The jester's eyes flicked toward the approaching clamor outside.
"Oh… things are getting complicated," he muttered.
He turned to the Captain and Titus.
"Follow me. Quickly."
Before they could ask, he gestured to the young messenger.
"You've done your part. Get out of here before the soldiers arrive. Go!"
The boy nodded and disappeared into the shadows, leaving only the faint echo of his footsteps.
The jester led the two captains to a worn carpet lying against the far wall of the hideout.
With a swift tug, he lifted it, revealing a small, almost invisible gate embedded in the floor.
"Through here," he whispered, pushing the tiny door open.
Inside, a narrow tunnel yawned before them, dimly lit by a single flickering lantern.
The air was cool and damp, carrying the faint scent of earth and stone.
Step by careful step, they moved through the twisting passage. The sounds of the market and the distant soldiers faded behind them, replaced by the soft echo of their own movement.
Finally, the tunnel opened on the far side of the market.
Lanterns swayed gently above, and the usual bustle of merchants and late-night shoppers filled the air once more.
The jester allowed himself a small, triumphant smile.
"Safe… for now."
The Captain's gaze narrowed.
"How did they find out about us? Wasn't this meeting supposed to be secret?"
The jester shook his head.
"Captain, this is normal for our line of work. We live as spies; we have to change locations constantly. But today… it was sudden. Even I didn't know."
Titus frowned.
"So… this means—"
The jester cut him off sharply.
"Yes. There's a high chance one of my men betrayed us."
The three exchanged tense glances, the weight of the revelation pressing down on them as the market buzzed quietly beyond the hidden tunnel.
The jester glanced at them.
"Don't let this disturb us. Our mission must continue. Except for me, no one knows your true objective. All they knew was I was meeting someone tonight."
The Captain and Titus nodded.
Blending into the crowd, the Captain and Titus moved with practiced ease, cloaks drawn close, while the jester led the way, bells jingling faintly.
Among the noise and passing people, they vanished almost entirely, continuing their mission with quiet purpose.
A few days had passed.
The Captain sat alone in a small, stone-walled room.
A single bed rested against one wall, a simple wooden chair and table beside it.
On the table were neatly arranged supplies — a loaf of bread, a small wheel of cheese, and a jug of water.
The faint flicker of a lantern cast shadows on the rough-hewn stone, giving the room a quiet, almost austere medieval charm.
Before him lay a worn map, spread across the table, his fingers tracing lines and markings as if plotting a strategy.
The silence was deliberate, the kind that demanded focus.
The door creaked open, and Titus stepped inside.
"I'm back."
The Captain didn't look up immediately.
"And? Any news from Wustania? Or is it just rumors and false alarms?"
Titus shook his head, a faint frown crossing his face.
"Nothing concrete yet. But the chances of war… they're slim. At least for now."
The Captain's gaze lingered on the map, lips pressing into a thin line.
"Good. But we stay vigilant. Even a small spark can set the world ablaze."
The Captain leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing at the map.
"Titus… I think I've found something about that organization. It seems they're making moves in Quil City."
Titus raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know?"
The Captain's expression remained calm, but his voice carried quiet intensity.
"I can feel it. Every attack they've planned shares one pattern — they strike not just to achieve an objective, but to show their power. To make people fear them. They want terror to spread through the city, to prove that no one can stand against them."
Titus frowned, glancing at the map.
"But… why Quil City?"
The Captain tapped a spot on the map, his gaze steady.
"Because there's going to be a festival there — one of the biggest in the Wustania Empire. If they're planning something, this is where they'll strike. The chaos will give them the most impact."
Titus nodded slowly.
"You might be right. It's not like we have anything else pressing at the moment… we might as well give it a chance."
The Jester stepped into the room, grinning.
"I think I found something, Captain…" He paused a second, then in a teasing tone added,
"Oh, you are also here, Captain Titus. How have been your mission, huh, Titus?"
Titus rolled his eyes, a small smirk appearing.
"Not too much… and don't you think you're getting a little too frank with me?"
Captain remained silent, observing quietly.
Jester laughed softly.
"I am just a Joker, so why not let this slide, Captain Titus?"
Captain finally interjected.
"What have you found, Jester?"
Jester's grin widened.
"Oh yes! I almost forgot. I think I'm seeing some unusual movements in Quil City. But I don't know much detail but Mosin will tell us the details."
Mosin stepped into the room. A thin, wiry man in his twenties, with short black hair and a pale face, he looked weak for combat, but his sharp eyes showed a keen mind.
Jester waved toward him.
"He's the most trusted person I know. We've worked together for the past 6 years — you can trust him."
Mosin bowed slightly.
"Greetings, Captains. The activity in Quil City is unusual… I've noticed some subtle signs that something significant might be in motion."
