The Invincible Young Master

Without another word, he resumed his pace, leaving Zarak to follow in silence.

They walked through the lively streets, passing vendors and street performers, until they finally stopped before a tall, imposing building.

Its elegant stone facade and carved pillars hinted at luxury, and Zarak watched as richly dressed patrons stepped out of fancy carriages, making their way inside.

The aromas wafting from within indicated fine cuisine, and soft music floated out whenever the grand doors swung open.

"What is this place?" Zarak asked, eyeing the establishment with curiosity.

The old man looked up at the building with an almost proud expression.

"This," he said, "is my working place."

Zarak's brow lifted in surprise. "You work here?"

The old man chuckled, catching the hint of disbelief in Zarak's voice. "What, did you think I only wandered around telling stories? I have my own reputation to maintain, and this place gives me a steady coin, better than counting pennies on the street."

Still slightly skeptical, Zarak glanced up at the building once more, noting the finely dressed doormen and the gleaming decorations that lined the entryway. It was hard to reconcile this refined, bustling restaurant with the wandering storyteller he'd come to know.

"So, you tell stories here?" Zarak asked, half-expecting another riddle.

The old man grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Come inside, and you'll see."

As they neared the grand entrance, the old man reached into his robe and handed a small token to the doormen.

The guards inspected it with sharp eyes, their expressions unreadable as they stepped aside and pushed the ornate double doors open with a bow.

Zarak followed the old man inside, his curiosity simmering. It seemed the storyteller had been truthful, he really did have access to such a place.

The first thing Zarak noticed was the sheer splendor of the interior. The floor beneath his feet was a stunning mix of dark, polished wood and pristine white marble, gleaming as if the very ground had been enchanted to glow.

Overhead, crystal chandeliers sparkled, their many facets scattering light like tiny stars cast across a twilight sky.

The high ceilings was painted in breathtaking detail, their colors so vibrant they seemed alive.

Towering marble columns framed the space, rising like silent guardians. Between them, alcoves housed statues so exquisitely carved they might as well have been real people frozen in time.

Gold-framed paintings adorned the walls, depicting scenes of glory, power, and serene beauty. The furniture was no less impressive, tables and chairs arranged with precision, their settings accented by silverware that shimmered under the chandelier's glow.

Near one corner, a grand piano stood silent, its black surface gleaming like obsidian.

At the far end of the hall, a grand staircase spiraled upwards, its rails polished to perfection, shining like molten gold.

The upper floors were hidden from view, yet the staircase itself hinted at even more grandeur above.

Every inch of the room spoke of refinement, wealth, and a world far removed from the simple existence Zarak had known.

Zarak paused, his gaze drifting over the elegantly dressed patrons. They moved gracefully, their conversations quiet but animated, punctuated by the occasional clink of crystal glasses.

Their attire sparkled with jewels and silks, making their presence feel almost ethereal.

By contrast, Zarak's simple clothing suddenly felt out of place.

His eyes wandered to the tables, where servers in crisp uniforms carried silver trays filled with dishes that exuded delicate, tantalizing aromas.

The smell teased his senses, stirring a faint hunger, but when Zarak remembered the small pouch inside his sleeves, a wry smile crept onto his face.

Would his hundred silvers even cover a cup of tea in a place like this? And if he tried to order, would the staff simply smile politely and point him toward the nearest inn? He thought

The old man, clearly attuned to Zarak's hesitation, glanced back with a knowing grin. "Don't look so stiff, lad,"

Zarak nodded faintly, but his amusement was evident in the quiet chuckle that escaped him.

The sight of the wandering storyteller moving so comfortably through this lavishness was almost comical.

The old man, with his weathered robe and easygoing demeanor, seemed so out of place here, and yet he walked across the marble floors as if he owned the palace itself.

As they moved through the room, Zarak's unease gradually faded, replaced by quiet observation.

He studied the patrons, the subtle shifts in their auras and the interplay of power among them. Find your next adventure on empire

Many radiated faint energies, clearly ascendants, but none felt overly threatening. Still, it intrigued him how such a luxurious establishment could attract so many powerful figures.

As Zarak and the old man continued through side of the hall, their conversation was interrupted by a lively commotion.

A group of elegantly dressed women glided past, their silvery laughter echoing like delicate chimes.

At the center of their attention walked a man with striking blue hair, his appearance regal and commanding.

His sharp features, paired with a confident stride, made him seem larger than life.

