'Talk! You've been silent for the past three minutes, say sothing!'
No matter how she nagged at herself internally, Roma said nothing externally. Her gaze dropped to the forest floor as they walked, watching leaves crunch beneath her boots rather than face the silence between them.
Northern was also silent. But for reasons she could never have imagined.
He had considered letting the Echo handle everything while he observed from a distance, but curiosity won out in the end. First, he wanted to see how well Caladhel was faring. Second, he needed to confirm what those intruders really were—if they matched his suspicions.
And indeed, they had.
This made Northern disappointed.
He looked at Roma for a few monts and finally broke the silence.
"Do you trust every single noble in Ryugan?"
Roma got slightly startled—not by the question but by Northern's voice cutting through after so long. She took a mont to steady herself, then actually considered what he'd asked.
She shrugged as she answered.
"I wouldn't say so. Every country has its rotten tomatoes. I wouldn't put it past our kingdom either."
Northern exhaled slowly and said nothing after.
Roma looked at his face directly now. Strange—the tension she'd been feeling earlier seed to have suddenly disappeared. His question had broken sothing, even if she didn't understand what.
"Why do you ask?" She tilted her head. "Did you find a mole?"
Northern smiled but did not answer.
They were getting closer to the part of the forest that led back into the city. Instead of responding, he simply lifted his chin, sniffed the air, and comnted coolly:
"Hm. Delicious."
Roma glanced ahead. Through the thinning trees, lights flickered—the warm glow of the backstreet markets bleeding into the forest's edge.
"Right! Let's hurry!"
She grabbed Northern's hand without asking and ran. They ducked through the trees, climbed a set of worn stone stairs, and erged onto a pavent road that fed into an alley. Seconds later, the alley spilled them out into the bustling street.
Northern froze.
The colors hit him first—dancing, wheeling, alive. A man stood at the side of the road juggling five flaming circles, each one a different color: blue, green, red, cantaloupe, violet. The flas spun through the air in perfect arcs, and the man caught and released them with practiced ease, never breaking rhythm.
People gathered around him, gasping and cheering whenever a circle dipped too low, only for the man to catch it with his leg and kick it back into rotation without missing a beat.
The sight fascinated the crowd. Northern found this strange.
What the man was doing wasn't useful in battle. The colors likely had sothing to do with his talent—so variation he'd adapted for spectacle rather than combat.
'Shouldn't he find ways to apply this in battle instead of doing this…'
Then again, even Northern couldn't think of a way. Not everyone was built for fighting. He almost activated his analysis eyes out of habit but stopped himself.
'Not every day is for that…'
He'd gained enough knowledge over the past two years to know how effective talents were and what class they fell into from a glance alone. That instinct ca from Chaos Eyes, magnified tenfold by Shingan. But tonight wasn't about work.
Roma tugged his hand again, pulling him toward another cluster of people. This perforr had a different ga: three bowls arranged on a low table, hands moving so fast over them that the eye couldn't track which covered what. Then he stopped abruptly, palms flat on the table, and grinned at the n sitting before him.
"Make your choice, gents?"
Three young nobles sat in a row—neat clothes, expensive haircuts, the soft look of people who'd never needed to fight for anything. One touched his chin, deliberating. The one beside him grabbed his shoulder and leaned in urgently.
"Pick this one, Leron, pick this one. I'm telling you." He jabbed a finger toward the left bowl.
The third noble said nothing. Arms folded, jaw set, locked in on the ga like his life depended on it.
All three looked between eighteen and twenty. All three looked like they shouldn't be here.
So did Northern and Roma.
Northern watched the bowls as the young noble finally made his choice. Leron pointed to the middle.
The perforr grinned and lifted it.
There was nothing there.
"Damnit!!" Leron slamd his palm on the table.
The man opened the bowl on the right, revealing the black stone underneath. Then he looked at Leron's friend—the one who'd insisted on the left—and raised an eyebrow.
"You would've also lost."
The friend scoffed and looked away. The perforr swept the silver coins toward himself with practiced efficiency.
Northern was ready to leave. But when he turned, Roma's eyes were sparkling.
He narrowed his gaze at her.
'Don't tell …'
She looked back at him with that sa sparkle, practically vibrating with excitent.
"I have five hundred Orens. I think I can double it."
Northern's expression went flat.
'That's what they all say…'
"I think that's a bad idea," he said.
Roma frowned. "Co on, Rian—don't be such a bore. Think about it: one thousand Orens. You could have anything spicy you want aside from Muscovy. And I could even get you a lot of Muscovy—those things are really expensive, you know?"
She paused, then added quickly:
"Besides, I'm not saying you have to lend anything. I have the money. All you have to do is wait."
Northern stared at her.
"You're going to lose your money."
Roma chuckled and folded her arms. "You watch and learn."
The three nobles had already vacated their seats, too frustrated to continue. As they passed, Northern caught a fragnt of their conversation:
"Didn't that girl look familiar?"
He didn't pursue it. Instead, his attention drifted back to the table—to the bowls, and to the single black stone the perforr was positioning for the next round.
Roma licked her lips, pulled out her coin pouch, and opened it wide.
The perforr's eyes glead when he saw the gold inside.
"Haha… shall we start, young lady?"
Roma nodded, confidence radiating off her.
"Let us start!"
Northern stood behind her, watching.
Reviews
All reviews (0)