marble-clad buildings with domed rooftops, vibrant murals depicting saints and sinners alike, hanging lanterns that cast rippling reflections upon the water's edge. Street performers danced in squares bustling with nobles and merchants alike, the scent of roasted meat, perfume, and river mist mixing into something uniquely Calaveran.
But beauty here was only skin deep...
Beneath the illusion of refinement lurked a festering underbelly. Smugglers ran operations through the very same gondolas that ferried nobles to their lavish soirées. Pickpockets and cutthroats prowled the narrow bridges. And in the dark corners of the floating markets, deals were struck over whispers and bloodstained coins.
It was a city where one could disappear just as easily as they could rise. A city that tolerated filth, so long as it was dressed in gold.
I moved through the crowds like a shadow, my footsteps quiet against the damp stone. The gala was on the eastern bank, within the Verdeleux Estate, an opulent manor owned by one of the city's wealthiest patrons of the arts. The Scarlet Chorus had stashed the stolen documents there, likely hidden among the archives of rare collections.
The Viridian Masquerade.
A yearly event where aristocrats, scholars, and so-called visionaries gathered to indulge in art, wine, and thinly veiled debauchery. Behind their masks, they brokered deals, secured alliances, and whispered treacheries sweet as honey.
((A den of parasites, pigs and wolves clad in sickening perfume and fine silk...))
That was my only thought about the gala as I turned onto a narrow bridge, the water below churning black under the moonlight. Gondolas drifted lazily by, their gondoliers clad in crimson, faces hidden beneath porcelain masks sculpted into eerie smiles.
"..."
A beggar huddled against the railing, his gaunt frame barely more than skin and bone, his fingers wrapped tightly around an empty tin cup. He muttered quietly, words that could have been either prayers or curses—impossible to tell. His hollow eyes briefly met mine, locking onto me with a fleeting, haunted gaze before quickly shifting away, as if trying to hide his eyes from me.
((...))
*Cling!* *clang!* *rrrrr*
Without breaking my stride, I flicked a gold coin into his cup, the metal ringing sharply as it landed. I didn't pause to look back.
"Thank you for your generosity..."
He muttered, voice rough but laced with gratitude, before returning to his own world of quiet mutterings.
((I don't have time for distractions right now...))
I pushed on, making my way toward the noble district where the masquerade awaited. A 6-carat gold coin—more than enough to pass without incident through the beggars' territory. In a city like Calavera, it was as much a symbol of peace as a token of charity, a quiet gesture saying: "I don't want any trouble". The number "6" representing peace and the gold material of the coin representing a willingness to compromise for peace.
This city thrummed with such unspoken understandings, a web of codes and gestures woven deep into its very fabric, a language as intricate as the streets themselves.
""...""
The closer I got to the Verdeleux Estate, the richer the streets became. Gas lamps cast a warm glow over polished cobblestone, their flickering light reflected in the opulent carriages that rolled past. The scent of river musk, ever-present in Calavera, was smothered beneath layers of perfume, incense, and the spiced oils of the wealthy. Jewelry shimmered like fallen stars against velvet gloves and silk sleeves, worn by masked figures who stepped gracefully from their lacquered carriages drawn by black-plumed horses.
"Haha! And then I said..."
Laughter echoed behind the wrought-iron gates. The gala was in full swing.
""...""
I stopped beneath the shade of an archway, watching.
((I need to get inside))
It wouldn't be difficult, after all Irkalla was the Mekhanite's territory and this city was the crown of the Irkalla region.
((These kinds of events are always riddled with security flaws. Drunken guests who wandered where they shouldn't. Servants too preoccupied with pleasing their masters. Hidden passages meant for affairs and escapes, coupled with the fact this is technically friendly territory to me....it shouldn't be too difficult to get in and out even if I went a bit loud this time))
I thought as I pulled my hood lower and put on an eye mask that was prepared beforehand, becoming just another shadow in the estate's lively haze.
((Time to move...))
I stepped into the tide of opulence, slipping seamlessly into the mad revelry of the rich and the pompous.
"Do you have an invitation?"
A man clad in armor stopped me at the gate, asking for verification.
""...""
I simply pulled out a particular object, a black card with the phrase "non impediant" on it, an object given to every Mekhanite member of sufficient importance.
"Apologies sir, go ahead"
Seeing it, the man quickly became meek and invited me in.
""...""
I entered without much difficulty.
((Honestly this is what I like about operating on Mekhanite grounds...I don't have to waste energy sneaking into places like with Coastania. Though...I still prefer Coastania over rowdy places like this, I absolutely despise social events))
The Verdeleux Estate loomed before me like a monument to excess, perched on the eastern bank of the Calvaria River. White marble walls stretched skyward, etched with frescoes of saints and kings—watchful, judging. Gas lamps cast long shadows over gilded ivy that curled up the columns, making it seem as though fire licked hungrily at the stone.
