Dirty Rotten Magic

The three of us dungeon adventurers entered the common room of the inn where we were staying, our boots echoing on the flagstone floor as we stepped into the warm glow of lantern light. The rich aroma of spiced ale and the faint scent of burning tallow from the hearth mingled in the air. We were laughing about some of the more bizarre creatures that I had killed that night in the dungeon, our voices rising in a merry clamor that resonated off the wooden beams overhead. Sharro, her eyes glinting with mischief and determination, was still pressuring Xaset to give her a third of the cut of what we'd made from the dungeon, her tone edged with playful insistence, while he just kept smiling as if it was never going to happen—a smile that hinted at secrets and the thrill of adventure.

Maybe I should give her part of my cut if she needs it, I thought, my mind wandering amid the hearty laughter and the clink of tankards as other patrons conversed in low, rhythmic murmurings. Xaset's plan for the following morning was to return to the dungeon again with me, but this time we would aim for a higher level of monsters. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he outlined the strategy, explaining that this would speed up the rate at which I increased my magical skill. "The harder it gets, the greater your increase in skill," he declared, his words punctuated by the crackle of the fireplace and the distant clamor of the inn's more reserved guests.

Sharro had other plans, though, as she wanted to take me shopping for some clothes. Her tone, light but insistent, revealed that she had again expressed her opinion about my clothing selection several times on the short journey back from the dungeon. There was an unmistakable image in her mind of how I should look on stage—a vision of flamboyant elegance and daring style that contrasted sharply with my current, haphazard garb. This definitely required more wardrobe than I currently had. For me, the trip to the dungeon, with its promises of danger and dark enchantment, sounded far better than clothes shopping amid the bustling streets.

I spotted Eigosh talking to the stocky innkeeper behind the bar, their conversation a low, animated exchange punctuated by hearty laughter and the clatter of mugs. Eigosh, his face flushed with excitement, held a frothy tankard of beer in his hand and was taking deep, satisfying gulps from it, the sound of sloshing liquid adding to the symphony of the room. The wood-paneled common room was still busy, the rich timber exuding a rustic charm, while the patrons—mostly tradesmen and women who had settled in for a quiet evening after dinner—lent a calm, steady hum to the ambiance. In the corner, under the soft glow of a single lantern, I noticed a few gambling tables that were curiously empty. That was a bit disappointing, as I had hoped to make some money that night amid the clatter of dice and whispered bets.

When Eigosh had finished talking to the innkeeper, he came over to us with a smile on his face, looking like the cat who'd got the cream. "We're leaving early tomorrow morning," he announced, his voice buoyant and confident as the murmur of conversation swirled around us.

Sharro looked annoyed, her brows knitting together as she retorted, "Why is that o great leader?" Her words carried a note of sarcasm that danced through the smoky air, mingling with the faint scent of cedar and the lingering aroma of spiced meats. This snarky comment did not seem to perturb him at all as he was still grinning, his eyes twinkling beneath the lamplight. "We've got an invite to perform at the local earl's castle. It's only about half a day's travel from Crestville, even traveling slowly if we start early. So we're going to set out early tomorrow and perform in the evening. This will be great for the coffers as you know that nobles always tip well, mostly in silver—not the copper that the common people give us." His words carried the promise of adventure and fortune, echoing lightly against the low murmur of the inn's nightly routine.

Sharro's face then shifted to one of slight trepidation, as if this news stirred memories of past humiliations. "Damnit, I hate performing for those self-entitled nobles. They're so grabby with me; it's like fighting off a load of octopuses with all those arms reaching for me. Sometimes the money is just not worth all the hassle." The vivid analogy hung in the air alongside the scent of old leather and the fading notes of a lute played earlier in the evening.

Eigosh's smile became strained as if somebody was about to take something of value from him, the brightness in his eyes momentarily dimming with worry. "But the money's so good that this is not an opportunity that we can pass on. I know that you can take care of yourself. Just behave and be nice as I don't want to get into trouble for you injuring a noble." His tone mixed encouragement with a subtle plea, the low hum of distant conversation underscoring his sincerity.

Sharro grunted in response, a sound that blended with the creak of the wooden floorboards. "It's not you who has to fend off the over-familiar nobles, is it? I'd better get paid well for this trip! You men had better do your part in helping us women as well." With that, she spun on her heel and left us, her departure marked by the soft swish of her cloak and a hint of defiance in the cool night air. Meanwhile, Eigosh drifted back to his conversation with the innkeeper, his voice mingling with the low clatter of dishes and murmured greetings. I saw that she went up to Tuallez, who was sitting in a shadowed nook sharpening her knives. The metallic scent of whetted steel mingled with the earthy aroma of burning logs as the pair started talking darkly, their voices hushed but heavy with intent. I wondered if the glinting blades would help persuade the nobles that these two women were not worth the hassle. If not, I guessed that some 'grabby' hands might get a deep cut, the possibility adding a slight tension to the otherwise relaxed atmosphere.

I turned toward Xaset with a question that cut through the ambient hum. "Do you think the earl will have a library of magical books?" My voice carried a mix of curiosity and anticipation as the warmth of the room contrasted with the chill of the impending night.

"Certainly. Do you want to make some type of nighttime acquisition?" he replied, his tone both playful and conspiratorial, as if the very idea of sneaking through ancient corridors filled with arcane secrets thrilled him to the core.

"Something like that. It seems that I need some more magical spells after my performance in today's battles." I admitted, the thought of expanding my repertoire mingling with the spice-laden air and the echo of distant laughter.

"It should be fun creeping around some nob's castle at night trying not to get killed by the guards," he said, smiling as if he meant it, his eyes reflecting a fierce determination under the low light. I looked at him to see if he was sarcastic, but he looked utterly earnest, his smile unwavering amid the murmur of the inn and the ever-present scent of adventure.

Does this man have no fear? I thought.

--

The troupe's wooden cartwheels creaked in a slow, rhythmic lament as we rumbled along the narrow, winding track through a forest bursting with life. Each groan of the old wood mingled with the fresh, damp scent of pine and earth, punctuating our journey through towering ancient trees. Getting here had required an early rise—well before the sun had fully claimed the sky—which came naturally to these well-traveled performers. In my past life on Earth, I had known countless souls who slumbered until noon, so witnessing such disciplined organization filled me with a quiet admiration.

The troupe moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine, packing up their belongings with practiced efficiency. I couldn't help but wonder if their hurried departures were born of necessity from many past escapades. My thoughts drifted to the mischievous, moonlit adventures I had once shared with Xaset, and I speculated that their swift departures might be a survival instinct honed by a life on the run. Although I had yet to witness the other members of our motley crew engage in criminal exploits, every one of them possessed a distinct skill that hinted at hidden depths and untold stories.

