"This is disastrous!" A minister yelled, his eyes bulging with rage. "What the hell is going on in Dimrath?!"
It's been a few days since Princess Sofamy was attacked, and what followed was a disarrayed city. Outbreaks had begun. Streets were raided by barbaric men. The peaceful order seemed to have vanished entirely.
It was unnerving, to say the least. How could this happen? Never before was Dimrath, the capital city of Aethelgard, ever struck with such unrest. It seemed unreal.
"It seems that a rebellion has begun," another minister replied, stroking his snow-white beard. "This is the first one to ever occur right inside Dimrath. I see that as time goes on, the citizens are forgetting their place."
"Be that as it may, we still need to put an end to this," the first minister replied, his brow furrowed as droplets of sweat formed on his forehead.
"I propose an idea," another minister interjected, his eyes sparkling in mischief. "Why don't we fire an energy blast at any barbarian we see on the roads?"
"That would be harming the citizens. It would increase the rebellion further. I suggest deploying several barriers to protect the city monuments whilst tracking the rebellious men to where they operate," the fourth minister interjected, his hands intertwined and hidden under his loose sleeves.
"I don't know," the third minister remarked, his eyes narrowed. "Extermination of pests seems to be the best possible option to me."
"Are you right in the head?! You're telling us to commit genocide of men who might have a good reason for causing this mess!"
"What reason could possibly justify such outrageous actions—"
"The nation's incapability can be a major factor for this," the king's voice boomed, silencing everyone in the court.
"Your majesty... what?"
"According to the analysis of the recent 300 years, Aethelgard's residents are growing less and less happy as time goes on. There is a root cause for such statistics. Perhaps... we need to look at ourselves and ask what's wrong." The king's words seemed to reverberate throughout the room, making all the ministers present narrow their eyes.
Never had anyone suggested this. There was no need to. Aethelgard's administration was always absolute. Why would we need to worry about it? The mere idea sounded redundant.
"Surely you jest, your majesty," the third minister bellowed, a small smile curling up his lips. "The people of Aethelgard clearly have great faith in the nation. Why else do you see the streets still bustling with people who do not wish any carnage?"
He paused, taking a sip of his champagne. "The barbaric monkeys who cause mischief in this nation are in a minority. They make up less than 5% of the Saint District's population, let alone the capital city. If we simply exterminate them, we won't need to worry about any pesky riots."
At his words, several ministers pursed their lips in response, not knowing what to say to that. The king stayed silent, his eyes closing as he contemplated his words.
"They are not barbarians! We must not kill them. What if, as his majesty said, we are the ones doing something wrong? We must negotiate with them and—"
"—Negotiate? How bold of you to assume that those... men... are willing to negotiate with us. If they really were willing to negotiate in the slightest, they wouldn't start this hissy fit that has us rubbing our temples in distress," the third minister continued, his gaze skimming through all the ministers sitting at the council table, before glancing at the king sitting at his throne far back.
"Your majesty, whether you accept my suggestion or not, is entirely up to you. After all, you are the king. However, I would humbly suggest thinking this true before making any rash decisions that we might regret in the future." The minister sipped his champagne, having finished his say on the matter.
"You say to be careful regarding our decisions, but isn't your decision considered rash as well, Sir Tharon?" The aged minister interjected, addressing the third minister with a scrutinising gaze, which was met with an amused one.
"That is merely your aged perspective, Sir Zephiloth. You may have lived for over a thousand years and seen more than what any of us have, but your mind still hasn't moved on from the past. It's time you realise that desperate times require desperate measures." Tharon smirked, making Zephiloth narrow his eyes in disdain.
"I don't mean to undermine you, Sir Zephiloth," another minister chimed in, "but I think Sir Tharon has a point. Additionally, you are an elf, so I believe it is difficult for you to understand how humans interact."
"It's because I am this old that I fully understand their behaviour despite being an elf. I have more insight than you ever will. Trust me on that." Zephiloth countered, his piercing gaze making the minister gulp in nervousness.
"Enough." The king's voice wasn't loud, yet it was enough to silence everyone in the room. "The meeting shall be adjourned for today. Another meeting shall be scheduled tomorrow. Same time."
The ministers lowered their heads before getting up and exiting the courtroom. This exact cycle has been occurring ever since the riots began. No one seemed to be agreeing on one course of action, creating further indecisiveness.