The Captain leaned over the map, eyes narrowing.
"Now it's confirmed. We'll go to Quil City ourselves and see what's really happening."
Titus nodded, his expression serious.
"It's about time we take a closer look. We can't leave this to chance."
Jester clapped his hands together, grinning.
"Finally! Some action! I was beginning to think you two were enjoying a quiet life."
The Captain's jaw tightened.
"I expect everyone to be ready. Every detail must be planned. This isn't just reconnaissance — it could be the first sign of something much bigger."
After two days of travel, they arrived at Quil City.
The city sprawled along the riverbanks, its walls rising tall and proud, dotted with watchtowers and fluttering banners.
Streets of stone and cobblestone were lined with stalls selling everything from handcrafted trinkets to exotic spices.
The air was filled with the aroma of roasted meats, sweet pastries, and burning incense.
Colorful lanterns hung from rooftops and beams, casting a warm glow over the festival, while music, laughter, and the rhythmic beat of drums echoed through the squares.
The Captain, Titus, the Jester, and Mosin moved cautiously through the crowd, eyes sharp despite the festive chaos.
Guards in polished armor patrolled in pairs, archers watched from the walls, and checkpoints blocked major intersections.
It was clear the empire itself was on high alert, as if expecting trouble during the festival.
The Captain narrowed his eyes, surveying the city.
"Every corner, every guard… they're prepared. This isn't normal for a festival. They expect trouble."
Titus glanced at him.
"Then we should also stay carefull."
Jester's bells jingled softly as he moved through the crowd, grinning.
"Ah, I do love a good festival… but let's see if anyone dares to spoil the fun."
Mosin stayed close, scanning rooftops and alleyways with a careful, calculating gaze.
Though thin and unassuming, his eyes missed nothing — a necessary skill in a city as alive and crowded as Quil City.
Suddenly, amid the music and laughter, a deafening explosion tore through the center of the city.
Smoke and fire erupted from the main plaza, sending merchants and festival-goers scattering in every direction.
Lanterns fell, stalls collapsed, and the air filled with the acrid stench of smoke and burning wood.
Screams echoed down the streets as people ran blindly, trying to escape the chaos.
Horses bolted from their pens, and the vibrant decorations of the festival were reduced to fluttering ash and shattered wood.
The Captain's eyes narrowed, instantly scanning the crowd and rooftops.
Titus was already moving toward the source of the blast, pushing past panicked citizens.
The Jester's bells jingled faintly as he leaped onto a nearby crate, surveying the scene with sharp eyes, while Mosin ducked behind a cart, taking in every movement.
"It's a calculated strike," the Captain muttered, voice low.
"Precision, timing… someone wanted maximum panic."
Titus glanced at him.
"Do you think it's that organization?"
The Captain shook his head slowly.
"Too early to tell. It could be them… or another group trying to take advantage of the festival. We need to assess the situation before making assumptions."
The city was in chaos, but amidst the smoke and shouting, four figures moved with purpose — calm, focused, and ready to uncover the truth behind the explosion.
Before anyone could process the blast, more chaos erupted.
From the narrow alleys and rooftops, enemy forces poured into the city, clashing with the guards in a violent storm of steel.
Shouts, screams, and the clang of weapons filled the streets, turning the festival into a battlefield in an instant.
The Captain's gaze sharpened.
"Jester, take Mosin and get him to safety. Now."
The Jester nodded, grabbing Mosin by the arm.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure he stays out of harm's way."
Titus adjusted his stance, eyes scanning the chaos.
"And the attackers?"
"They're organized," the Captain replied, his voice calm but deadly.
"Someone is orchestrating this. We need to find the source — fast."
Without another word, the Captain and Titus pushed through the panicked crowd, weaving between fallen stalls and fleeing citizens.
Flames and smoke rose from the wooden buildings as festival banners whipped in the wind, a stark contrast to the chaos below.
As they reached the center of the city, a wave of shock hit them. The plaza, once bustling with festival cheer, was now fully under enemy control.
Citizens were trapped, encircled by armed soldiers, their hands bound with thick ropes. Panic and fear rippled through the crowd.
Amid the chaos, a tall, lean man stepped forward.
His black hair fell in sharp strands across his face, and a long sword rested in his left hand, glinting in the flickering torchlight.
His armor was sleek, dark, and imposing, adorned with subtle crimson markings that hinted at authority and cruelty.
"I am Platius," he said, his voice cold and commanding.
"Captain of the organization you have heard of—the same one that attacked the capital of Taroon Empire and left it in ruins. And from now on, our organization will be known as … the Black Lotus."
The Captain's eyes narrowed, a chill running down his spine.
"So… it is really them." He glanced at Titus and the others, a thought forming in his mind.
"Could Yoki… also be here?"