Outside, the forest itself was a vivid tapestry of nature. At the journey's start, the distant lowing of cattle resonated like a soft, mournful hymn against the rustle of small creatures scampering along the gravel-strewn roadside. The track, scattered with tiny, glistening stones, provided a rough but steady path flanked by shallow ditches that whispered of the steady flow of water beneath.

For the last few miles, we had been threading our way past sunlit clearings where fields of wheat and barley danced in the gentle breeze. In the most expansive of these clearings, imposing fortified houses stood resolute on one side, their stone facades hinting at a long history of defense. Among the orderly rows of crops, I observed weathered farmers tending their land, clad in somber dark work clothes and wide-brimmed straw hats that shielded them from the relentless sun. When our vividly dressed troupe passed by, the farmers would momentarily lift their tired eyes to wave, and sometimes, cheerful children would scamper alongside, momentarily transforming the fields into a stage of innocent delight. This part of the realm exuded an air of security, a stark contrast to the untamed wilds that had brought me here.

Kiko, who steered the creaking cart with steady determination, gazed out over the cultivated field and remarked, "The tenant farmers for the Lord. It can be a good life if you have a good Lord." His voice, gruff yet tinged with a wistful sadness, carried over the soft rustling of the crops and the distant clamor of rural industry. With a heavy sigh, he added, "But if the Lord is a cruel man or woman, then life goes downhill pretty quickly. So it's best to leave at that point." I wondered if his sorrowful tone was drawn from bitter personal experience, yet I chose not to press, instead returning my attention to the ancient, leather-bound spellbook resting in my lap. I had learned that allowing people the space to reveal their own stories often yielded the richest insights.

Deep in concentration, I practiced two spells from my modest collection of basic grimoires. One conjured an eerie, localized effect where small, animated twigs emerged from the ground, snaking their way around the legs of any who dared approach—an ingenious tactic to delay a pursuing enemy. The other, a fire spell known as "Burning Touch," promised to unleash leaping flames from my fingertips, a spectacle of burning fury that would incinerate its target with an almost mesmerizing, terrifying beauty. I marveled at the ease with which these incantations had come to me, thanks to my recent mastery of a higher-level fire spell. Hours spent idling in the back of the creaking cart had yielded a near-perfect memorization of these spells, and I eagerly anticipated liberating a few more potent battle incantations from the earl's extensive library.

A quick glance at the skill table—a neatly scrawled ledger of my progress—filled me with a quiet sense of accomplishment. The table chronicled my journey through unarmed combat, blunt weaponry, trading, romantic charm, running, gambling, shield magic, domestic magic, fire magic, and blade weapon use. Each skill listed with its corresponding XP and level was a testament to the arduous nights and perilous dungeons we had endured.

Later, as we neared the earl's estate, my concentration on the spells was interrupted by the rapid clip-clop of horseshoes. The sound grew louder, accompanied by the wild neighing of steeds, until I felt compelled to shift from my secluded nook at the back of the cart to a vantage point beside Kluko. There, along the tree-lined road, I beheld a column of troops galloping in unison—a formidable cavalcade kicking up dense clouds of dust. Each soldier, clad in heavy metal chainmail that glimmered dully in the morning light, bore a dark blue and white tabard. Gripping spears and carrying swords or maces at their sides, these fit, scarred warriors bore a fierce, determined look reminiscent of orcish battle-hardened fighters. Their faces, etched with scars and lines of hardship, spoke volumes of the brutal duty of patrolling the earl's lands.

"They look as tough as nails," I mused silently, absorbing the palpable tension in the air.

Kluko leaned closer and whispered, "The Lord's men. It's best to be respectful around them—they're highly skilled in combat. Even the nobles hold their prowess in high regard. Only a foolish Lord would disrespect the source of his power." His tone carried both admiration and a trace of sorrow, as if he were recalling a personal tale of woe.

Just then, Eigosh, who had been striding ahead on foot along the dusty path, reached the lead rider of the approaching troop. As our cart decelerated to a halt behind him, I watched in quiet awe as he executed a deep, respectful bow to a rider whose steel helmet was adorned with a fan-shaped feather. Eigosh's courteous greeting, "Greetings, Captain. We're an entertainment troupe here to perform for the earl," was met with a measured, discerning look from the captain. His eyes briefly lingered on the two graceful females in our group—a momentary spark of appreciation tempered by his serious, vigilant demeanor. After scrutinizing the ceramic token that Eigosh produced from his inventory—a token bearing the seal of our agent—the captain nodded and said, "All seems to be in order. At the castle, just report to the earl's butler, and he'll organize everything." His gaze, once again returning to the women, softened as he remarked, "I hope that I may see your show tonight if my duties permit." As the token was passed back, the soldiers resumed their march, their heavy footsteps and clanking armor merging with the dust swirling in the morning light.

Kluko remarked with a wry smile, "That was easy. They must have been expecting us—entering a Lord's land in large numbers is usually much harder." The cart lurched forward as we resumed our journey along the paved path. For the next hour, we passed through ever-expanding clearings where the cultivated fields grew more extensive, and the houses evolved into walled hamlets bustling with labor. I noticed that even the seemingly placid field workers kept a hand near their weapons, a silent reminder that danger could lurk even in these seemingly tamed lands.

"It's like a country by itself within the kingdom," I observed.

Kluko nodded sagely, "Yes, each Lord holds complete dominion over his lands. The Lord's estates are bastions of peace and prosperity, the most civilized lands in this unruly kingdom—as long as they are governed well." His voice grew somber as he added, "But if not, then people begin to vanish from the estate. With dwindling resources and no armed protectors, the estate crumbles, and the monsters move in, until nothing but an abandoned castle remains." His tale, heavy with personal memory, resonated deeply with me, stirring images of ruined estates and the creeping menace of wild beasts.

I found myself reflecting on the fate of the southern wall, where selfish rulers had forsaken their duty to aid the orcs, setting the stage for a cataclysmic downfall. The thought of widespread suffering gnawed at me—an outcome I was desperate to avoid. I had once known hardship all too well, and though I harbored ambitions of wealth and success, I could not in good conscience stand by as society crumbled. Perhaps the rulers had forgotten that they were meant to be guardians, not tyrants, and that their subjects were more than mere instruments for their pleasure.

Our cart rounded a gentle curve as we ascended a slight hill, only to suddenly descend into a verdant valley. Before us stretched the heart of the earl's estate—a lush, expansive plain dominated by a grand stone castle. This fortress, unlike the scattered, unrefined lands we had passed, was encircled by meticulously cultivated farmland. A shimmering blue lake, serving as a natural moat, lapped gently against the castle's formidable stone walls. A broad, arched bridge spanned the water, culminating in a lowered drawbridge that beckoned us forward.