As each of the ministers began leaving, Charlie noticed one minister approaching him. Her blonde hair radiated an ethereal glow as she faced him, her legs knelt in respect.
"Your majesty, there is still no news of General Vekas's return. I fear that the men causing this chaos might have done something horrible to him," she remarked, her eyes narrowed as they stared at the ground beneath her.
"Your concern is understandable, Lynera. However, Sir Revan is a semi-spiritual being. He is among the pinnacle of life forms in Varkana. I doubt that they can deal significant damage to him," the king replied, a small smile on his face.
"You seem to have great faith in him."
"And you should as well," the king remarked, "after all, you're the person he spent the most time with. You understand him better than we all."
"Which is why I am suspicious of why he hasn't returned yet. What if a semi-spiritual being is among the ranks of these troublemaking rebels? What if there is more than one?" She asked, her brows furrowed in concern.
"Hmm, your fears make sense. I guess only time will tell. Till then, all we can do is continue searching for him." He replied before narrowing his eyes.
"Now go and summon Sir Revan. I need to have a word with him," the king ordered, to which she nodded before standing up and exiting the room.
***
"You needed me?" Revan asked, his hands resting in his pockets as he gazed at the king, whose eyes were narrowed.
"It's been a week since General Vekas's disappearance, and there is no trace of him. Not even remotely." Charlie revealed, his eyes closing in disappointment before opening again.
"Well, I told you what you needed to know. Vekas told me a bit about his past that night, and by the next morning, I found him missing. Nothing I can do about it." Revan replied, shrugging in a way that screamed 'no help from here'.
"And yet, you didn't even try to look for him throughout the week. All you have done is simply explore the city. Nothing else. I request you once more to go and find Vekas." Charlie remarked, leaning his face into his fist, his elbow resting on the arm of his throne.
"Hmm, you have consistently asked me this, yet I have always refused. Why do you think that is?" The red-haired man asked, his piercing gaze focused on the droplet of sweat that clung to Charlie's cheek.
"I don't feel compelled to search for him. Why would I? He isn't a friend whom I deeply care about." Revan continued.
"And even if I, the king, order you to search for him, you still wouldn't care."
"Why should I? You are not my king. No one is. Shouldn't you keep that into account?" Revan smiled, making Charlie's lips purse.
Revan wasn't from Aethelgard. Clearly, he didn't have a known origin at all, and even when Charlie tried interrogating him, he redirected the conversation to his plan of letting Aethelgard fall.
He was an enigma, and Charlie truly felt that he didn't have even the slightest authority over him. It worried him, as he felt like what stood before him was a wild card that could end up bad for him.
"The assailant who attacked my daughter escaped because you were unable to catch her. Yet, it feels like you let her escape, no matter what I am told." Charlie sighed before standing from his throne.
As he descended and approached Revan, the black-haired man remained unfazed. "Hmm, you might be right."
He took a step forward, staring at Charlie's emerald-green eyes. "Just like right now, I had no compulsion to keep her in place. I simply defeated her and saved your daughter. You should be grateful for that."
Charlie stopped two feet before him. Revan didn't keep her in place because he didn't need to. There is also the fact that he hadn't told Revan to make sure she didn't run away, which was because he didn't feel the need to.
"And here I thought you were an ally... yet it seems like you follow your own terms."
"Took you long enough to find out," Revan replied, his enigmatic smile unnerving Charlie. "Though you shouldn't misunderstand. I may not really be an ally, but I am not an enemy either. I can help you when I need to."
He began to circle the king, studying his rigid form. "As for Vekas, it depends on when I find him. If I ever see him, I will inform you. However, I won't be actively searching for him. That is upon you. I don't need him as you do."
That's right. Charlie needed Vekas. Aethelgard needed Vekas. Revan did not. After all, they had only spent a day together, so why would they be so close? It would be absurd if they were.
"... Alright, Sir Revan. At least you are showing some level of cooperation. Perhaps, that is all we really need." Charlie hung his head slightly, relieved that he wasn't completely against the idea of looking for the general.
"Great. I shall be leaving now. Anything else you want to tell me—?"
Before he could finish, the doors to the throne chambers creaked open. A man stepped inside, prompting the doors to close once more. His blonde hair flowed elegantly, his emerald-green eyes emanating a fire unique to them. His stride was demanding and without an ounce of reluctance.
