The 8 of club card lay there on the muddy cobblestone floor, staring at Kieran like a forbidden item.
Kieran stared at it, his head ringing as he half expected it to burst into flame or vanish into smoke.
But nothing happened. It was just a card, yet somehow it wasn't.
'A playing card? How the heck did it get to this world?' Kieran frowned, sucking in several breaths. He looked around, wondering if this was some sort of prank, but there was no one around. Only the few drunks slumped on the street ahead were around.
After contemplating for a while, he crouched and picked it up, rolling it between his fingers and tucking it into his coat pocket. The system made no announcement, making Kieran believe it really was just a mere card.
"Does this mean there are other transmigrators? Is this an invite?" he muttered with an amused grin, looking back at the hooded figure on the floor. Kieran shook his head, straightened his stolen footman's coat, and continued walking toward the tavern.
Right ahead, the thick, blocky wooden structure of Crooked Lantern stood with a blemished flickering lantern hanging by the door sign, swinging lazily. Kieran observed that from inside came the hum of chatter, clinking mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter that didn't sound particularly sober.
Kieran's grin returned. "Ah… brings me back to civilization."
When he finally pushed the wooden door open, it was warmth that hit him first, then came the stench of fire crackle mixed with spilled ale, and the sweat of too many bodies packed into a single room.
The wooden beams of the tavern stretched low overhead, blackened by smoke. The scent of roasted meat wafted through the air, though its origin was dubious.
In the far corner, a bard strummed a lute that was missing one string, trying and failing to keep up with the drunken singing of his audience.
Long tables filled the center, scattered with mugs, half-eaten bread, and coins. Barmaids in patched aprons wove through the crowd with trays balanced precariously in their hands with a wide receptive smile on their tired faces. Some patrons were arm-wrestling; others slumped over, snoring into their drinks.
It was a perfectly glorious chaos.
Kieran slipped in like a man born to it, his steps measured and his expression unreadable. He approached the counter, taking a seat beside a thick-shouldered man whose face was half-hidden by a hood and beard.
The bartender, who was a balding fellow with forearms like butchered hams, glanced at him. "What'll it be?"
"I'll have what he's having," Kieran said, tilting his head at the gruff man beside him.
The bartender nodded, wiped a mug with a rag that was more decorative than functional, and poured a deep brown liquid into it. The drink smelled of berries and a tang of old wood.
"Sherry velvet" Kieran mused after a sip, he could recollect from Metis' memory that this was from the town of Elthergralne, and had become popular over these parts, " From the very vineyards of southern Westfordmire. Strong stuff, don't you think?" Kieran posed, striking a conversation.
The bartender scratched his chin. " You seem to know your stuff, sire. Have you been to Elthergralne lately?"
Kieran gave a pleasant half-smile. "I passed by on my way towards Luville."
Luville was the capital city of the kingdom.
Kieran glanced at the man beside him who he suspected to be a mercenary from the short sword strapped to his thigh. In entirety, the man's posture screamed soldier-for-hire. The type who'd stab someone for coin, then drink about it later. Kieran had hoped to hear something from the man after having mentioned visiting the capital city of the kingdom, as well as the origin town of the drink they were both having.
It would be an exaggeration to say he didn't get the hint, but rather, the man chose to stay silent.
Turning back to the bartender, Kieran asked casually, "Anyway I just got back and I heard there've been some bandits running wild around town lately. Any truth to that?" Kieran asked.
The bartender froze for a moment, then lowered his voice. "You mean the Thornback Marauders? Aye. They've been hitting the outskirts for weeks now. Robbing merchants and killing travelers. Some say they even raided a lord's caravan last fortnight."
Kieran sipped his drink, nodding as if pondering. 'Thornback Marauders… catchy.'
Then, with a convincing show of irritation, he slammed his cup down and cursed with a dutiful guise. "Damn bastards deserve to rot in their own filth."
The bartender frowned, glancing at Kieran's attire again. "Right? There's nothing anyone can really do but hope that the Viscount takes action to call for the Knights' intervention." The bartender was trying to make Kieran, who seemed to be a footman to him by his attire, to spill the information he had as an insider.
"I'll tell you, that man cares not for nothing but the Count's pintle. Not even his own children matters to him. i left Tirandale to work here, my poor sire and ma... Ha! I hope they're all safe." Kieran recounted with feigned frustration, and downed more of his drink. Tirandale was one of the outskirt towns within the county.
As for him talking about the viscount like this openly, it was a common practice in taverns that footmen would often get drunk and complain about having to kiss their lord's arses only to return to do the same the next day.
So, Kieran was not out of line. Besides, he wasn't lying about Sorthon.