After absorbing the breathtaking view of this prosperous valley, Eigosh broke the reflective silence, "It's good to see that tonight we entertain someone with a bit of wealth for a change." His eyes twinkled as he exchanged a playful smile with Xaset, who retorted coolly, "Be careful around the nobility; you know their power over life and death in their estate." Xaset's confident chuckle was met with a pointed look from Eigosh, but soon the tension eased as he added, "Don't worry about him. In matters of mischief, he's one of us." The entire troupe relaxed, and subtle smiles passed between us—a shared acknowledgment of our camaraderie and secrets.

The journey through the fields to the castle was unhurried, and I noted with some relief that the field workers now appeared unarmed, as if the cultivated valley itself offered a sanctuary from the monstrous threats beyond. Scattered hamlets, unprotected by walls, dotted the landscape—a testament to the valley's transient safety under the watchful gaze of the castle.

Upon reaching the castle, we crossed the sturdy stone bridge only to be halted by vigilant guards at the entrance of the first courtyard. Once more, Eigosh produced the trusted token, and after a brief exchange of curt instructions, one guard dashed inside to relay a message. Entering the castle, I marveled at the imposing wooden door set before a robust portcullis, a relic of age-old defenses. The gatehouse, with its arched tunnel leading into the first courtyard, was pockmarked with holes in the ceiling—each one a potential perch for projectiles aimed at unwelcome attackers. Inside the courtyard, the clamor of industry filled the air: the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith's hammer on hot metal, the steady rasp of woodworking, and above it all, the gentle creak of a windmill's sails turning in the light breeze. A tantalizing aroma of freshly baked bread drifted from a nearby bakery, a homely scent that evoked memories of warm kitchens and simple pleasures.

No sooner had we stepped beyond the inner portcullis than a man in somber black clothing approached our group. Uncharacteristically unarmed, his thin, lined face bore the air of stern efficiency, and his pressed attire spoke of a life of rigid discipline. Flanked by several younger men clad in sturdy work clothes, he demanded in a clear, commanding tone, "Which of you is the troupe master, Eigosh?"

With deliberate humility, Eigosh stepped forward and bowed, "That would be me, my good sir. We are at your disposal."

The man's gaze swept over our little entourage, lingering a few moments longer on the two women whose quiet strength and beauty spoke volumes, before he said, "Good, good. I'm Eegoll, butler to the Earl of Chadwick. You'll be entertaining the earl and his party tonight in the main hall. These men will assist you with setting up everything for the show, but be prepared to start within an hour after dark. Should you require anything further, inform me—I desire tonight's performance to be flawless. After all, the better it goes, the richer your tips will be from the earl and his guests."

A slight, appreciative smile tugged at his lips as his eyes returned briefly to the women. As he handed the token back to the troupe's leader, the guards began to disperse, their footsteps echoing on the stone as they moved along the corridor.

"That was easy," Kluko remarked with a hint of amusement. "They must have been expecting us; entering a Lord's land in numbers is usually much tougher."

The cart lurched forward once again, and for the next hour, we trailed past ever-expanding fields where hamlets and dirt tracks interwove with the forest. I noticed that the people here, though busy with their work, still carried a weapon at their hip—a silent reassurance that even in abundance, danger was never far away.

"It's like a country by itself within the kingdom," I said thoughtfully.

Kluko nodded, his eyes reflecting the seriousness of his words. "Yes, each Lord wields complete control over his lands. The Lord's estates are typically bastions of peace and prosperity—models of civilization—provided they are governed with wisdom. But if mismanagement takes root, the people vanish, the estate withers, and soon the monsters return to reclaim what was lost. A once-thriving estate crumbles into ruin, leaving nothing but the ghostly remnants of a castle."

I sensed the weight of his personal recollections, and he continued, "I was born on an estate much like these, flourishing until the old Lord passed and his son ascended—a cruel, selfish man who bled the peasants dry. When his tyranny drove everyone away, his own soldiers, bound by kinship and honor, abandoned him. With no protectors left, the estate collapsed, and the monsters swept in as though waiting for an easy conquest. In the end, he was slain by those still loyal in his castle. It was the fate he so rightly deserved."

I couldn't help but compare this tragic cycle to the troubled wall in the south, where selfish rulers neglected the orcs until the defenses weakened and the monsters from beyond surged forth. Unlike Kluko's estate, where escape was possible, a collapse of this magnitude would leave no refuge—a thought that made my blood run cold. "What the hell are the idiots in power thinking?" I thought bitterly. Perhaps they were not thinking at all.

That line of thought only strengthened my resolve to correct these injustices. I had known too much suffering in my own life, and while I yearned for wealth, I could not condone a future paved in societal ruin. I mused that perhaps the rulers had forgotten their true duty—to protect, not to oppress. Now, as we prepared to perform before the ruling class, I was one step closer to devising a plan that might secure the funds the orcs so desperately needed, and thereby stave off further chaos.

The cart rounded a corner as we climbed a gentle hill, then suddenly descended into a sun-dappled valley. Spread before us was the heart of the earl's estate—a breathtaking vista crowned by a large stone castle. Unlike the rugged wilderness I had encountered elsewhere, this valley was meticulously transformed into a fertile mosaic of farmlands. At the valley's center, the castle stood proud and imposing, surrounded by a glistening blue lake that served as a natural moat, its gentle lapping echoing against the thick stone walls. A wide bridge arched gracefully across the water, ending in a lowered drawbridge that beckoned us toward its mysteries.

After a long, contemplative pause to absorb the idyllic scene, Eigosh broke the silence, "It's good to see that tonight we entertain someone with a bit of wealth for once." He then turned to Xaset with a knowing smile and added, "Be careful around the nobility; you know they wield power over life and death in their estate." Xaset's retort, light and teasing—"I always am. Have you ever known me to get caught?"—elicited a soft chuckle from our company, easing the tension. Even as Eigosh shot a pointed glance in my direction, Xaset's laughter rang out, reminding us all that amidst strict decorum, a spark of mischief was never far away.

The journey through the fields toward the castle was leisurely and filled with curious observations. I noted that the locals in this part of the valley now appeared unarmed, their expressions relaxed, as if the fertile lands offered them a temporary sanctuary from the threats that roamed beyond. Small, unprotected hamlets dotted the landscape, their inhabitants seemingly confident under the castle's watchful protection.

