gossip with coffee

The market was alive with motion—vendors shouting, carts creaking, and the mixed aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spices filling the air. Stalls lined the streets, selling everything from jewelry to herbs, while street performers gathered small crowds. A few children weaved through the bustle, offering roses to passing couples. Even under the afternoon sun, the energy of the city remained undisturbed.

Inside the carriage, Shaun exhaled sharply, resting his head against the seat.

"Did we really need to take a carriage, Soren? I could've gotten us here without a sound, you know that, right? Including all this."

Up front, seated in the driver's seat, Soren barely glanced back.

"I know. But traveling has its own kind of charm. You should try enjoying it once in a while."

Shaun scoffed. "Oh yes, watching mud-covered roads, trees, and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes is an experience worth remembering."

"Come on, the air was fresh, the scenery was nice."

"You're sitting outside. I've been inside this damn thing for six hours. The only thing I'm experiencing is a numb ass. I could've run here faster."

Soren chuckled. "You'll live. Besides, I've had it worse. Now stop whining. Let me park this thing somewhere, and we'll have lunch—Miss Rosie packed something for us."

Shaun raised an eyebrow. "You mean she packed something for me."

"You're really about to fight me over some bread? That's cheap."

Shaun clicked his tongue. "Fuck you, Soren. My ass will share bread with you."

Soren grinned. "I'll take that as a yes. I'll buy some sweets too, dessert's on me."

"Fucking deaf."

The carriage moved deeper into the city, eventually rolling into a quieter district—a middle-class residential area with enough space to park.

Soren pulled the reins. "Lucky for us, found a spot with actual parking space."

Shaun stepped out, stretching slightly. "So, you arranged this whole place for us?"

Soren gave a short nod. Without much care, they tossed their belongings inside and moved straight to lunch.

Shaun took a bite, eyes half-lidded. "When does the action start?"

Soren wiped his hands with a cloth. "Midnight. We're targeting a merchant's warehouse. Before that, we need to find someone first. We have about seven hours. You can roam the town if you want—pretty decent place."

Shaun leaned back. "By 'acquiring,' you mean stealing. And by 'finding,' you mean torturing and killing. Explain."

Soren took a sip of water. "The Vase of Valor. A masterpiece by a famous artist here. It goes up for auction tomorrow. A lot of high-ranking nobles will show up to bid on it. I want it."

Shaun narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Soren's voice remained steady. "I want to study the material. I have a theory about its origin. One story claims the Vase of Valor isn't made of clay but from the shattered souls of fallen warriors. Supposedly, whoever possesses it can summon the spirits of knights to fight for them—but the cost is blood. A new soul must be sacrificed each time the spirits are called."

Shaun raised an eyebrow. "So you believe in ghost stories now?"

Soren's fingers tapped idly against the table. "I don't believe in anything until I see proof. That's reason one. The second reason is simple—I want to shake things up. The auction house owner, the general, the administrator of this city, and the noble circles around them. I'll take what I want, burn the rest, and kill every other noble and participant while I'm at it."

Shaun finished chewing before speaking. "Why?"

Soren leaned back. "Feels like the perfect spot to attack. Enough to make my enemies panic. After this, all eyes will be on this incident while we do what actually matters—finding the guy with the dungeon key, eliminating anyone who could be an obstacle. The empire is already unstable. Four or five more well-placed attacks, and it'll start crumbling. That works in our favor, especially for the upcoming Council Meeting."

Shaun wiped his mouth, his gaze sharpening. "Why do you hate information agents and assassin guilds so much?"

Soren's expression darkened slightly. "I despise them. I'd torture them to death for no reason if given the chance. They're scum."

Shaun exhaled. "As long as this benefits me too, I don't care."

Soren's lips curled into something resembling a smile. "Don't worry, it will. The information and assassin guilds targeting you? Gone. The relatives who put bounties on your head? Gone."

Shaun glanced at him. "They're here too?"

Soren nodded.

Shaun set his utensils down. "Good."

