Pretty

Late at night, the tavern was busy. Smoke lingered in the air. The smell of tobacco, alcohol, and body odor mixed together and rose up. Under the pinkish light, the mandolin player tiredly sang an overplayed song. Everything was just as before. It was an average night in the Sacred City.

For these poor men with nothing in their pockets, there was nothing different tonight. Not even a week after order was reinstated, the blood shed by the pope had been forgotten in a corner.

The big figures were fighting each other, making the situation tense and strange. But to the people here, it was just a faraway tale.

Only the evil plans that had been ruined or tricks that had succeeded would become a legend and spread by itself.