"Hey, hey, move! The bidding's about to start!"
"Don't rush! Everyone will get a seat"
A river of aristocrats, merchants, and artists streamed past the gates, their silk and brocade garments rustling in time with their hushed, eager voices. Their masks—some simple, others grotesquely elaborate—glittered under the golden glow of chandeliers visible through towering windows. Perfumed air clashed with the scent of fine tobacco, wine, and—faint but unmistakable—the metallic bite of hidden weapons, from those who were prepared for trouble if it came down to it.
""...""
*Rustle*
I adjusted my mask. A simple thing—black, featureless, cut to cover the upper half of my face. Enough to be forgettable. Enough to be no one.
I proceeded to the grand hall with the rest of them, posture relaxed but mind sharp.
"Bring more wine here!"
"Hurry now! Our guests won't wait forever!"
Inside, the Verdeleux Grand Hall stretched before me—a cathedral of indulgence.
The domed ceiling soared high, painted with celestial scenes: gods wreathed in fire and storm, their divine gazes cast down upon the mortals who danced below. Chandeliers of blown glass and enchanted crystal hung like frozen stars, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow.
*Rustle* *rustle* *clop* *clop*
The sound of silk against marble, the scent of too many perfumes blending into something sickly-sweet—my senses were already being assaulted.
*Rustle* *clop*
At the heart of it all was the Silken Dance—a shifting, hypnotic display where masked figures moved like phantoms. The dance was more than just an art form; it was a ritual, a silent language of power and desire. Partners changed with each beat, hands brushed over silk and skin in fleeting gestures laden with meaning. Here, a whisper was as valuable as gold. A glance could seal a contract.
((Astraea, if you exist, give me patience…for if you give me strength, I might just end up murdering everyone here))
I moved through the crowd unnoticed, yet noticing everything. Every flick of a fan. Every exchange of weighted glances. Every poorly hushed conversation behind lace and velvet.
""Ugh!...""
Too much noise. Too many distractions. ESPECIALLY for someone with senses a thousand times sharper than a normal person.
((They won't hide the documents near the Silken Dance. It's too obvious. Too much heat. The Mekhanites already use this event to pass information to our pawns, the cartel. Hiding it here is asking to be discovered. Which means...the auction is the most likely place))
On the far end of the hall, a grand staircase led to the second floor of the next room—where the private viewing boxes laid. That was where I needed to be, I needed a bird's eye view on things.
But first, I had to blend in.
"Refreshments, sir?"
A servant in a crisp uniform passed by, balancing a silver tray adorned with crystal glasses.
""Why yes, I would like one, thank you""
I plucked one without hesitation. Dark wine. I let it linger at my lips without drinking.
"Admiring the view?"
A voice called out, smooth, tinged with amusement.
""...?""
I turned slightly, meeting the gaze of a woman dressed in emerald silk. Her mask, shaped like a serpent, gleamed with golden scales. Sharp green eyes peered from beneath it.
((Not anyone from the cartel, not Mekhanite or Chorus either...just a noble...one from the empire from the looks of it))
I quickly analyzed her to make sure I was prepared for anything but upon realizing that she was just a normal auctioneer I lost interest.
""I prefer the silence""
"A rare thing to find in a place like this..."
She tilted her head, intrigued.
""The rarer something is, the more one should covet it""
I said sarcastically, considering the setting.
"Hah! True enough. Are you an artist? A patron? Or simply another lost soul looking for entertainment?"
She sipped her wine, watching me over the rim of her glass.
""Neither""
I wanted this conversation over. Quickly.
"Mysterious, aren't you?"
Her lips curled in amusement.
""...""
I said nothing. Instead, my gaze shifted to the center of the room—where a grand display had been set up.
"Haha...well, enjoy yourself, it isn't often one gets to join an event this glamorous, not even in the Rosewood's territory"
She said with a playful chuckle.
""...!?""
I shuddered a bit at the name turning to look at her but...she was gone, I caught the last glimpse of her dress as she made her way down the stairs towards the Silken Dance happening in the grand hall.
((Rosewood...))
For some reason that name flared up some unwelcomed memories within my mind.
""Haaaa~""
I let out a slow breath, forcibly shoving it to the back of my mind, as I made my way to a private box.
"Enjoy the auction sir"
An attendant invited me in before closing the door behind me and stepping away.
""Oh I hope I can...""
I muttered as I sat in place, overlooking the event from above.
The art auction.