A Boutique & Café for the Elite, Alvarian Empire

The air inside the exclusive boutique café was rich with the scent of imported tea leaves and delicate pastries. Soft music played from an enchanted violin in the corner, and the warm afternoon light streamed through the grand windows, casting elegant shadows over polished marble floors. Here, in this secluded haven, the empire's finest gathered—not just to shop, but to talk.

Near the entrance, a group of boutique staff and maids quietly exchanged hushed whispers while folding silks and arranging displays.

"Nocturne," one of them murmured. "They wiped out the gangs and smugglers in the capital's outskirts… some say they're heroes."

"Heroes?" another scoffed. "Or just another group seizing power under the guise of order?"

The murmur caught the ears of a nearby noble. John, the son of a count, glanced toward the staff before turning back to his companions.

"Nocturne." He rolled the name on his tongue as he placed his teacup down. "A rather poetic name for a group that came out of nowhere and now owns half the underworld."

Across from him, William, heir to one of the most powerful merchant families, took a slow sip of his tea. "Owns, or manages?"

John raised a brow. "Is there a difference?"

"There is," William replied, adjusting the cuffs of his finely tailored coat. "Managing implies control. Owning implies exploitation."

Seated beside them, Robert, heir to the Royal Tower, exhaled, arms crossed. "If Nocturne was nothing but another group of thugs, they wouldn't be this precise. They're too efficient—whoever leads them isn't just after money or land. This is calculated."

James, son of the royal guard, leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Calculated? Maybe. But are they dangerous?" He twirled his spoon between his fingers, eyes gleaming with amusement. "After all, they've only killed criminals so far. Should we be grateful?"

Across the table, Barbara, daughter of a duke, let out a soft, knowing chuckle. "Dangerous isn't the question, James."She lifted her cup gracefully. "The question is: for whom?"

Alice, her close friend—and secretly, the head of the underground information guild—tilted her head. "You're suggesting they have a bigger plan?"

Barbara smiled. "Isn't it obvious? First Count Heron disappears, his entire power structure erased. Then Wells County is leveled overnight. The territory shifts hands, with Countess Redwood and Baron Eldric benefiting the most. And now, Nocturne moves in, establishing themselves as something… other than mere criminals."

Alice hummed, tracing the rim of her glass. "It does seem like too many coincidences at once."

George, the royal prince, had been silent until now, quietly watching his companions exchange theories. He finally spoke, his voice even and composed.

"The empire has always been a game of shifting pieces, but these… these are not natural shifts. This is a hand unseen, moving things in ways we are not yet meant to understand."

John exhaled sharply. "Are you implying an external force?"

George shook his head slightly. "Not necessarily external. But someone—or some group—is orchestrating these events with precision. Too much is happening in too little time. The fall of Count Heron. The destruction of Wells County. The rise of Baron Eldric. The emergence of Nocturne. The empire's stability is being tested."

Robert leaned forward slightly. "And what of the Council Meeting? Do you believe these events are meant to disrupt it?"

George's gaze darkened slightly. "Disrupt? Perhaps. But more likely, manipulate."

Dorothy, the powerful wizard, finally spoke, her voice calm but firm. "Then the real question is… what happens if this continues?"

Barbara sighed, placing her teacup down gently. "It already is continuing. Countess Redwood's influence is growing rapidly, and Baron Eldric's sudden competence is unsettling. Whoever is moving these pieces, they are not doing it recklessly. There is an endgame here."

James smirked, resting his chin on his hand. "Speaking of disruptions… should we discuss the Butcher?"

A shift in the air.

The table quieted. Even the servants nearby seemed to listen more closely.

Cleanet, the youngest among them, swallowed hard. "Izumrud? The Hero of Red?"

James' smirk widened. "Who else?"

Robert's expression darkened slightly. "He's already been seen moving in and out of several regions. If he gets involved in any of this, we won't be dealing with just power struggles."

Alice folded her hands together. "Izumrud does not concern himself with politics. He kills those he deems unworthy and moves on. But his presence alone stirs unrest."

George exhaled. "He is a force of nature. He is not a piece on the board—he is the storm that sweeps the board clean."

Barbara frowned slightly. "And if that storm arrives in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

Dorothy's fingers tapped softly against the table. "Then everything we are discussing now… will no longer matter."