The women surrounding him gazed at him with unrestrained admiration, hanging on his every word and gesture.

Zarak's eyes lingered on the scene, his curiosity piqued.

Initially, most of the other guests paid little mind to the blue-haired man. But the atmosphere shifted the moment he adjusted his course.

His new direction caused ripples of interest to spread across the room. Whispered murmurs stirred among the guests, heads turning to follow him as he approached a particular table.

The looks in their eyes, shock, disbelief, and a touch of amusement, spoke volumes. It was as though the man was about to commit a reckless, unthinkable act.

The table he approached was unmistakably distinctive. Covered in dishes so artfully prepared they looked like masterpieces, the feast sparkled under the chandelier's glow.

Wines in crystal bottle shimmered in hues of deep rose and pale gold, reminiscent of spring blooms and morning light. Yet, for all the table's grandeur, only one person occupied it.

The lone diner was a woman. Her short, golden hair framed her face with an almost casual elegance.

She sat at ease, her focus entirely on the wine swirling in her cup. Her dress, a vivid blue that rivaled the man's hair, accentuated her regal air.

Despite her calm demeanor, there was a magnetism about her, a quiet authority that demanded respect without words.

Behind her stood a stern-faced attendant, her posture rigid, her watchful eyes betraying a readiness to act at a moment's notice.

The blue-haired man came to a stop in front of the table, his smile unwavering as he addressed the woman.

"Good evening, Beautiful miss," he began smoothly. "Would you allow me the honor of sharing your table?"

The hum of whispers grew louder.

"Does he have a death wish?" someone murmured, disbelief thick in their tone.

"He's got guts," another muttered. "But clearly no sense."

A third guest shook their head, their voice hushed but firm. "He must not know who she is. Or worse, he thinks he can handle her."

The golden-haired woman remained still, her gaze fixed on her wine as though the world beyond it didn't exist.

Slowly, she tilted her head, the faint movement enough to draw the room's collective attention.

Her hand moved, gesturing as if brushing away an invisible nuisance.

"Scram," she said, her voice soft yet unyielding. Though her tone carried a faint slur, likely from drink, the command was undeniable, sharp as the edge of a blade.

The entire hall fell silent, tension settling like a heavy fog. The blue-haired man faltered, his confident smile flickering like a dying flame.

For a moment, he stood frozen, caught between defiance and retreat.

The onlookers watched intently, anticipation crackling in the air. Would he dare press on, or would he swallow his pride and leave?

The blue-haired young man stood his ground, his smile unfaltering despite the sharp dismissal.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face as he responded smoothly, "It seems Miss Silica is in a sour mood today. Perhaps a melody will lift her spirits."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned gracefully and strode toward the grand piano that sat at the edge of the hall.

The women in his entourage gasped in delight, their admiration undimmed by the bold move.

Around the room, heads turned, murmurs spreading as the young man seated himself at the piano.

His fingers hovered dramatically above the keys before descending in a fluid motion.

The music that followed was nothing short of enchanting. A melody of exquisite beauty unfurled, winding through the room like an invisible ribbon of light.

Notes danced and shimmered in the air, silencing conversations and drawing every gaze. Guests who had been immersed in their meals or quiet discussions paused, entranced.

The women closest to him appeared particularly spellbound, their eyes gleaming with adoration as they leaned forward, hanging on every note.

As the melody rose and fell, Zarak glanced at the scene with a bemused expression.

The young man clearly sought to dazzle his audience, and for the most part, he succeeded.

However, his intended target, the golden-haired woman named Silica, remained entirely unmoved.

The woman, Silica, lifted her head slightly, her golden hairs shimmering under the chandelier's glow. Her brows furrowed, and she let out an audible sigh of irritation.

"What's with lullaby? Is he tone-deaf?" she muttered, her voice slurred but sharp enough to carry to the nearest tables. Her words caused a few startled chuckles to ripple through the crowd.

Her annoyance grew as the melody persisted.

Finally, with an air of exasperation, she flicked her fingers toward the table.

A small silver spoon, seemingly ordinary, launched into the air with uncanny speed and accuracy.

CRACK!

The spoon struck the grand piano with a resounding impact, splitting the instrument in half as though it were made of paper.

The elegant music came to an abrupt halt, replaced by the harsh sound of splintering wood and snapping strings.

Pieces of the piano collapsed in a heap, the glossy black surface now reduced to a chaotic mess.