The bartender blinked, uncertain, before nodding in agreement. "You'll get no argument from me. My cousin lives in Morthill, heard they burned the whole stable down. Animals and all...Haven't heard from them as well."
Kieran winced, partly in sympathy, "Here's to hope that they're alive." He raised a toast to the bartender who nodded solemnly in gratitude.
Kieran then leaned back, letting the information sink in. His mind ticked. Every world had its chaos, its wolves wearing men's skin. The trick was learning which wolves were worth following.
Then, casually, he changed the topic.
"Still, I'll say the Marauders are small amongst the many trouble that loom," he said, lowering his voice. "While I was in the capital, there were whispers of something worse. Something about a cult."
That got attention. The bartender paused, cloth mid-swipe. Even the gruff mercenary's hand stilled around his cup.
"A cult?" the bartender repeated. "What sort of cult?"
Kieran shrugged with calculated indifference. "Some nonsense cult keen on world domination. Their members wander around in cloaks, leaving playing cards with strange symbols behind wherever they strike. People call them the Joker's cult, I think. Or maybe that's just gossip. Who knows?" Kieran came up with a fake story and narrative. In truth, he had no idea what the use of the playing card was, nor did he truly care. All he wanted to do was try to spark attention and see if anyone reacted or had anything to add.
He'd only made up the cult part as a lie.
And quite surprisingly, the mercenary beside him shifted. Kieran's eyes flicked sideways, catching the movement. A tiny smile curved his lips.
'Bait taken.'
"The Viscount mentioned there were rumors they'd come this far south," Kieran quickly added. "Madmen, the lot of them. Probably worshipping some evil entity or some other ridiculous thing."
He took another long sip of his drink and signaled for a refill.
The bartender poured, shaking his head. "Heavens preserve us… last thing we need's another cult. I heard the Order of the Corrupt Saintess wiped out a whole town up north just last year. They burned everything to the ground in a grand sacrifice to their evil goddess. All because they thought it'd 'cleanse the soil.'" He spat to the side. "May infernal hell take 'em all."
"May it," Kieran echoed mildly, though his mind buzzed. Heavens, hell, cults, cards, and evil deities. Kieran pondered why some of these exist in this world.
He mulled over the irony of it all, swirling his drink. 'Guess this world's got its share of lunatics too? Or perhaps, is it the real deal as opposed to Earth?' Kieran muttered internally, unsure what to believe. The fact that he could pull tricks like devil's flint, although with the aid of the system, made him believe it had to be the latter.
Kieran was forced out of his thoughts when the mercenary to.his side suddenly stood. He left six bronze Marks behind for the tab.
Kieran's smile froze. 'Oh, you sneaky bastard. You'd just leave without giving me anything?'
He realized then that he'd played his part a little too well. The " Joker's cult" story had clearly reached the mercenary's ears and he probably was off to go investigate. Where there's trouble, there's money for mercenaries.
' Ha! there's nothing I can do. Hopefully, I can still find some other things out from other people. Though I doubt it...' Kieran shook his head, peering at the goofy drunkards that filled the tavern. He suspected any of them even knew the way to their home in their current state. Kieran opted to return to the manor first, his absence throughout the night at the banquet was already suspicious enough. If he wasn't found to be around when the fire died down, then it would be even more trouble.
And as a background character, trouble is one thing he had to stay clear off. That's why he's been gathering information so as to avoid butting his head into one unknowingly.
' Besides, the fire should have died down now...'
He glanced at the bartender still wiping the counter and sighed dramatically. "Well, friend, you've been most enlightening. But I fear I must go… the viscount's banquet is still at large."
He stood, brushing the wrinkles off his stolen uniform, ready to stroll out casually, until he heard.
"You payin', lad?" The bartender turned and asked.
Kieran paused on his stride, a wey smile forming on his face as the thought struck him. His hand instinctively patted his side, and it was empty without a doubt.
No pouch. No coin. Not even a crumb of bread.
Kieran froze. "Paying? Oh, right. Paying." He gave a charming nod, then quickly looked around as if to find a victim he could pull another ultimate move on. 'I'll have to pull thr personal funding advocacy method. Also known as professional alms begging.' A background character should never get themselves in a situation where they can't pay for drinks, that's a side character's role. Background characters are never seen, never outstanding.
Although he could literally activate voyeur at the moment and never have to deal with this, Kieran didn't think it was necessary for him as a background character. Only main characters would do such a thing, abuse their powers to get what they want.
Him? He was mostly ethical with his abilities.
Just then, his gaze fell on a table in the corner, half a dozen brutes laughing, slamming mugs, betting over rounds of Nine men's Morris mills game.
Kieran's grin returned. That sharp, wicked grin that promised bad ideas and good entertainment.
He raised a hand apologetically toward the bartender. "Give me one moment, dear friend. I think I just found my wallet."