The death in the auction hall did not fade with the dawn.
Farbarus City had always been noisy in the morning with many vendors that were shouting the prices, the carriage wheels that were grinding over the stone, and several apprentices who were rushing with the unfinished errands. But that day, something lingered beneath the routine.
The conversations lowered when certain words were spoken. Many eyes shifted and the doors closed a little faster.
One man was dead and one boy was hospitalized. For most citizens, it was unfortunate but ordinary.
People died every day in a city that thrived on the trade, ambition, and the quiet rivalries. Yet, this was not a street brawl or a drunken dispute.
It had happened inside an auction hall that was guarded by the nobles with layered enchantments. It had happened under the crystal chandeliers and noble crests. Moreover, it had happened in front of Claire and Teres.
The guests who had attended the auction spoke of it in fragments. It was a curse from the clown. A man who laughed while someone's life was drained away like the spilled ink. The description of him always changed whenever someone was questioned.
Some said the air froze, some claimed they heard the bells, and the others insisted they felt nothing at all. It was just a pressure like the invisible fingers that were brushing across their throats.
Some swore the chandeliers dimmed for a heartbeat before the first victim collapsed. The others insisted that the lights had never flickered and that the darkness that they remembered came from within their own eyes.
A noblewoman claimed that she saw several faint threads that were stretching from the clown's fingers. It was thin as spider silk and it was shimmering red beneath the crystal glow. Yet, when she was questioned again later, she denied ever saying such a thing.
The staffs wanted to examine the corpse but they found there was no one. Even their parts of the body was nowhere. It was just like the bald man was erased from the world. That detail spread quietly among the city's more educated circles.
A spell that left no residue was not merely advanced. It was deliberate and vile, leaving no clue to the one who was doing the investigation.
What was more unsettling was that several guests admitted they could not remember the clown's face clearly. They remembered the grin and they remembered the painted smile.
But when asked to describe his eyes and his height, even the tone of his voice, their answers conflicted sharply.
It was as if their memory had been smudged and that frightened them far more than the death itself.
The rumor multiplied faster than the truth but what truly unsettled Farbarus City was not the death. It was the reaction of the nobles.
Claire and Teres had submitted an emergency petition to the city council together.
For many generations, their families had disagreed on the trade routes, the magical tariffs, and even the color of the ceremonial banners. They competed in everything.
They undercut each other's influence in subtle and sophisticated ways. Yet this time, they stood on the same side.
The council chamber, usually filled with elegant disagreements, had fallen into an unfamiliar silence when both emblems were presented simultaneously. The implication was clear without being spoken aloud since they could not handle it alone.
Claire and Teres were not the apprentices. They were the established wizards with much reputations that were polished by years of political maneuvering and magical discipline.
If even they had been forced into such helpless observation while a curse claimed a life, then the enemy was not trivial.
The vile name had already spread which was Joker. He had sown a curse in front of them. He had pointed and chosen someone as his victim.
When the death came, neither Claire nor Teres had been able to sever its curse.
The council deliberated for less than an hour before the decision came to the front.
*****
By noon, the orders were issued that Joker would be hunted across the kingdom.
Several cities had search warrants, magical trackers, and the discreet inquiries through several noble networks. Even the royal intelligence would be alerted though the announcement would remain controlled.
After all, the panic was bad for the commerce.
Still, the unity between Claire and Teres was a message that was more powerful than any official proclamation. There was an enemy and it was unknown.
While Farbarus City trembled beneath the whispered speculation, Baston lay sprawled across the softest bed that he had ever encountered in his life.
The best inn in the city did not simply offer such comfort. It redefined it into something else.
The sheets were woven from imported silk, light enough to cool the skin yet heavy enough to embrace it. The pillow swallowed his head as though it was reluctant to let him leave.
The sunlight filtered through the embroidered curtains, casting a golden haze across the polished furniture.
From the wide window, he could see the layered rooftops of Farbarus City that was stretching toward the distant river. The smoke rose lazily from the chimneys and life continued for many people.
He yawned, thinking if the city was gripped by fear, it had not reached this room. Suddenly, there was a respectful knock to the door.
"Sir Baston, your breakfast is here…" the butler announced from beyond the door.
"Come in and put it at the table beside me…" Baston replied.
The door opened without a sound. The butler entered first. His posture was straight and his gloves were immaculate.
Two maids followed, carrying the trays with such synchronized precision. Their uniforms were pristine and their movements were excellent. They arranged the dishes as though they were preparing an offering.
By the time they stepped back, the table resembled a banquet.
The soup steamed gently from a porcelain bowl. The porridge glistened with honey and nuts. The platters of sliced fruit displayed such tempting colors. There was more than he could name but unable to finish.
For a moment, he wondered if the kitchen had misunderstood and prepared the breakfast for an entire noble family.
"If you require anything else, young master, please just ring the bell..."
The door closed and he stared at the table. He had never seen so much food that was presented for a single meal.
He did not know that among the nobles, such abundance was the point. After all, the variety was an expression of the status so the leftovers were already expected.
Meanwhile, he simply saw the food and he ate it patiently, thoroughly, and determined not to dishonor the effort.
The soup was finished first, then the porridge before the bread. He alternated between the sweet and savory, convincing himself it was to balance the flavors though in truth, he just did not want anything untouched.
By the time the fruit platter was empty, the sunlight had shifted. He leaned back with difficulty since his stomach had stretched to its limit.
An hour later, when the butler returned with the maids to collect what they assumed would be half-finished plates, they froze. Everything was gone and not even a crumb remained. The butler blinked once before he came back into sense.