It was Marcus, whose presence made Charlie narrow his eyes, all while Revan simply turned to him, his eyes holding a glint of amusement.
"Father," he began, stopping a few feet away, "these riots are getting out of hand. It's time that we dealt with them accordingly. Why hasn't a decision been made regarding that?"
"The decision is currently being made. There are way too many opinions on the matter, so it will take time to decide what to do." Charlie responded, his tone low and even.
"Time? We don't have time, Father. Those morons are causing mass destruction everywhere. I resisted the urge to silence them forever. If this goes on, I will have to take action myself!" Marcus exclaimed, his brows furrowed as a scowl formed on his face.
Charlie narrowed his eyes in response, his fingers curling to form fists. If Marcus takes action himself, then who knows how much discourse will take place. It would only result in angering the rebels further, which was a scenario he was hell-bent on avoiding.
"There is no need to take such rash action, Marcus. We will handle it accordingly. I promise that you wouldn't even need to lift a single finger." Charlie told him, placing a hand on his shoulder firmly.
Marcus glanced at Revan, observing his aloof gaze and enigmatic smile, before turning back to Charlie. "Father, I have been noticing that you have been growing... soft on people. You have lost the edge kings normally have."
At this, Charlie's grip on his son's shoulder tightened, yet Marcus remained unfazed as he continued. "This is a terrible mistake, Father. It will undermine your authority, and you shall be bound to have people go against you. The evidence is right outside. You just choose to blind yourself."
"That's enough, Marcus."
"Do you doubt my words? Then why is that man standing so nonchalantly, as if he isn't in the presence of those above him?" The prince asked, pointing at Revan, whose smirk only widened in response.
"Enough, Marcus. You don't want to cross me. I am telling you," Charlie continued, his grip tightening further.
Clicking his tongue, the prince freed himself from his father's grip, his scowl still present. As he turned to walk away, Revan stuck his tongue out mockingly. Even though the moment only lasted a millisecond at most, Marcus was able to detect it.
That was the last straw. As his blood boiled, he launched a kick at Revan, which he easily stopped with his index finger. The impact resulted in a shockwave that affected not only the air, but also the ambient Vyr around them.
"Fiesty much?" Revan muttered.
"Marcus, enough!" Saying this, Charlie launched a kick of his own, sending his son flying and crashing him into the door.
Since the door was strong and infused with Vyr, it withstood the impact. Yet, Marcus's ego wasn't as durable. His rage only increased, yet he knew how powerless he was in front of the king of Aethelgard.
Grunting slightly, he stood up, his eyes glaring at both Revan and the king with an unhidden fury. "Just remember, Father. Unlike you, I won't let such disrespect slide."
He then opened the doors and exited the throne room, prompting Charlie to sigh in relief. Had things escalated enough to anger Revan, who knows what disasters might have occurred?
However, despite his fears, Charlie did have faith in Revan's composure. Judging by what he observed, he viewed Revan as a carefree person whose temper is controlled and isn't compared to anything.
Such actions wouldn't anger him to the extent of causing a rampage, but he was still an enigma. Who knows what he would do when taunted to such an excessive degree? Charlie wasn't a man to take any risks.
"I am truly sorry about what you just witnessed, Sir Revan. It seems that I still have to discipline that man a bit, even after he turned 78 years old."
"Oh, the guy's 78? Couldn't tell since he was acting like a 5-year-old." Revan remarked, a chuckle escaping his lips, one that Charlie didn't share.
"Since my son tried to strike you, I shall offer you anything you ask for. He truly committed an unforgivable crime." Charlie proposed, his head slightly lowered.
"Anything?"
"Anything," the king replied, though a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. What was Revan going to ask? Why did he look so interested in this offer?
I mean, sure, he can get whatever he wants, but what if it's against our laws?
"I want you to attend a circus with me!" Revan declared, a toothy grin etched on his face.
"Eh?" The king blinked several times, comprehending what he just heard.
Revan, a being with unimaginable power, someone who was offered to ask for literally anything that the largest kingdom could offer... and he chose this? The king's company to a circus?
"Pardon, Sir Revan... but why a circus?" At this, Vekas pulled out a scroll from his coat's inner pocket.
There's a pocket in the inner area of the clothing? It wasn't something the king had ever seen before. What nation was he from? In fact, did a nation even have those kinds of pockets, let alone the clothing he wore?