When we finally reached the castle and crossed the broad stone bridge, our progress was momentarily halted by stern guards at the entrance to the first courtyard. Once more, Eigosh produced the familiar token, and after a brief exchange of curt instructions, one guard dashed inside as if to deliver an urgent message. Stepping into the castle, I marveled at the sturdy wooden door flanked by a formidable portcullis, a relic of ancient defense, and the large gatehouse whose arched tunnel led into a spacious courtyard. The ceiling above was riddled with holes designed to drop unpleasant surprises on intruders, and as we entered, the rhythmic clang of a busy workshop—the ringing of hammers, the scratch of chisels—filled the air. High on the castle wall, a windmill's sails turned languidly in the soft breeze, and the irresistible aroma of baking bread drifted from a nearby hearth, promising warm comfort and sustenance.

Just as we emerged from the gatehouse tunnel and passed through another portcullis, a man in somber black attire stepped forward. Unusually unarmed, he was thin and aged, his crisp clothing and no-nonsense expression a stark contrast to the casual attire of our troupe. Flanked by several younger men in plain work clothes, he announced loudly, "Which of you is the troupe master, Eigosh?"

With measured deference, Eigosh stepped forward and bowed deeply. "That would be me, my good sir. We are at your disposal."

"Good, good. I'm Eegoll, butler to the Earl of Chadwick. You'll be entertaining the earl and his party tonight in the main hall. These men will assist with your setup, but be ready to begin an hour after dark. Should you require anything further, let me know—I want tonight's performance to be a resounding success. A job well done promises handsome tips from the earl and his esteemed guests." His eyes briefly lingered on the two women before returning to the task at hand.

As the token was passed back to Eigosh, the guards began to disperse, their heavy steps echoing on the stone path. Kluko leaned in and remarked, "That was easy—they must have expected us. Usually, entering a Lord's land with a crowd is far more difficult."

With renewed momentum, the cart began moving once more along the paved path. For the next hour, we passed ever-larger clearings where fields expanded into walled hamlets bustling with activity. Dirt tracks meandered into the forest, and in the distance, more clearings hinted at the relentless transformation of wild land into cultivated fields. Even here, I noted, the people continued to carry weapons at their hips—a silent testament to the precarious balance between prosperity and peril.

"It's like a country by itself within the kingdom," I observed.

Kluko agreed, "Yes, each Lord governs his own realm. The Lord's estates are havens of peace and prosperity—when managed well. But when misrule sets in, people vanish, the estate deteriorates, and the monsters reclaim the land, leaving nothing but the ruins of a once-great castle." His voice was laced with bitter recollection as he recounted his own painful history: "I was born on such an estate. It flourished until the old Lord died and his cruel, selfish son took over—squeezing every last drop from the peasants until they fled. With no protectors left, the estate crumbled, and the monsters swept in, as if they had been waiting for their moment. In the end, he was slain by those who remained loyal in his castle. It was a fate he earned."

As these words echoed in my mind, I could not help but think of the southern wall—its rulers neglecting the orcs until the defenses faltered, leaving no escape for the people. A grim future loomed, where monsters might overrun the land and force everyone into a desperate struggle for survival. "What the hell are the idiots in power thinking?" I mused bitterly. Perhaps, I thought, they were not thinking at all.

That thought only fueled my determination to mend this broken system. I had endured too much suffering, and while I yearned for riches, I could not condone a society in ruins. The simple truth that rulers were meant to protect their people seemed long forgotten. With tonight's performance, I sensed an opportunity to glimpse the inner workings of power, to inch closer to a plan that might secure the funds desperately needed to appease the orcs—and perhaps even save a kingdom from collapse.

Our cart rounded a gentle bend as we ascended a modest hill, then unexpectedly descended into a verdant valley. Spread out before us was the center of the earl's estate—a sprawling, lush plain crowned by a majestic stone castle. Unlike the rugged wilds I had encountered earlier, this valley was transformed into a patchwork of thriving farmlands. The castle stood proudly in the distance, its massive stone walls encircled by a shimmering blue lake that lapped softly against its base, serving as both moat and monument to its strength. A wide, elegantly arched bridge spanned the water, leading to a lowered drawbridge that welcomed us into this bastion of order.

After taking in the sight of the bountiful valley, Eigosh remarked, "It's good to see that we're going to entertain someone with a bit of wealth for once." He turned to Xaset with a mischievous smile and advised, "Be careful around the nobility; you know they hold power over life and death here." Xaset laughed lightly and replied, "I always am. Have you ever known me to get caught?" His playful retort drew a pointed look from Eigosh, but the tension soon lifted, and a few knowing smiles were exchanged among us.

Navigating through the sprawling fields, I observed that the people here worked with a rare sense of ease, their unarmed state suggesting a confidence in the valley's security. Small hamlets, unprotected by walls, dotted the landscape like clusters of contented souls under the watchful protection of the castle.

When we finally reached the castle and crossed the stone bridge, we were intercepted by guards at the entrance to the first courtyard. Once again, Eigosh produced the token, and after a brief exchange of instructions, one guard hurried inside as though to deliver an urgent message. Entering the castle, I marveled at the imposing wooden door guarded by a massive portcullis. The gatehouse, with its shadowy tunnel leading into the courtyard, was punctuated by defensive holes in the ceiling—each one a silent sentinel against invaders. Inside, the clamor of activity was unmistakable: the ringing of blacksmith hammers, the rhythmic rasp of woodwork, and above it all, the soft turning of a windmill's sails in the gentle breeze. The mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, a welcome reminder of home comforts.

Just as we exited the gatehouse tunnel and passed through another portcullis, a man clad in somber black attire approached us. Unusually unarmed, his thin, weathered face and crisply pressed clothing conveyed an air of austere efficiency. He was flanked by several younger men in plain work garments, their expressions a mixture of resolve and routine. In a firm, resonant voice, he demanded, "Which of you is the troupe master, Eigosh?"

With measured deference, Eigosh stepped forward and bowed deeply. "That would be me, my good sir. We are at your disposal."

"Good, good. I'm Eegoll, butler to the Earl of Chadwick. You'll be entertaining the earl and his party tonight in the main hall. These men will help you set up everything for the show, but you must be ready to begin an hour after dark. If you require anything further, please let me know—I want tonight's performance to be impeccable. Remember, the better it goes, the more you'll earn in tips from the earl and his esteemed guests." His eyes briefly softened as they drifted toward the two women before him, and after a moment, he handed the token back to Eigosh.

Kluko remarked quietly, "That was easy—they must have been expecting us, as it's normally much harder to enter a Lord's land in numbers."

With that, the cart resumed its slow progress along the paved path. For the next hour, we passed through ever-expanding clearings where the cultivated fields swelled and the hamlets grew into bustling communities. Dirt tracks meandered into the dense forest, and in the distance, more fields emerged as if the wild had been steadily tamed by human hand. Yet even in this apparent peace, every local carried a weapon at their hip—a constant, unspoken reminder that safety was always provisional.