"Thank you for the food. It's delicious…" Baston said sincerely, pressing a small pouch of the coins into the man's hand, "Divide it among yourselves."
The maids' eyes widened and the butler's composure nearly cracked.
"Thank you very much, young master!" he beamed with smile, "If you have any request…"
"I won't take lunch today," Baston interrupted gently, "I have somewhere to go…"
"Yes, young master. Then the dinner will be prepared accordingly."
When they left, he exhaled heavily and pressed a hand to his abdomen. He had survived a curse but this breakfast might defeat him.
An hour later, after his body reluctantly forgave him, he left the inn and headed toward Rembrant's store.
The streets looked ordinary but he noticed some small changes. The guards lingered at the intersections where none had stood there before. Two cloaked figures observed the district from a balcony and people glanced at the strangers longer than usual.
The fear surprisingly was spreading faster than he thought.
However, Rembrant's store operated as if it was determined to resist the panic. The customers browsed the shelves, the attendants negotiated the prices, and the money clinked in its rhythm.
There was no visible damage and no doors were closed. The business went on as usual like another day.
If not for the yesterday's memory, one might believe nothing had happened. Rembrant and Panto were not on the main floor. He considered leaving until Panto burst from a side corridor.
"Baston! Where are you going?"
The merchant boy hurried forward and his face was bright with relief.
"I just came to check your condition," Baston replied calmly, "Since you're fine, I can leave without worry."
Before he could step away, Panto embraced him and Baston stiffened. It was sudden, intense, and grateful. Fortunately, the store was busy enough that no one paid attention.
"My father wants to meet you," Panto said, pulling back, "Do you have a time?"
"Well… Alright…"
The path to the office bypassed the storage rooms and looking inside, the documents stacked like few fortifications.
When they entered, Rembrant rose from behind his desk immediately and hugged him. Baston's expression froze for a fraction of a second. Apparently, this family communicated such gratitude through the physical assault.
"Ha… ha… ha… Young master Baston," Rembrant laughed warmly, stepping back, "I dared not disturb your rest at the inn."
"It's fine…" Baston replied, "Are you alright?"
Rembrant's smile dimmed slightly, "I am alive and that is already a fortune."
His hands trembled faintly before he clasped them behind his back, "When the first man died, I felt it in my bones. It was cold and lonely. And when the clown pointed at me, I thought it was over."
Baston observed him carefully. The fear that lingered was more powerful than the fear that screamed.
"It's good you're safe," he said gently, "Even though the ice bead…"
"It doesn't matter…" Rembrant waved a hand firmly, "Money can be earned again but life cannot. As for the down payment I gave you, just keep it since you have risked yourself. If I asked for it back, my colleagues would laugh at my ingratitude."
Baston smiled since his calculations aligned toward his sacrifice. Eventually, such action had been essential that the ice bead's theft had to feel more secondary.
If Rembrant believed that Baston had genuinely placed himself in danger, then the lost bead would never become a point of resentment. In this case, the performance mattered.
"What happened after I fell unconscious?" he asked casually.
Rembrant leaned forward, "You collapsed without visible wound. We rushed you to a healer but he found nothing wrong. There was no curse residue and no magical backlash. It was as if your body simply just shut down."
He nodded thoughtfully. Of course, there had been no wound since he had controlled the scene precisely. The illusion of being struck by an untraceable curse strengthened Joker's image.
If even the magic could not detect it, then the fear would do the rest.
Rembrant continued, "Many guests quickly fled. Herbiens and Versance escorted many people safely outside. Some of them left the city entirely since they feared that Joker might return."
Panto stepped in, "The two VIP nobles dispatched several investigators. They're also sending personnel here and the city will grow crowded soon."
That detail settled heavily between them. Toward such investigators, it wouldn't end well with him.
They would begin with the witnesses and Baston would surely become one. He lowered his gaze slightly as though he was troubled. Inside, he measured the possibilities.
If he was questioned, what would he say?
Could he say that he remembered nothing?
Could he say a curse touched him but spared his life?
The safest lie was often the one that was wrapped in partial truth.
After a longer discussion about the academy schedules and the return dates, he urged Panto to go back sooner rather than later.
The merchant boy hesitated, glancing toward his father. He was worried not only about the business but about something deeper. The word surfaced unbidden in his thoughts which was the cult.
It had been Baston who mentioned it first several weeks ago.
A shadowy group was targeting him and it was a threat without the face. Panto hardly could dismiss it since the fear had exaggerated much. Now, a clown had appeared with his curse strike, resulting an ice bead to disappear.
The coincidences have a limit. Slowly, he began to build his own narrative.
What if the auction had not been accidental?
What if Baston placed the ice bead deliberately, knowing it would attract the attention?
What if Joker was not randomly there but baited?
What if Baston was hunting something far bigger?
He glanced at the fat boy who was standing calmly before them. Baston always appeared harmless but he survived what the others could not. He swallowed his questions since he believed Baston had an agenda. He just did not know what it was.
Farbarus City tightened its defenses and the investigators would arrive within few days. The merchants whispered and the nobles strategized. The council had drafted some contingency measures toward the incident.
Somewhere beyond the city walls, the name Joker was already being etched into the reports. And in the quiet office of Rembrant's store, the misunderstanding bloomed silently.
Baston only wanted to survive yet his survival, when executed too well, resembled an excellent design.
The cult might not be watching, but now, people were. And the suspicion, once awakened, rarely slept again.