Revan then unscrolled the paper to reveal a poster. Upon grabbing it, Charlie read the contents, finding it to be an invitation to a circus occurring in the Mount District, which was 4 districts away from the Saint District.
"Since there is no one to give me company here, I want you to join me here," Revan explained, a beaming smile stretching his facial muscles.
Charlie's expression wasn't capable of betraying just how dumbfounded he was. Was that his reasoning? It has got to be a mistake. No way this is actually true.
His expression says it all. He is serious about this...
"Sir Revan," Charlie sighed, facing him with a wry smile, "while I appreciate the invitation, I can't simply leave my duties to attend a circus that isn't even anything special. Please, think of something else."
There were also plenty of other circuses that could provide more entertainment. Besides, this one didn't even have anything special about it. Why would Revan be attracted to it?
"Hey! You promised to give me anything I asked. Not fair!" He pouted, making Charlie's eye twitch slightly.
Revan didn't seem like someone who would give up, even in little matters like these. If he was able to convince Vekas to reveal his past, then he's surely nothing short of obstinate.
"Please...?" The man asked, his ruby-red eyes shining with plea and a desire for company.
Charlie's eyes twitched further, seeing how Revan was trying to seem cute. In the end, he sighed, having lost the mental capacity to deal with this.
"Fine. I shall accompany you, Sir Revan. However, this will be the only time I shall go to a circus for no reason. Is that alright with you?"
"Alright! I couldn't have it any other way!" Revan exclaimed, jumping around here and there, "I'll be waiting then!"
He then scurried away, exiting the throne chambers, leaving the poster in Charlie's hands. As Charlie glanced at it, he noted that it started 8 hours later at night.
I'd better be done with my urgent tasks by then...
***
Clash!
The collision of swords rang throughout the training grounds. Soon, another sword was broken into pieces, with its holder falling in defeat.
The prince, who had emerged victorious, stared at his defeated foe with an intensity that bordered on insanity.
That man... he was able to block my attack with just a finger.
Back when he dodged his attack, Marcus didn't find it very weird. It was acceptable. After all, he hadn't exerted even half of his real force onto that attack.
However, that kick was different. It had more force. More intent. It was meant to punish, rather than test. And yet... it was blocked. He didn't even need to dodge it. All he needed was a finger.
It enraged Marcus. Heat rushed through his body as he wondered if he had grown weak. Had he? Impossible. He was still obliterating every soldier here like the ants they supposedly were.
"Your highness," his butler, a refined man, began, his voice cutting the silence, "you have already defeated 15 soldiers. Perhaps, it is time for you to rest."
Despite how formal and rigid he seemed, his reluctance was clear as day. It was easy to say that he feared his anger, yet he knew that duty came first.
"Rest? Have you grown soft, Belfer? After all, weren't you the one who urged me to train continuously?" Marcus asked, a small, mocking smirk etched on his face.
"That may be true, your highness, but I never said that rest should be avoided. In fact, it is encouraged," Belfer replied, keeping his composure, yet Marcus noticed how his eyes seemed to dart everywhere around him, as if to find a way that he could use to escape the situation.
"I don't need rest, Belfer. I need to train. More than ever before. That man made a fool out of me. There is no way I can let that slide."
Saying that, he raised his sword at Belfer's direction, startling the butler. "Unleash your sword, Belfer. We shall have a spar."
"Please don't put Sir Belfer through more pressure than necessary." As a soft, familiar voice intervened, both men turned in its direction.
Standing near the doorway was Sofamy. Her ocean-blue eyes sparkled with an innocence that knew no bounds. Her clear, porcelain skin further radiated not only her beauty, but the entire training ground. Her dirty-blonde hair, despite being tied in a bun, ran down her back to her waist.
"What are you doing here, Sofamy? Where is Cronos?"
"He is on the other side of the door. He didn't wish to interrupt me in our... private discussion." Upon hearing her words, as well as the subtle pause, Belfer stiffened slightly.
"Excuse me, your highness." Muttering that, he immediately exited the training grounds, leaving both siblings alone.
"I see that you are frustrated, brother," she remarked, her voice a soft, soothing melody as she stepped closer to him.
"I am... our father does not care about my honour. He will let the lower people look down on me and humiliate me all they want. Never will he stand up for me. It's so frustrating!" Marcus replied, his brows furrowing further.
"Humiliate?" She asked, her hand sliding on his. "What exactly did father do to humiliate you?"