"It's like a country by itself within the kingdom," I remarked softly.

Kluko nodded, "Yes, each Lord commands his own domain. The Lord's estates are meant to be sanctuaries of peace and prosperity, the epitome of civilization—if they are governed wisely. But when misrule takes hold, the estate withers, people vanish, and eventually, the monsters return, leaving behind nothing but ruins." His tone turned reflective as he added, "I was born on such an estate. It prospered until the old Lord died and was succeeded by a cruel, selfish son who bled the peasants dry. When they fled, his soldiers—brothers and sons of the very people they were meant to protect—deserted him. Without armed guardians, the estate collapsed, and the monsters flooded in, as though they'd been waiting for an easy victory. In the end, he was slain by the very family that once served him. It was, in my eyes, a fitting end."

As his words echoed in my mind, I pondered the parallels to the crumbling southern wall, where neglect and selfishness could invite disaster on a scale far greater than any individual estate. The thought of endless suffering and the unleashing of monstrous hordes left me both anguished and resolute. "What the hell are the idiots in power thinking?" I mused silently. Perhaps they were not thinking at all.

That grim contemplation steeled my determination. I had seen enough misery in my life, and though I longed to become rich, I could not bear the thought of societal collapse. Rulers were meant to protect their people, not treat them as mere playthings. Now, on the eve of our performance before the ruling class, I sensed that this encounter might provide the insight needed to devise a plan—one that might secure the funds required by the orcs and prevent further calamity.

Our cart rounded a gentle curve as we ascended a modest hill, then suddenly plunged into a lush valley. Spread before us was the center of the earl's estate—a breathtaking panorama of meticulously cultivated farmlands encircling a grand stone castle. This castle, standing as a proud sentinel in the distance, was ringed by a glistening blue lake that acted as a natural moat, its gentle lapping against the stone exuding both beauty and strength. A wide, gracefully arched bridge spanned the lake, ending in a lowered drawbridge that seemed to invite us into the embrace of order and prosperity.

After a long moment spent absorbing this idyllic scene, Eigosh remarked, "It's good to see that we're going to entertain someone with a bit of wealth for once." He then exchanged a playful glance with Xaset and added, "Be careful around the nobility; you know they have power over life and death in their estate." Xaset's light-hearted retort—"I always am. Have you ever known me to get caught?"—elicited a brief but genuine laugh, and soon the entire troupe relaxed as our camaraderie shone through.

It took some time for us to wind our way through the sprawling fields toward the castle. I noted that the inhabitants here worked unburdened by arms, as though the valley's serene productivity assured their safety. Small, unprotected hamlets nestled among the fields spoke of a rare peace, all under the vigilant watch of the imposing castle.

Finally, when we reached the castle and crossed the broad stone bridge, our progress was momentarily halted by vigilant guards at the entrance of the first courtyard. Once again, Eigosh produced the familiar token, and after a brief exchange, one guard darted inside to pass along instructions. As we stepped into the castle, I marveled at the sturdy wooden door backed by a robust portcullis. The gatehouse, with its arched tunnel and defensive apertures above, echoed with the clamor of activity—blacksmiths at their anvils, carpenters at their benches, and the soft, rhythmic whir of a windmill's sails blending with the distant, comforting scent of fresh bread.

Just as we emerged from the gatehouse tunnel and passed through the inner doors beyond another portcullis, a man in somber black clothing approached us. Uncommonly for this realm, he was unarmed. Thin and clearly advanced in years, his pressed attire and steely gaze exuded an aura of uncompromising authority. Accompanied by several younger men in plain work clothes, he bellowed, "Which of you is the troupe master, Eigosh?"

With respectful composure, Eigosh stepped forward and bowed deeply. "That would be me, my good sir. We are at your disposal."

"Good, good. I'm Eegoll, butler to the Earl of Chadwick. You'll be entertaining the earl and his party tonight in the main hall. These men will help you set up everything for the show, but you must be ready to begin an hour after dark. If you need anything further, please let me know—I want tonight's performance to be flawless. The better it goes, the more you'll earn in tips from the earl and his guests." His eyes briefly softened as they fell on the two women before him, and with a courteous nod, he turned to leave, his instructions hanging in the air like a promise of fortune.

I noticed Eigosh's broad smile at the mention of potential tips, and as the soldiers began to pass us by—each one echoing the robust clatter of armored feet—we pressed on. Kluko's quiet remark, "That was easy. They must have been expecting us," was met with nods of agreement as our cart slowly rolled forward along the paved path.

For the next hour, we traversed clearings where fields grew ever larger, interspersed with walled hamlets bustling with diligent labor. Dirt tracks snaked off the main road into the dense forest, and in the distance, more cultivated clearings unfurled—a testament to human tenacity in taming the wild. Yet even here, every local carried a weapon at their hip, a silent acknowledgment that peace was as fragile as the morning dew.

"It's like a country by itself within the kingdom," I observed softly.

Kluko nodded. "Yes, each Lord governs his own domain. The Lord's estates are supposed to be havens of peace and prosperity—the epitome of civilization—if they are well-run. But when tyranny takes root, the people disappear, the estate falls into ruin, and eventually, the monsters reclaim it, leaving only the desolate remains of a once-proud castle." His tone grew somber as he recalled, "I was born on an estate much like this. It flourished until the old Lord died and his cruel, selfish son took over. He bled the peasants dry until they fled, and with no armed men left to protect the estate, it collapsed. The monsters moved in as if they'd been waiting all along, and in the end, he was slain by the very family that still remained in his castle. It was a fate he earned."

As his words resonated, I pondered the fate of the southern wall, where neglect and selfishness could lead to the return of monsters in overwhelming numbers. The thought of mass suffering gnawed at me—mass suffering I had long since escaped—and I silently vowed to prevent such calamity. Even as I longed for wealth, I could not bear the thought of society's collapse, for rulers were meant to protect, not to oppress. Tonight's performance was not only an opportunity for us—it might be the key to a plan that could secure the funds needed to prevent further devastation.

Our cart rounded a final bend as we climbed a slight hill and then suddenly entered a lush valley. Spread before us was the center of the earl's estate—a breathtaking expanse of fertile farmland surrounding a magnificent stone castle. Unlike the rugged lands I had seen before, this valley had been transformed into the breadbasket of the region. The castle, a bastion of strength and protection, stood proudly in the middle of a glistening blue lake that served as its moat, the water gently lapping against the thick stone walls. A wide bridge spanned the lake, leading to a lowered drawbridge that signaled our arrival.

After we had taken in the scene of the prosperous valley, Eigosh said, "It's good to see that we're going to entertain somebody with a bit of wealth for once." He then looked at Xaset with a smile and added, "Be careful around the nobility, as you know they have power over life and death within their estate."

