Caracara's Hunt 101 Crystal Clear

"Not your business," Sylvester snapped at him without even turning around.

The moment they got close to their room, he waved over a servant and asked for a bath to be prepared. He washed himself and then his two 'bodyguards' do the same. After Arawn washed himself again, he went out to see clothes laid out on Sylvester's bed.

"Get dressed, and hope it fits you, or you'll be left behind," Sylvester said.

He was already wearing a white s.h.i.+rt along with dark blue pants and a jacket. All his b.u.t.tons were golden and engraved with a small snake eating its own tail. There was a thin golden chain hanging from a pocket of his jacket, and it held a pink gla.s.s bubble.

His hair was glossed back, giving him a very serious appearance. That coupled with his black-rimmed gla.s.ses and a scowl on his face ensured that no one would dare to approach him. Even Arawn felt like he should not bother this stern and bad-tempered n.o.ble.

Quickly, Arawn turned around and dressed in the clothes laid out for him. They weren't exceptionally well-made, but their material was good, and he felt right at home wearing them.

Unlike Sylvester though, he wasn't dressed in blue. His color scheme was black with more black: black pants, black s.h.i.+rt, black coat, and two obsidian chains hanging from his shoulder pockets. He bound up his long hair, which he had yet to cut, in a ponytail, but their ash color was even more striking with his get up.

Mutallu dressed up in a similar manner, but he achieved a different image. His dark skin made him almost disappear within the clothes. There seemed to be a shadow standing next to Arawn rather than a real person.

"When we go out, you're not to leave my side. Always walk a step behind me, but no more. Don't talk. You're bodyguards, not friends. When I sit down, you stand behind me. If you get engaged in conversation, reply and be respectful, but do not share anything," Sylvester ordered when they were finished.

"You were caravan guards who got attacked and left for dead. I saved your lives when pa.s.sing through, for which you chose to dedicate your lives to protect me. Can you remember that? Or do I need to dumb it down even more for your delicate minds?"

Mutallu moved his collection of daggers and poisons into his clothes without a word. He didn't even raise his head to acknowledge that he had heard the instructions.

Arawn just nodded, not feeling like saying anything either. He didn't want to be mocked just because Sylvester was in a bad mood for reasons he didn't share.

It wasn't long before a maid came over to invite them to go downstairs. Sylvester told her he could find his own way to the dining hall and waved for his two bodyguards to flank him.

The task seemed simple, but Arawn wasn't looking forward to it. He went behind Sylvester with a resigned expression, mentally preparing himself for a long and dreary night. He hadn't been to any n.o.ble gatherings himself, but he had listened to them happening when he was a child.

At first, he had been excited to hear so many people in the castle, but soon, he realized it wasn't a good sign. There was too much noise, and all he could hear were boring tidbits of information about lord X or lady Y that had been said a thousand times before. Everyone repeated the same things while acting like they possessed some valuable news.

"Keep your expression neutral," Sylvester ordered. "Can't you show at least some professionalism?"

His constant sharp remarks were starting to worm their way under Arawn's skin, but he held back his tongue, not saying anything. They were almost at the staircase to the buzzing dining hall, and it wasn't the best place to have an argument.

Sylvester stopped at the top of the stairs, waiting in the dark of the upper floor. There was light, music, and cheer below. Gla.s.ses clinked against each other, ladies chuckled daintily, and a man chortled from someone's joke. A pair of kids were playing tag among the many guests while a red-faced governess ran after them and kept apologizing to everyone.

The majordomo leaned into the lord's ear at that moment, and the old man glanced up the stairs. He extricated himself from his group of friends and raised his hand with a gla.s.s in it. Not everyone noticed it, so the majordomo rang a small bell.

Its sound instantly silenced the crowd. Everyone turned to the lord with expectant gazes. They were excited to learn why they had all been called over all of a sudden.

"My friends!" the lord began. "And enemies," he added with a grin in one corner of the room. A man in a green suit inclined his head at him. "I have great news to share with you on this fine evening. My greatest benefactor has chosen to come and reside in my home.

"Please welcome, Doctor Otshoa! While still being an apprentice doctor, he saved my daughter's life when all others had given up on her. I owe him my everything, so this feast is in his name. Doctor, please!"

At his words, the torches all along the stairs flamed to life. Sylvester took his first step down, and Arawn and Mutallu followed. But they were invisible to anyone of importance. Everyone's eyes were on the doctor whom Lord Bernard owed so much.

Some people showed curiosity, but most had calculative looks. They seemed to already be hatching plans how to use this new information to their advantage. Sylvester didn't even have to say a single word to be included in a hundred machinations.