"He didn't do anything. That's the issue! He let a man disrespect and mock me all he wanted. It was as if he were royalty and not me. Is this a joke? I am the heir to the throne. No way can I be insulted like this!" He exclaimed, his anger reaching a fever pitch as he clenched his fists till his knuckles turned white.
"I see... that man must be quite daring."
"And foolish," Marcus added, his teeth gritting together.
"Still... you haven't told me how father seemingly humiliated you," she continued, gently grasping his hand, her warm touch somewhat soothing his rage, though not the confusion that followed her words.
"Huh? I already told you. He didn't humiliate me. He let me get humiliated! What are you on about?"
"I don't deny that you previously said that. However, I deny the truth of those words. Tell me, what is it that you truly faced?" The princess asked, her gentle expression melting Marcus's heart.
"... Your insight is quite enviable, dear sister." Marcus sighed, his eyes closed in frustration.
"Hehe, I just noticed how you wouldn't normally be this angry about anything, even humiliation," she replied, which only proved just how insightful she really was.
"... I tried striking the man who mocked me, but he blocked my attack with a finger. A mere finger. It was a stain on all my training and power that I had accumulated over the years..."
He shuddered slightly, holding her hand firmly. "However, before I could even recover from this... humiliation... father got mad. He got mad that I was reminding someone of their place. Hence, he kicked me in the stomach. It sent me flying and crashed me into the doors of the throne room."
His lips quivered, his head lowered. "I felt pain. Real pain. The kick was strong enough to bypass my [Pain Resistance]. It showed that my father was actively trying to hurt me. That... that hurt more than anything ever could. He was actively participating in my humiliation by adding salt to the wound rather than soothing it with ointment."
"So you feel wronged?"
"Exactly!" He yelled, his gaze moving to her ocean-blue eyes. "He chose a random man who only came here a week ago over me. Over me! His own son! This is a betrayal beyond healing."
He panted, his rant finally over. His gaze lingered on her, though it now seemed a bit... vulnerable. Seeing this, Sofamy donned a gentle smile on her face, her eyes softening as she tightened her grip over his hand.
"Why do you worry so much, brother?" She asked, prompting him to furrow his brows in confusion.
"You seem to understand everything, yet you refuse to look at the bigger picture, simply because you feel like you don't need to. However, it is sometimes necessary," she continued.
"Necessary? How is it necessary, Sofamy? There is no bigger picture to look at. Everything is as clear as day," he retorted, to which she responded by simply widening her smile.
"Oh, dear brother. You just proved my point, so how about I ask another question? Why did Father care so much about that one man that he resorted to hurting his own son for him?"
"Care? It's not that. He just doesn't care about me. That's all," he replied, prompting her to shake her head.
"If he really didn't care for you, why would he give you the role of heir? Why would he strengthen you? Why wouldn't he focus on having another boy who could succeed his rule? There is a logical reason for everything," she explained, her voice a gentle melody that seemed to soothe his mind.
"I..."
"Now I ask again, why did father care for that man so much that he hurt his own son for him?" She asked, her smile radiating a shine of its own.
"I... I don't know. I mean, he did help in winning against Broshasa and rescuing you, but..." Upon hearing this, her eyes widened, and her expression lit up as she seemed surprised by his words.
"Hold on, are you perhaps referring to Sir Revan?" She asked, prompting his expression to morph into that of slight confusion.
"Why do you address him as 'sir'?"
"Why wouldn't I? He saved my life. I have no right to be disrespectful to him, especially when he wouldn't really benefit from saving me," she replied, tilting her head as if her way of addressing the black-haired man wasn't obvious.
"Maybe Father is just really thankful that he saved my life, so he is caring for that man as much as possible," the princess reasoned, her eyes darting to his hand in hers.
"Still, to abandon the reputation and respect of your own son... that's unacceptable."
"It might as well be the case. However, one thing to note is that Sir Revan is extremely dangerous. He defeated the assailant that not even Cronos and General Vekas could defeat with such ease that it didn't even feel like he was facing someone strong," she revealed, her eyes narrowed as her piercing gaze turned to his face.
"Perhaps, Father understands that strength, and thus wants to not cross him, lest we wish for our own destruction." She pursed her lips, thinking over what could happen if such a thing were to occur.
"Strong? He certainly didn't seem like it," the prince huffed, though his expression later morphed into that of caution, "although the fact that he was able to block my attack with a mere finger backs up just how strong he truly is."