Xaset just smiled back and said, "I always am. Have you ever known me to get caught?"

Eigosh coughed and looked pointedly at me, but Xaset just laughed and said, "Don't worry about him. He's one of us when it comes to extracurricular activities."

The entire troupe relaxed at his words, and I even caught a few warm smiles from my companions, a shared understanding passing silently among us.

It took a while for the troupe to wind our way through the fields en route to the castle. I noticed that the people working in the fields here were unarmed, as if the cultivated valley itself offered sanctuary from the lurking monsters. Scattered across the landscape were small hamlets, unprotected by walls, their existence a quiet testament to the peace that the earl's castle seemed to bestow upon this land.

When we reached the castle and crossed the stone bridge, we were intercepted by guards before entering the first courtyard. Once again, Eigosh produced the token, and the guard directed him into the courtyard after offering a few curt instructions. One of the guards dashed inside, likely to relay a message. As we stepped into the castle, I took in the sight of a sturdy wooden door backed by a massive portcullis. The gatehouse was imposing, with an arched tunnel that led into a spacious courtyard—its ceiling peppered with holes meant to drop unpleasant surprises on attackers. In the courtyard, wooden structures bustled with activity: the clang of blacksmiths' hammers, the soft rasp of woodworking, and the steady, calming hum of a nearby windmill turning in the light breeze. The enticing smell of freshly baked bread drifted on the air, filling me with a sense of comfort and anticipation.

Just as we exited the gatehouse tunnel and passed through the inner doors beyond another portcullis, a man in black clothing approached us. Uncommonly for this world, he was not armed. Thin and old, his pressed clothing looked exceptionally smart, and his stern, no-nonsense expression brooked no nonsense. Several younger men in plain work clothes flanked him as he asked loudly, "Which of you is the troupe master, Eigosh?"

Eigosh stepped forward and bowed respectfully. "That would be me, my good sir. We are at your disposal."

"Good, good. I'm Eegoll, butler to the Earl of Chadwick. You'll be entertaining the earl and his party tonight in the main hall. These men will help you set up everything for the show, but you must be ready to begin an hour after dark. If you need anything more, please let me know—I want tonight's performance to be impeccable. Of course, the better it goes, the more money you should make in tips from the earl and his guests."

I noticed Eigosh smiling broadly at the promise of tips from the noble guests. The butler continued, "When you finish the show, you'll be expected to mix amongst the guests and entertain them. Warn your people to be polite and accommodating, especially the women."

The last comment drew an angry look from the two women in our group. Legal saw this and nodded to them, advising, "Just be careful about who you offend, as the Lord is the law in his own land. It's best if you are always accompanied by some of the men in your group and don't find yourselves alone."

He offered a smile of condolence. "We all have to walk a fine line between being accommodating and protecting ourselves from the nobility. Just don't get yourselves into a situation you might regret."

I heard Tuallez muttering to Sharro, "It's okay for him—he's not a woman in this world of grasping men who just think you're something to be used." The other woman just nodded; they were clearly not looking forward to the event. Eigosh flashed them a look to keep quiet and mouthed the word "money" at them.

The butler said with a polite smile, "I'll be leaving you. Make it a good show, and we'll all benefit, as the earl has been looking for a troupe to take to the capital to provide entertainment at the king's court. That's what the king seems to be bothered about at the moment."

This announcement sparked excitement throughout the group. I noticed the two women's expressions brighten as the promise of opportunity replaced their earlier apprehension. For me, the news was doubly fortuitous—closer access to power, and the potential proximity of a treasury.

"Now that you say that, kind sir, we'll be pulling out all the stops in the show tonight," said Eigosh, his smile broadening with genuine delight at the prospect of a promising bonus.

"I thought it might be a great motivation," replied Eegoll, then briskly excused himself for other duties, leaving behind the men in work clothing. As he hurried off toward one of the workshops, I heard Eigosh begin to organize the unloading of the cart.

Within a few minutes, the cart had been emptied with the efficient assistance of the castle's men. Soon, we all gathered in the second courtyard with our performance equipment. This courtyard, dominated by a stately stone keep, was surrounded by meticulously tended gardens reminiscent of the elegant Italian walled gardens I had once read about. Neat rows of trimmed trees and sculpted bushes lent an air of refined grace to the space.

As we headed for the wooden doors of the keep, I caught sight of fancily dressed children playing among the lush hedges. They paused to stare at us for a few seconds, exchanging whispered secrets, before resuming their games of balls and hoops.

Inside the keep lay the grand hall where we were to perform. The walls were adorned with regalia—a striking display of trophies, from the carved heads of slain monsters to ornate banners and rich tapestries that chronicled forgotten histories. An array of weapons, enough to outfit a small army, hung in proud display, each piece a silent witness to battles long past.

At the far end of the hall, elevated on a platform, stood a high table. Before it lay a cleared space destined to host our performance that night. Beyond this performance area, rows upon rows of tables stretched along the hall's length, waiting to be filled by the earl's esteemed guests.

I sensed that Eigosh was well accustomed to such regal arrangements, as he quickly took charge of organizing the final setup. Under his precise commands, our troupe moved with renewed enthusiasm, the promise of future wonders and rewards shining in each determined glance.

--

"You certainly can't wear just that, tonight of all nights. You know how important this is to us," Sharro growled, her voice low and resonant amid the rustle of fabric and the clatter of hurried preparations as the troupe dressed for the evening's show. Her eyes burned with determination as she paced beside me, each step echoing off the ancient stone walls draped in the fading light of dusk.

"It's this or nothing," I replied, my tone edged with a mix of resolve and trepidation, for this was all I had—the very essence of our act, the last thread of hope woven into our performance.

"Nothing would actually be better," she said with a mischievous grin, the corners of her mouth twitching with sardonic humor. "At least the women would enjoy the show. Can't you at least make yourself look magical or mystical?" Her words seemed to swirl around us like a spell, laced with both teasing and urgent expectation.

Glancing around, my eyes landed on a solitary rack where a smattering of vibrant garments hung, each fabric whispering stories of past performances. Sharro reached out, her fingers trailing over the texture of a piece of bright red cloth that seemed to shimmer in the half-light, and with a decisive nod, she commanded, "Bend down. You're just too tall for your own good."

I obeyed, lowering my head as the red cloth was wound around me with deliberate precision, its rich hue stark against the cool stone and dim candlelight. The fabric was twisted and coiled in a way that transformed it into a hood, concealing my face and lending an air of enigmatic allure. Once her task was complete, Sharro stepped back, her eyes glittering with approval as she smiled. "At least that adds a bit of mystery to you. Nobody will be able to see your face under the hood. If we do go to the king's court, we'll have to do more than this—but this should do for now. Try not to let any of the guests see your face, as it will keep the air of enigma about you and enhance the act."