Once he reached the large and well-lit gathering area, he was surrounded by the n.o.bles. It became a challenge for Arawn to try and stay next to him. He was being constantly pushed away.

For a time, Arawn suffered the constant jostling and pus.h.i.+ng, but when he heard someone chuckling at him from behind, his patience snapped. Sylvester had mocked him the whole day, and now even random n.o.bles were doing the same?

He grabbed the n.o.ble dressed in brown next to him and manhandled him away. The man let out a startled yelp, but Arawn ignored him. He then pulled a lady about to drape herself over Sylvester's back by her arm and dragged her away.

She screamed at him like he had slit her throat, and it attracted everyone's attention. With the whole crowd of some forty people watching him, Arawn schooled his expression into one of cold detachment. He stood behind Sylvester without offering any sort of explanation or even showing that he found anything out of the ordinary.

"You were saying?" Sylvester said while turning back to face the middle-aged n.o.bleman he was speaking to before the loud scream had interrupted him.

"I— Yes, right. I was saying—"

The woman who had been pushed away couldn't believe that she was being ignored. With flaming cheeks, she pointed at Arawn. "Are you just going to pretend that nothing happened? He hurt me!" She cradled her arm where Arawn had held her without any gentleness. "I need healing! Doctor, please."

One of the other women in the gathering took a step forward to calm her down. "Lady Jay, please—"

"Don't Lady Jay me! That ruffian hurt me! I need his head! How dare he touch me!"

The more she talked, the more convinced of herself she became. She was dressed in a floor-length dress the color of the sun, and it seemed to give her a sense of security and pride. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Arawn.

"Animals like that need to be put down. Husband, kill him for me!"

Her words didn't shock the crowd, as Arawn had expected. A few people shook their heads while the others looked away with a sigh. They seemed to have seen this sight more than once before.

"Proceed if you want your husband dead," Sylvester said in a deadpan voice when the woman's gaze turned to him. He then looked away and returned to his conversation with the middle-aged n.o.ble who was totally stunned by then.

"Lady Jay's family is one of the oldest in the region. They're the biggest supplier of foodstuff to the capital," he whispered, but everyone around could hear it, the lady included.

She puffed up even more and smirked at Arawn. "You're dead, country boy."

Sylvester turned to her then, but there was no apology or regret in his expression. He smiled. "The reason I have bodyguards is to keep s...o...b..ring pigs away from me." He then turned to Arawn. "You're free to dispose of anyone that attacks you. No questions asked."

Arawn nodded. He wasn't planning to kill, but the threat of it should keep anyone from bothering him again. It was a swift way to ensure he could have a peaceful, if boring, evening.

The command, however, did not go well with the lady. Her face turned purple with rage, and she pulled her husband over. He was younger, just in his early twenties, and indignation was burning in his eyes.

Without waiting for his wife to give him directions, he called to the ether and the flames. They rushed at Sylvester from all the torches like a sudden hurricane, scorching the heads of many n.o.bles. They shrieked in displeasure, pointing fingers at him.

Before the flames could reach Sylvester though, the husband staggered back. He blinked a few times, unable to understand what had happened, then everyone saw a light s.h.i.+ne off something in his chest. It was the hilt of a dagger.

No one had seen where it came from, but Arawn recognized Mutallu's handiwork. Throwing knives seemed to be his hobby. To Arawn's surprise though, the n.o.ble was still alive. He slumped on one knee, unable to keep himself standing, but he was still breathing. The dagger hadn't struck his heart or any other vital area.

At that moment, Lord Bernard finally pushed his way through the crowd. He grimaced upon seeing the results of their confrontation, then promptly went to Sylvester's side. "Were you injured?"

When the doctor shook his head, the lord let out a long breath and turned on the Jays. "You absolute morons. Could you pay the price for hurting a hair on his head?"

The woman stared at him in stunned silence. She couldn't decide what was more important at that moment: to raise a storm for being called names by another n.o.ble or to check up on her husband.

"I forgot to mention it before, but Doctor Otshoa is more than just my greatest benefactor. He's also the wearer of the t.i.tle of the Royal Physician."

In the silence that suddenly reigned in the room after Lord Bernard's proclamation, Sylvester pulled out another gla.s.s ball from his pocket. It was crystal clear, without any color within it.

Only the king and his most trusted could wear a true crystal ball while the royal family wore clear b.a.l.l.s with a tinge of color in the middle representing their position and role. For outsiders to receive a crystal clear ball was an almost unheard of kind of honor.

And Sylvester had one despite being Bretian.