Four Split Personalities

Motan left with that unfortunate bird and soon arrived at a clearing on the edge of the Crystal Wolf campsite, for warriors who had been stationed here last night had already formed ranks and headed to the central area over an hour ago, leaving behind only a few logistics personnel still packing up pots, pans, and ladles.

It took Motan no more than two minutes to borrow a set of kitchenware, and then he casually found a campfire to roast the ill-fated Raven No.12. He sat contentedly on a borrowed folding stool, humming a little tune while turning the makeshift spit in front of him and taking out the slip of paper he had secretly slid into his pack. He scanned it at a glance, scoffed a few times, and then threw it into the fire to burn.

The deceased messenger could no longer summon the strength to protect this rather fragile piece of intelligence.

Ten minutes later, Motan, having turned the ’deceased messenger’ into the ’eaten messenger,’ stood up satisfied, picking his teeth and swaggering toward Mithril City. He soon arrived at the city gates, just in time to run into His Imperial Majesty, surrounded by a swarm of elite guards, as well as the six great dukes who had just finished breakfast at the Glazed Pavilion.

Then he just so happened to stand squarely in the middle of the road, arms crossed, with a smiling grin as he watched the most precious batch of people in the entire Empire.

"Please step aside, sir," a guard from the Hussein Family stepped forward with purpose, his right hand hovering over the elaborate long knife at his waist, and looked at Motan with a hostile gaze, "I’ll give you five seconds..."

Five seconds—just the time it would take for the group behind him to reach this spot at a steady pace.

The implication was clear: if you don’t step aside, I’ll cut you down before those big shots get here, and then have your corpse make room.

"Oh?"

Motan, grinning from ear to ear at the guard, who must at least be a commander of the Golden Balance guards, said with a smirk, "One, two, three..."

The audacity—he actually started to count for the other side.

"Insolence!"

Seeing the man not only blocking the way but also provoking them, the evidently wealthy guard instantly became furious and with a swoosh drew his long knife, and then...

"Hold!"

The voice of Duke Hussein came from behind, abruptly stopping the guard’s half-swing and nearly causing him to strain his back.

The guard clutched his waist and turned to salute, "Your Excellency, this man..."

"You needn’t concern yourself with him."

Duke Hussein had regained his usual poise, looking nothing like the man who appeared as if he had just lost over twenty kin the night before. He waved off the guard and stroked his goatee, smiling broadly as he approached, "Mr. Dabus, everyone thought you’d be waiting at the campsite."

Dukes Baroka and Crystal Wolf also came over, giving Motan complicated glances filled with a mix of annoyance and complexity, remaining silent for a long time.

Dukes Simon and Dundis lagged behind, both looking rather displeased, though there were differences in their expressions; the former seemed pained, traumatized, and fearful, while the latter had the look of utter despondency.

As for Duke Fernan, who was walking beside them, he tried to lower his presence while gingerly avoiding being stepped on by some unobservant guard, despite the fact that this was unlikely to happen amidst these elite of the elite. Nevertheless, he still comically shuffled his short legs, comically manoeuvring through the crowd.

"What a coincidence, I just ate a bit too much this morning and wanted to take a stroll before our talk," replied Motan cheerily to Duke Hussein, then shrugged at Baroka and Crystal Wolf. Just as he was about to say something, Purple Mirror appeared silently before him, bowing slightly, "With so many eyes here, it’d be better to talk once we reach the campsite, Mr. Dabus."

Unquestionably, this had to be Cleo’s intent.

Motan readily nodded in agreement, clapping his hands, "That’s wonderful, then let’s be on our way."

After a brief pause, the procession now included an unemployed Bard, whose presence pulled down the average status of the group. Truth be told, had it not been for him strumming his battered lute as he walked, almost everyone had nearly forgotten the ’Antony Dabus’ guise as a Bard.

...

Ten minutes later

Game Time AM07:34

Outside Mithril City, at the center of the Lord’s Allied Forces campsite, in the Violet Pavilion—a reserved edition for the grand canopy of the Glazed Pavilion

Emperor Cleo of the Empire, Dukes Crystal Wolf, Baroka, Dundis, Simon, Fernan, Hussein, and Bard Antony Dabus all gathered in the tent that, although called ’the pavilion,’ spanned an area comparable to the most luxurious suites of the Glazed Pavilion. This item had been personally delivered to the grand vista hall the previous night by the proprietor of Glazed Pavilion, who hurriedly offered it as compensation for the Emperor’s lost pedicure appointment due to the pedicurist’s wife’s difficult labor.

"They’re really splurging..."

Motan, seated at the end of the central long table in the ’main hall’ of the tent, enviously looked around at the lavish decorations, smacking his lips and remarked, "They really are loaded."