I nodded, accepting her suggestion as if it were the key to unlocking an ancient secret. The whole mentalism act thrived on mystery, on the allure of the unknown, and I realized that in this world—where my towering stature made recognition all too easy—a hidden face might just be the remedy we needed.

Moving away from Sharro, I scanned the bustling hall, every detail imprinted in my memory. The air was thick with anticipation and the mingled aromas of candle wax and spiced incense. Eigosh, having momentarily ceased his booming directives, now stood with a self-satisfied smile, his confidence filling the space like a warm, unyielding fire. Around him, the troupe continued their preparations: some were meticulously dressing, while others stretched and limbered up, their movements fluid and graceful.

Then, from the far side of the hall, the raucous murmur of conversation swelled into a cacophonous symphony, punctuated by boisterous laughter that rolled like distant thunder. The butler, his presence as silent as a shadow yet as commanding as a storm, entered the room and nodded imperiously at our boss. With a swift, almost imperceptible gesture, he signaled the workmen to depart through one of the rear service corridors. Their hurried footsteps faded into the distance, merging with the approaching sound of voices that resembled the honking of a gaggle of geese, resonant and unmistakable.

Suddenly, from that corridor emerged a middle-aged, thick-set man clad in dark, weathered clothing, his robust frame a testament to years of relentless struggle. His eyes, steely and unwavering, swept the room with a single, piercing glance, taking in every nuance. Then, as if a gentle warmth had softened his formidable exterior, he turned to the woman gracefully nestled on his arm. In that moment, the fierce glint in his gaze melted into tenderness, and a smile played upon his lips. The woman, just a few years his junior, radiated an elegant charm. Dressed in a flowing light blue gown that brushed the floor and complemented by a scarf artfully wrapped around her head, she exuded both practicality and refined style. A glint of steel at her waist hinted at hidden prowess, matched by the heavy-duty sword at the man's hip—a silent reminder of battles past and promises of future valor. They moved together like a well-rehearsed dance, exuding an air of authority and magnetism that confirmed they were none other than the earl and his wife—a notion further solidified by a respectful bow from Eegoll.

Following behind in a rough, yet orderly, processional line came three young women and two boys. The young women, each dressed in earthen hues with long, sweeping skirts that whispered secrets with every step, appeared to be in their late teens. Their bonnets, intricately embroidered with painstaking detail, evoked images of long-forgotten folk tales and timeless craftsmanship. The boys, dressed in similar styles to our frontman—though lacking the flamboyant sword—each clutched a large knife at their side, an echo of the women's own subtle hints of defiance and strength.

Sharro's whisper, soft as the rustle of silk against stone, reached my ears: "Looks like the Earl of Chadwick and his family. Not somebody to be messed with, I've heard." Her tone carried both admiration and a wry caution.

The distinguished family advanced toward the high table at the front of the hall. With every step, the resounding thud of the earl's heavy footsteps seemed to reverberate off the stone walls, a steady drumbeat of authority. Arriving at a throne-like chair, he gently assisted his wife to sit, his smile warm yet reserved. Trailing behind them was an ensemble of well-dressed courtiers—the source of the earlier clamor—whose attire mirrored that of the earl's household, as if they were disciples emulating the trend set by their betters.

Couples, some with small, curious children clasping tight to their parents' hands, added to the familial mosaic of the procession. It was evident that tonight was more than a performance—it was a family event, a celebration steeped in tradition and anticipation. Among the guests, I spotted a particularly slender man with a wide mustache, his attire exuding an aura of mysterious energy, as if he were a magician whose very presence vibrated with unseen power.

The earl and his family took their seats at the top table, while the remaining members of their entourage filled the tables along the hall behind the open stage. A few individuals, including the enigmatic magician, chose instead to stand near the seated dignitaries, their eyes flickering with curiosity.

The grand hall itself seemed alive with sound; every conversation, every murmur bounced off the hard stone floor and walls, creating an auditory tapestry that both amplified and softened the noise. I observed the magician leaning in to exchange hushed words with the Earl of Chadwick, who nodded in measured acknowledgment.

Then, as if on cue, the earl rose to his feet. In that singular moment, a silence fell like a velvet curtain over the hall, every ear straining to catch his next word. Even the once-chatty children quieted, their wide eyes fixated on the commanding figure. I marveled at the disciplined hush that had descended—not born of fear, but of deep, ingrained respect for a man clearly held in high esteem by his people.

Clearing his throat with a resonant sound that filled the hall like the call to arms, the thick-set earl spoke in a firm, booming voice that carried to every corner of the room, "Tonight, we have the pleasure of seeing the performance of another traveling entertainment troupe." With that simple statement, he resumed his seat, leaving an expectant void where words had once danced.

Sharro leaned over, her head tilting with a wry shake, and murmured, "Great introduction. That's a lot to live up to," her tone dripping with sarcastic amusement.

Eigosh, ever the graceful showman, stood and bowed deeply to the earl, his smile radiating sincere gratitude. "Thank you for the gracious introduction, my Lord. Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to be amazed and astonished..." His voice soared and dipped with theatrical flair, each modulation drawing cheers and spirited applause from the crowd. I had seen him perform twice before, but this rendition was by far his finest—a masterclass in captivating an audience. I watched, absorbing every gesture and nuance, my mind alive with the possibility of learning to work the crowd as he did.

The first act soon unfolded with breathtaking precision. Sharro and Tuallez took to the stage for a joint acrobatic display that had been in the works for a special occasion. The pair erupted into motion, their bodies twisting and leaping with a balletic grace that defied belief. The stage rang with the sound of their nimble footsteps and the soft whoosh of fabric, while the clatter of daggers thrown by Tuallez sliced through the air. In an electrifying moment, as the daggers whirled dangerously close to Sharro—who created intricate gaps with her outstretched arms and legs—the audience collectively exhaled in relief. The performance was a mesmerizing dance of peril and precision, a spectacle where every moment teetered on the brink of disaster yet ended in triumphant harmony. Their final bows and curtsies, accompanied by radiant smiles, were met with a roar of applause that enveloped the hall.

As the next act began, I slipped to the sidelines, my heart thumping with nervous anticipation. I was the final act of the evening, and watching my fellow performers on stage filled me with both awe and a burning desire to excel. Two male acrobats executed feats of balance and agility that bordered on the impossible, their lithe forms defying gravity. Meanwhile, the orcs on stage demonstrated their formidable strength, their actions so imposing that a few warriors in the audience discreetly toyed with their weapons, as if reassessing their own prowess. Near the climax of this segment, Xaset took the spotlight, breathing mesmerizing waves of fire that cascaded over the hall. His flames danced and twisted, forming ephemeral images of fantastical creatures in the smoky air, leaving the crowd in a state of wondrous bewilderment. I couldn't fathom the sorcery behind his fiery artistry, yet the audience was enraptured.

