Court was in session again, and once more, the fool took center stage.
Jungho bowed low, his patched boots squeaking on the polished marble. A golden goblet balanced precariously on his head while he juggled three peeled onions, two roasted drumsticks, and one gilded spoon.
The nobles were in hysterics.
Each time he stumbled and somehow saved the act with a theatrical twirl, they howled louder.
[EXP Gained: +41][Skill Progression: Fool's Masquerade - 18%]
The King leaned on one hand, a smirk tugging at the edge of his wine-stained beard. "Tell us another, fool."
Jungho bowed again, spinning the spoon onto his fingertip.
"A beggar once told me," he began, "that a nobleman is just a thief with a prettier outfit and less honesty."
The room gasped.
The Queen's handmaid dropped her fan.
But then Jungho bent his knees into a cowering position, eyes wide. "So I beat him with a shoe for his insolence, of course!"
Laughter thundered through the hall.
[Mockery Bonus: +35%][Relationship Update: King - Amused]
Jungho laughed along with them.
But inside, he calculated. Every word, every step, every grin—it was all data. The System watched everything. It punished deviation. It rewarded humiliation. And so, he danced.
Up in the royal gallery, Princess Arin sat silently.
She sipped water, not wine. Her plate remained untouched.
Her eyes didn't sparkle with mirth like the others. They sharpened with every gesture the fool made. Every grin he wore that didn't reach his eyes.
She saw it.
He was performing, yes.
But not just for them.
Behind the velvet curtain near the minstrel alcove, a figure stood utterly still.
Eyes like twin shards of amber watched the court. Watched the fool.
The figure's clothes were drab. Servant attire, unmemorable. But no servant stood that still for that long without twitching.
The figure didn't blink as Jungho finished his act by bowing into a puddle of wine and accidentally launching the spoon into the King's cup.
The nobles erupted again.
The amber eyes narrowed.
Then the figure turned and disappeared into the walls like smoke curling through a crack.
That night, Jungho sat alone in his chamber. The gold coin count had risen. The bruises on his knees throbbed. His stomach ached from drinking half a bottle of court wine during a forced performance toast.
He stared at the cracked mirror again.
The grin still stared back.
You make such a good one, Sovereign.
He didn't punch it this time.
He leaned forward, nose almost touching the glass.
"Are you watching me?" he whispered.
No response.
He pulled out the poisoned coin from two nights ago.
[Skill: Fool's Gold - Active Scan]Disarmed. Magical residue confirmed.
*[Toxin Identified: Laughing Death. Victims die smiling. Untraceable in wine.]
Someone in court had tried to kill him.
But someone else had been watching him since before that.
He rolled the coin across his fingers like a trick.
Then he whispered into the silence:
"Then keep watching."
His smile turned real, for just a second.
Because tomorrow, he'd start his own little joke.
And the punchline would hurt.
-------
Laughter rippled through the side chamber of the court.
"—and then he tumbled face-first into the roast!"
A cluster of nobles lounged in silk-draped alcoves, sipping fruit wine and airing grievances disguised as gossip. The main feast had ended, but the echoes of the fool's antics were still fresh in their minds.
Baron Cileon dabbed a handkerchief at his brow. "I swear, that jester may be the best investment this court's made in years. Haven't seen the King laugh that hard since the War of the Eastern Fringe."
Duchess Irelle chuckled. "Laughter's a balm for the fearful. The King needs distraction—especially now."
Lord Venmar, the youngest among them and hungry for validation, leaned in. "You think the rumors are true? That the Queen's sickness wasn't natural?"
Cileon and Irelle exchanged glances.
"She's fading too quickly," Irelle said. "But there's no proof. And Arin hasn't challenged the official version."
They all looked across the room.
Princess Arin sat alone near a high window, her face half-lit by moonlight, hands clasped in her lap. Not one bite had been taken from her plate.
"Unnerving girl," Cileon muttered. "Polite, but cold. Like a chess piece that learned how to move itself."
"Don't let that quiet fool you," Irelle replied, lowering her voice. "She knows everything that passes through this court. Some say she has her own whisper network."
Venmar scoffed. "She's a girl. Prince Cael has the support of three commandants and the treasury bloc. Arin's just playing dress-up."
"Young and foolish," Irelle said, not looking at him.
Across the hall, Arin rose without a word. Her movement was effortless, fluid, barely disturbing the silk of her gown. A few heads turned but said nothing.
She passed the jesters' corridor on her way out. One servant flinched as she approached, but Arin simply nodded.
"Is he still awake?" she asked.
The servant blinked. "Yes, Your Highness. Still… smiling."
She didn't answer. She moved on.
In a quieter wing of the castle, behind a tapestry that depicted the Empire's founding, a hidden study existed. Few knew of it. Fewer still dared use it.
Arin entered without hesitation.
Books lined the curved walls—political ledgers, spy reports, volumes of banned prophecy. One sat open on the central table, pages covered in diagrams of glyphs, energy flows, and something labeled System Integration Theory.
She didn't touch it.
Instead, she unfolded a parchment and dipped her quill.
Subject: Court Jester (New)
Origin: Unknown. Behavior—controlled. Laughter—calculated. Disguises suffering with comedic routine. Initial hypothesis: not a native. System-touched.
She underlined the last word.
Immediate threats: Minor. Potential leverage: High.
Then she folded the parchment and placed it in a sealed tube marked only with the crest of a silver moon split down the middle.
She turned and walked to the balcony, overlooking the city.
Below, in the plaza outside the castle, a group of children danced in a circle, chanting a rhyme. One wore a paper crown. Another wore bells.
The laughter carried up to her.
Arin didn't smile.
Back in the noble's alcove, the conversation had shifted.
"He must have come from the Outer Colonies," Venmar insisted. "They have fools that eat nails and juggle fire."
Cileon snorted. "He moves like a soldier. I saw it. Beneath the slapstick, he pivots like someone trained to kill."
"That's absurd. The System wouldn't assign a killer the role of a jester."
"Wouldn't it?" Irelle asked quietly.
They all paused.
"Perhaps the System wants us to underestimate him. Perhaps… that's the point."
A long silence followed.
Then Cileon lifted his goblet. "To the fool who dances while the world watches. May he never stop dancing."
"Or," Irelle added, "may he stop exactly when it hurts the most."
Their glasses clinked.
And far below, the Fool's Guild listened.