Emperor's Reckoning

Chapter 1089 Insane Beggar

Cecile leaned in slightly, curiosity dancing in her eyes, and asked the merchant, "By the way, who should we be on the lookout for during this gathering? Are there any notable figures or individuals we should be aware of?"

The merchant chuckled, seemingly delighted to share some local knowledge. "Ah, the Four Young Masters of Second Hell. They're the ones to watch out for. Two men and two women, all incredibly talented and renowned in these parts."

Cecile paid careful attention as the merchant described each one. "First, there's Liam Stormrider, a human known for his Thunderclap Swordplay. Swift and precise, lightning is said to follow his blade."

"Then," the merchant continued, "there's Drako Wyrmheart, a dragon-human hybrid. A martial arts prodigy, every move he makes is both powerful and graceful."

"Elara Moonshadow, the Serene Archer, is an elf of unparalleled archery skills," he added. "She strikes with pinpoint accuracy and unwavering calm."

"And last but not least, Sylva Greenleaf," the merchant concluded, "a druid who wields the powers of wood magic, manipulating nature to her advantage."

Cecile and the others absorbed the information that the merchant shared and before long they heard busty crowds.

The bustling atmosphere hit them like a wave as they stepped off the merchant's carriage. The place was teeming with people, and the excitement in the air was palpable. Stalls and tents lined the streets, vendors peddled exotic wares, and the aroma of street food wafted through the air.

The merchant offered them some final advice. "You'd best hurry if you want a place to stay. With the gathering in full swing, accommodations are hard to come by, and you'll have to pay a pretty penny if you do find one."

Cecile surveyed the area, realizing the truth in his words. The inns and taverns were overflowing with patrons, and people were already haggling for the few available rooms. The group exchanged worried glances. Finding a place to stay might prove to be more challenging than they had anticipated.

The group thanked the merchant for his assistance and started making their way through the lively crowd, keeping an eye out for any signs leading to the gathering. The sooner they could reach the Gong and announce Lyon's presence, the better their chances of finding Maria.

However, a peculiar sight captured the group's attention. Their quest to find lodging was momentarily set aside as they observed an eccentric figure drawing the focus of the onlookers. The man resembled a beggar, tattered and disheveled, his appearance a stark contrast to the vibrant attire of those around him. Thᴇ link to the origin of this information rᴇsts in novelenglish.net . (f)ire.ɴet

Tokens and coins rained down upon the eccentric man, flung at him in jest by the amused onlookers. Laughter and jeers filled the air as the bizarre spectacle continued. It was as if he were the center of an impromptu carnival act.

From the crowd, mocking voices taunted the beggar, their words dripping with derision.

"Look at that lunatic, probably escaped from the asylum!"

"Hey beggar, you're the entertainment for the day! Dance for us!"

"What a pitiful sight. Someone throw him a few more coins for his madness!"

Despite the ridicule, the beggar seemed lost in his own world. His eyes held a vacant, distant look as if the mockery of the crowd didn't reach him. He moved with an odd grace as if performing a mysterious dance that only he comprehended. The coins thrown at him seemed to be absorbed into an unseen void, their significance lost on the beggar.

As the beggar continued his erratic dance, his movements took an unexpected turn. He stumbled and accidentally bumped into a tall, well-dressed young man. This was Drako Wrymheart, one of the renowned young masters of Second Hell.

Drako's expression twisted into a scowl as he was rudely jolted from his path. He shoved the beggar away with a disdainful gesture, sending the beggar tumbling to the ground. His voice dripped with contempt as he insulted the beggar in front of the crowd.

"Watch where you're going, you wretched fool! You're nothing but a filthy stain on this gathering. Get out of my sight!"

The onlookers laughed at the beggar's misfortune, joining in the mockery. It seemed that even the presence of a young master couldn't deter their cruel jests.

The beggar, still disoriented from the fall, stood up. But as he glanced at Drako's face, his eyes widened in terror. His whole body began to shake uncontrollably, and a gut-wrenching scream escaped his lips. He turned and fled the scene in a panicked sprint.

The crowd, reveling in the spectacle, further intensified their mockery. They jeered at the beggar, finding amusement in his fear and his unfortunate encounter with Drako. Their words were cruel, indicating their desire to curry favor with the influential young master.

"He got what he deserved for daring to cross paths with Drako!"

"Who does he think he is? A mere beggar, thinking he can just dance around like a fool!"

"Drako will remember this. Another testament to his power!"

The scene became a twisted display of power dynamics, where fear and prestige governed the interactions, leaving the beggar to fend for himself in a hostile crowd.

Drako's smile widened as the crowd's adulation washed over him like a wave. He reveled in their praises, feeding off their admiration and validation. The flattery and attention fueled his ego, inflating it to grandiose proportions.

"Thank you, thank you," Drako responded with a theatrical bow, soaking in the attention.

The crowd continued to shower him with accolades, elevating his status in their eyes. They lauded him for his strength, his grace, and his influential family. Drako couldn't get enough of it; it was sweet nectar to his ears.

"He's a true master of martial arts!" "Such elegance and power combined in one person!" "Drako Wrymheart is a legend in the making!"

In this sea of praise, Drako saw himself as the triumphant hero, the epitome of power and prestige. The more they praised, the more he felt invincible, a belief that strengthened his resolve to climb higher in the hierarchy of the Second Hell.