I noted with keen interest the wizard standing beside the earl, his eyes alight with curiosity and deep focus as if he were deciphering the arcane secrets behind Xaset's pyrotechnic display. His expression reminded me of our first encounter, a moment filled with equal parts wonder and perplexity.

Throughout the performance, the earl's trusted adviser had been murmuring softly in his ear, their words laced with approval—especially after the daring first act by the two women. The pressure to deliver an unforgettable performance weighed on me, and as Eigosh ascended the stage once more, the crowd's energy surged in anticipation.

With a low, almost conspiratorial whisper that carried across the hushed hall, Eigosh proclaimed, "From a mystic land far beyond the kingdom, he is here to practice his mind control arts on us for our enjoyment. I give you a practitioner of the secret art of mind control."

Stepping solemnly onto the stage, I made my entrance. My hood, the red fabric tightly wound around my head, shrouded my face as I moved forward to a cacophony of foot stomps and scattered gasps from the audience. Comments about my towering height mingled with murmurs of awe. Raising my hand to signal silence, I fixed my gaze upon the expectant crowd, standing motionless as if commanding their very breath. Behind me, several men wheeled in wooden chairs, arranging them with meticulous care along the stage's edge. Once the seating was complete, I spoke in a harsh yet measured whisper that cut through the silence, "I need ten volunteers who are willing to participate in a mystical mind control experiment."

For a heartbeat, the room held its breath, the silence deep and almost tangible. Then, curiosity sparked among the guests, and one by one, faces turned upward. A chair scraped against the high table as the eldest daughter of the earl rose with a radiant smile. Her mother's eyes, however, betrayed a trace of disapproval as she tapped her husband's arm, while the earl himself merely shrugged in quiet indifference. Soon, the earl's daughter and nine others—each youthful, eager, and smiling at the novelty—joined me on stage, their movements punctuated by light-hearted cheers and friendly waves.

"Everybody take a seat, please," I said gently, drawing out a gleaming metal medallion from within my cloak. Standing at the center of the stage, I began to swing the medallion slowly, its reflective surface catching the ambient light and casting dancing, prismatic glints across the polished wood. "I need you to focus on this medallion and watch it moving back and forth," I instructed.

For several suspended seconds, the volunteers' eyes remained locked on the glimmering object, their focus mingling with soft giggles and hushed exclamations from the surrounding crowd. Then, in a firm but slow cadence, I urged, "Think of a place that you want to be—a haven of happiness. Dwell upon this vision and allow yourself to relax."

At the center, the earl's daughter closed her eyes, a smile slowly unfolding on her lips. Soon, a ripple of calm spread among the others. The entire hall fell into an anticipatory hush as I continued, "I want you all to count down from fifteen to one with me, each number drawing you into deeper relaxation, until you feel completely free and at peace."

Together, the ten of us chanted, their voices melding in a gentle, rhythmic cadence until, at the count of three, I snapped my fingers sharply and declared, "Sleep." Instantly, the volunteers slumped forward into a deep, enchanted slumber—some collapsing onto their chairs, others leaning upon each other in a tangled, surreal tableau that sent a collective gasp through the audience. Amidst the murmurs, the magician behind the earl leaned in, his intense gaze locked on the scene as he murmured something inaudible into the earl's ear, while the earl's wife appeared visibly shocked, her eyes darting in dismay at the sight of her daughter's head resting on the shoulder of a nearby boy.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I now have complete control of their minds, and I will prove it by getting them to perform some silly tricks," I announced, the words carrying a ripple of nervous laughter that quickly transformed into amused chuckles. Under my influence, the volunteers embarked on a series of absurd yet humorous antics, each stunt more outrageous than the last, until the entire hall was awash in peals of laughter. Amid this mirth, the earl and the magician engaged in a quiet, intense conversation, their expressions betraying both amusement and calculated intrigue.

When the final act concluded and I dismissed the volunteers back to their seats, the magician stepped forward with a condescending smile, his voice cutting through the lingering laughter, "I would like to see you cast this spell on me." His tone, half challenge and half admiration, caused the crowd to fall silent once more—as if his words had become a gauntlet thrown at my feet.

"If you want, I will. Would you please come and sit and do as I ask?" I replied, gesturing toward the front of the stage. With a nod, he approached in his dark, flowing robes, his fingers absently caressing an amulet resting against his chest—a likely talisman against arcane forces. As he settled onto a chair that I had moved deliberately to the stage's forefront, I began the hypnotic process. With deliberate care and no magical intervention—merely the power of suggestion—the amulet remained inert, and he soon slumped into a deep sleep. The audience gasped collectively, while the earl himself stood, leaning forward to scrutinize his enigmatic magician with a mixture of curiosity and satisfaction. His eyes twinkled with quiet triumph as he exchanged a look of relief with his wife, whose smile hinted at unspoken approval. Meanwhile, aides gathered around in whispered counsel.

With the hypnotic spell firmly in place, I directed the enchanted magician to perform a few simple tricks that demonstrated my control. Finally, bending down to speak in a conspiratorial murmur, I whispered into his ear, "When I release you from this state, you will remember nothing. Later, when you come up to me and I say the word 'magical,' you will fall back under my control." Leaving these instructions embedded in his mind, I gradually brought him out of his trance.

"What just happened?" he asked in bewildered confusion as he blinked, looking around to find that he had been asleep for an inexplicable span. I replied softly, "You fell under my control."

The magician, now clutching his amulet, muttered, "That is not possible. Unless…" His voice trailed off into uncertainty.

"Magician," interjected the earl in a measured tone, "we have much to discuss." With that, the magician departed the stage, casting one last look of trepidation over his shoulder. Almost immediately, the earl's wife rose gracefully and announced to the assembled guests, "Let the food be served."

From all sides of the hall, serving men and women emerged, laden with platters and trays. The rich aromas of roasted meats, fresh bread, and spiced stews filled the air, mingling with the lingering scent of candle wax and anticipation. As platters were placed along the tables, guests eagerly produced small knives to carve generous portions from the offerings—a culinary spectacle that mirrored the theatrical performance.

Amid the flurry of activity, Eigosh signaled to the troupe that it was time to depart the hall. As we exited through one of the service corridors, the echo of our footsteps mingled with quiet conversation. In that stark, bare corridor, Eigosh remarked with a hint of weary optimism, "We'll wait in another hall until we're sent for again. If we're lucky, they will have set some food aside for us."