Silence.

Then, James let out a short laugh. "Ah, my dear friends, I do love when a simple tea gathering turns into a discussion of empires collapsing and heroes razing cities. Such lighthearted company you all are."

John rolled his eyes. "This isn't a joke, James."

James grinned. "I know. That's why it's so entertaining."

Barbara sighed, shaking her head. "One thing is certain: the empire is no longer what it was six months ago."

Alice took another sip of tea. "The real question is… what will it become?"

George gazed out the window, his expression unreadable.

No one had an answer.

"There is… another matter," she said softly.

Eyes turned toward her. The younger daughter of a merchant-turned-noble, Cleanet had always been more reserved in these gatherings. But this time, her words held a weight that demanded attention.

Barbara arched an elegant brow. "Something troubling you?"

Cleanet's fingers traced the rim of her teacup as she carefully measured her words. "It is regarding… me."

A small pause.

Then, Alice, ever perceptive, smiled slightly. "Ah, yes. Your… unexpected ascension."

John leaned forward slightly, adjusting his cuff. "Right. You've acquired the noble title. A rather unusual transaction, wouldn't you say?"

The afternoon light cast long shadows across the boutique's polished floors, adding to the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"It truly is something," Barbara murmured, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "A merchant's daughter stepping into nobility… a rare occurrence, indeed."

"Not just rare," Robert added, his voice measured. "Unheard of."

James leaned back, smirking. "Oh, come now. Are we really surprised? Everything is for sale these days—lands, titles, allegiances. If you have enough coin, the world bends to your desires." He glanced at Cleanet, amusement flickering in his gaze. "It's just a matter of whether you can hold onto it once you have it."

Cleanet remained silent, her grip tightening around the edge of her cup.

Alice, however, was the first to cut through the idle remarks.

"What I find surprising isn't just the fact that she bought the title…" she began, her voice smooth as silk. "It's the fact that the title in question belonged to a nobody."

A pause.

"A boy."

The words hung in the air.

John raised an eyebrow. "A boy who, until recently, held noble status."

Alice exhaled softly, tapping her nails against the table. "Shaun Deltrix." She let the name settle before continuing. "You all do realize, don't you? That title was not simply acquired through the usual means—it was a gift from the Crown."

There was a shift at the table.

George, the prince, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. His voice was low, but his displeasure was evident.

"And that boy sold it as if it were a common commodity."

Barbara's lips curled slightly in distaste. "How utterly disgraceful. A title granted by imperial decree carries weight. It is a symbol of trust, of responsibility… and yet, he discarded it."

"Like a used garment," Dorothy added with a sigh.

Robert, ever the cold analyst, rested his chin on his hand. "One does wonder what kind of person does that so easily. Either he is foolish beyond reason… or he never valued nobility in the first place."

"Which is even more disgraceful," George remarked, his tone sharp. "The Crown does not gift noble status to just anyone. It is an honor."

Alice smiled slightly, watching the reactions unfold. "And yet, here we are. His title belongs to Cleanet now. So I must ask…" She tilted her head at Cleanet. "What exactly did Baron Eldric tell you when he arranged this?"

All eyes returned to her.

Cleanet straightened, feeling the weight of their gazes. "That it would serve to strengthen my family's position. That with nobility, I could solidify my future."

James chuckled softly. "How diplomatic. And did he mention anything about the boy who gave it up?"

Cleanet hesitated.

"He said it was offered."

Robert exhaled sharply. "Offered. As in, he gave it away willingly?"

Cleanet nodded slowly.

A brief silence.

George's expression darkened. "The very notion disgusts me."

Barbara, always one to mask her emotions, took a sip of her tea before speaking. "It is a pity. To be granted nobility is a privilege beyond measure. It is a reflection of one's service, of one's worth to the empire." She set her cup down gently. "To discard it so carelessly…"

"It is a slap to the Crown itself," George finished.

Alice's gaze lingered on Cleanet, amusement still glinting in her eyes. "And now, you bear that weight. I wonder, Cleanet… do you feel honored? Or burdened?"

Cleanet hesitated again before replying, her voice quiet. "I suppose… a little of both."