The second most important event of the Viridian Masquerade, the first for some....
A raised platform held the evening's prized pieces—paintings, sculptures, relics of a world long past. Each item was unveiled with reverence, the auctioneer's voice dripping with silk and honey.
A portrait of a dead king.
"Shall we start tonight's events with a true work of art?"
The auctioneer hadn't even finished before the bidding began.
"Six thousand! A piece of history deserves no less"
A particularly eager merchant with a feathered hat shouted.
"Seven thousand! A king's last gaze should belong to nobility, not merchants playing at grandeur"
Laughter rippled through the crowd as the words came from a well dressed woman.
"Ten thousand! I'll pay extra if it blinks"
More laughter. But the bidding did not slow.
A dagger forged in the old empire, its hilt encrusted with sapphires.
A golem/automaton, its gears clicking as it mimicked a dancer's twirl.
Wealth and power exchanged hands with every breath, though none of it was what I was seeking.
""Argh!...""
I had no choice but to endure it.
((Haaa~ this event is going to last a while isn't it?))
Minutes bled into hours. I scanned every detail of the auction, piecing together the items in my mind, analyzing every movement, every pattern for the possibility of what I was looking for being hidden inside of them.
But this place—this event—was designed to be a maze. A smokescreen of wealth and revelry. Too many possible hiding spots. Too many distractions, which unfortunately made it the perfect place to hide something from me.
Servants flitted between guests, their trays carrying delicacies from every corner of the world. Perfumes clashed and tangled in the air, their sweetness becoming suffocating. The music from the orchestra drummed in my ears, each note sharp enough to cut. The waltz taking place in the grand hall played out like a battle, partners exchanging slow, calculated movements—predatory, poised.
""Haa~ haa~"
I breathed slowly as my eyes moved through the place, my mind sharp but my senses drowning. Every laugh, every whisper, every drunken slur tangled together, flooding my focus. I tried to filter through it, but the sheer volume of the masquerade gnawed at my control, the privacy of the box did NOT in any way alleviate the pounding against my skull.
*Clink!*
A sudden clash of glass.
"AAAH!"
*Shatter!*
A servant tripped, sending a tray of empty goblets shattering onto the floor.
The noise sent my ears ringing.
""Tch-!""
I clenched my jaw, resisting the instinct to react. My senses had already latched onto the smallest details—the crunch of shards beneath hurried feet, the gasps of guests, the flicker of annoyance from a nobleman whose coat had been splashed with wine.
""Come on...show yourselves already""
I turned away. Useless distractions.
Another half-hour passed. More auctions. More meaningless chatter. More noise.
A pair of drunken aristocrats stumbled too close, their perfumes cloying, their slurred conversation grating against my ears.
"—and I said, if you want a real piece of art, you should see what the minstrels in Valmour can—"
"—oh please, you couldn't even afford—"
""Grr!...""
I turned away before my patience could snap.
The longer I stayed here, the worse it became. I was already tuning out more than I was taking in. The sheer amount of sensory input made it harder to pick out what mattered.
It's not like the fortress city of Garellia wasn't rowdy too, but this was just TOOMUCH background noise concentrated in such a claustrophobic place for me to bear with for long, and worse of all I'm forced to expand my senses out instead of blocking out the noise due to the fact that I need to find something among this muck.
""Haaaa~""
I exhaled slowly.
((Focus...filter through all of them slowly...))
I thought trying to calm my mind.
((Where is it? There are only so many places you can hide documents…))
Then—
""Hmm?""
A whisper. Low. Tense.
"Hav-...seen?"
Two men. Standing off to the side, near a grand column carved with ivy motifs. Their body language was stiff, restless. They weren't drinking. They weren't watching the auction. They were waiting.
((Finally! There you are!))
I honed in gladly, knowing that the sheer torture on my senses was over as I blocked everything else out apart from their conversation.
"Where the hell is Ilario? He should've checked in by now"
((Dead. Unfortunately...))
I thought, Ilario was the name of the man who exploded into a pile of goo in the alleyway earlier.
"Relax. He's probably just being cautious"
"Cautious? He was supposed to leave us a signal. And we don't have time for delays. The Mekhanites are moving everything into that cursed Nowhere place. You know what that means?"
"..."
A pause.
"That we're losing our window. Or that we might already be too late..."
"If the assets go into Nowhere, they're gone. We need to—"
The first man rubbed his jaw.
Then—
"Hey, wait. Is that guy looking at us?"
He said turning his eyes to the second floor, straight at me...
((Sharp instincts. But not sharp enough))
I raised a hand, fingers forming the subtle, familiar sign of the Executerii's standard code language.
""Run, and you die""
They didn't heed my warning...