"Indeed. We must not be flamboyant around this man. He is an enigma, and I prefer not looking into enigmas that don't guarantee the safety of my loved ones, as well as my own." She then turned to the door as it opened, revealing Cronos helping a man walk towards them.
"Your highness, he was beaten up by the ones causing the riots!" Cronos explained, the other man's expression hidden as his face was turned to the floor.
Both siblings widened their eyes before furrowing their brows. "Tell us everything," Marcus demanded, his fists clenched and his lips pursed. His eyes held a fierce intensity that seemed to be restraining his boiling rage by a thread.
"Those rebels... they ambushed me as I was patrolling the area... they... want your head, Prince Marcus. I was spared just to tell you this."
"They left a message for me... how bold of these pigs." The prince scoffed, his grip on his sword tightening.
"Have you informed father?" Sofamy asked, to which the injured man shook his head in denial.
"We need him to know this. Cronos, go ahead and inform his majesty of this situation." Marcus ordered, sheathing his sword as he did so.
"Alright, Prince Marcus," Cronos replied before immediately leaving alongside the injured man.
"Wait... I remember hearing that Father was making preparations to go somewhere," Sofamy muttered under her breath, which her brother caught onto.
"Go? Go where?" He turned to her quizzically, to which she responded by pursing her lips.
"From what I heard, I think it was a circus..."
"... excuse me?"
***
The colour was more vibrant here than anywhere else. That was a given. It's a circus, after all. Colour was one of the main attractions in circuses, so it was obvious that such vibrance would be present.
It was a bit refreshing for Charlie. He hadn't expected the stunning colours of the circus to soothe the stale pressure that ran through his head for as long as he could remember.
"This is nice," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I know, right? Look at that clown! He's flexing his skills and making us laugh at the same time," Revan exclaimed, having heard his words, pointing at the clown who was switching between doing headstands and juggling wool balls lit in fire consistently.
The fact that he could do this without even a second's worth of a break was impressive. Charlie wondered how much these individuals honed their talents simply for entertainment. No wonder the salary of these clowns was high...
Still, it's a bum that there isn't anything worth looking deeply into. The king was expecting some important figure or some incident to occur, but it seems that Revan truly wanted company and nothing else.
Despite this, a small smile crept up his face. Here he was, disguised as an ordinary man thanks to his black cloak and Illusion Magic, marvelling at how wide the smiles of his people were. How their eyes reflected great joy and pure delight.
It made him think over his initial plan. Was his original decision to let the rebels win even logical? Did it even fall into the layers of common sense? As he observed the pure, unbridled joy of those who lived under his rule, he began to think over the flaws of his mindset.
Perhaps Aethelgard still had time to live. Maybe its end is not meant to arrive yet. Was he overthinking it, or was he underthinking it?
Sure, Aethelgard's decline is clear as day, and the rate of happiness was also decreasing, but Charlie seemed to have ignored the current, ongoing happiness of his people, the benefits they received by being here, and the pros of this kingdom.
He reached for his chest. Upon resting his hand over it, he could feel his heartbeat accelerate rapidly. It was overjoyed. So overjoyed that he feared it might burst.
I... don't want to lose Aethelgard... His eyes, once fogged with vagueness and confusion, now shimmered with clarity and a steel resolve.
"Yo. Try some already." Charlie turned to Revan, who was offering him a plate of steak.
Charlie was well aware of it. He was the one who bought it for him, after all. It was surprising that a circus sold steaks, which cost well over 500 bronze coins, marking it as a fancy delicacy.
"I see... well, don't mind if I do," he replied as he took the plate from Revan's hands.
As he took the first bite, he blinked slightly. The taste was incredible. The seasoning was well-done. It was as if a deity had made it.
He glanced over to the chef, observing how his bloated figure seemed to stand with a confident stride. His bushy beard added to how old he looked, and the chef's hat signified his cooking skills.
As Charlie observed the man, he saw him frown. Turning to where the bloated man was looking, he found a cloaked individual. Their cloak was white, with their face fully hidden thanks to Concealing Magic.
Charlie frowned. He felt something off about them. Surely, they weren't just standing there for the circus, were they? He abandoned the circus from his stream of thoughts, focused entirely on the man who had his full attention.
Suddenly, chaos erupted as the individual leapt towards the stage, a sword materialising in their hand.