The sun spilled through stained-glass windows in fragmented colors, casting fractured halos on the royal amphitheater floor. The nobles were gathered again—closer this time. Hungrier.
Jungho stood alone on the stage, the cracked mask clipped to his belt.
Today, there was no prompt. No summoned performance. He had volunteered.
[System Alert: Voluntary Performance – Unscripted]
Fool's Skill Progression Chance: Increased
The court murmured.
"Is he performing again?"
"Twice in three days?"
"Arrogant little bastard."
Jungho raised his hand, and the room stilled.
"I've come to sell treasure," he declared.
He reached into a satchel and pulled out a golden goblet. Gleaming. Ornate. Encrusted with red gems.
"Nobles of the court!" he cried. "Behold—the Chalice of Eternal Wisdom!"
The nobles leaned in. A few whispered.
"This belonged to the High King of Draemond," Jungho announced, "forged in the fires of the Twin Peaks, and blessed by the sun priestesses of Araleth!"
He passed it to the nearest lord—a portly man known more for greed than grace.
Baron Telveron examined it with trembling hands. The gems sparkled. The gold glinted.
[Skill Activated: Fool's Gold – Level I]
Effect: Illusion of value cast on mundane object for 30 seconds.
The baron's eyes widened. "I'll buy it. Five hundred crowns!"
Gasps.
Jungho smiled.
"Going once…"
"Six hundred!" shouted another noble.
Jungho turned. "Going twice…"
"Seven hundred crowns and a silver estate!"
The audience roared. King Tiberion leaned forward, a grin tugging at his lips.
Jungho caught his eye.
Then dropped the goblet.
It shattered.
Ceramic. Cheap. Fake.
Gasps became silence.
Jungho bowed.
"And now you know the price of illusion."
The nobles stared, mouths agape. Telveron turned pale.
One burst into laughter.
"Brilliant!" cried a noblewoman. "Absolutely vile!"
[Fool's Skill Proficiency Increased: Fool's Gold – Level II]
New Effect: Residual humiliation applied to targets.
[Court Favor +8]
[Baron Telveron Reputation: -15]
Jungho walked offstage before the clapping began.
In the hallway, he caught his breath.
He hadn't known if the skill would work. If the illusion would hold. But it had.
For thirty seconds, they had believed.
And now, they'd remember.
[Mask Sync: 18%]
He looked down at the cracked mask.
Its painted smile was slightly wider.
Far above the chamber, hidden behind drapes, a velvet-cloaked figure observed.
Another sat beside them, arms folded.
"That one is dangerous," the second said. "His skills are waking up."
The first nodded.
"But not complete. He still hesitates. Still resents the role."
The second stood. "Shall we send the next invitation?"
"Not yet. Let him stew. Fools cook best under pressure."
Princess Arin read the performance transcript with narrowed eyes.
"Telveron won't forget that humiliation," her steward noted.
"He's not meant to," Arin said. "We needed someone to bleed first. Publicly."
She tapped the parchment.
"Jungho is no longer a performer. He's a weapon."
That night, Jungho returned to his chamber and found something tucked under his pillow.
Not a card. Not a threat.
A coin.
Made of paper.
Drawn in red ink.
"Only the rich can afford to laugh. Keep spending."
– The Fool's Guild
He flicked it into the candle flame.
It didn't burn.
-
The throne room emptied slowly, echoes of laughter still trailing behind velvet curtains. Yet one noble did not leave.
Baron Telveron stood beside a shattered shard of ceramic, his face unreadable.
A servant approached cautiously. "My lord… shall I have someone retrieve your estate bid?"
Telveron didn't reply.
Not to the servant. Not to anyone.
He turned and walked out, each step deliberate, as if grinding the memory of the moment beneath his boots.
His private chambers were nothing like the gaudy opulence he paraded in court. Here, stone walls were bare, scrolls and coins stacked with militant precision.
At the far end, a locked chest. He opened it with a bone key.
Inside, aged parchment, a signet ring… and a name burned into an old ledger.
Alchemist Aelreth, Expelled. Forbidden Practices. Exiled from the Arcane Circle.
He traced the name with one finger.
"I know tricks when I see them," he muttered. "But this one humiliated me with a lie... and laughter."
He penned a note.
"Come. I have gold. And a mask that must be broken."
—T
Elsewhere, in a vaulted chamber beneath the Queen's quarters, a man in black read a report aloud.
"He calls it 'Fool's Gold.' Object enchantment via temporary glamour. Court nobles susceptible due to ego."
The Queen said nothing. She stirred her tea, expression placid.
The agent continued. "He's drawn the eye of Arin. And others."
She set her cup down.
"Find out if it's real magic. Or something worse."
"And the jester?"
She smiled.
"Clowns are made to amuse. When they stop being funny, we stop letting them live."
Later that night, Telveron's messenger arrived at the edge of the marshlands.
A hunched figure greeted him in a robe of tattered gray.
"I was promised coin."
"You were promised vengeance."
The figure held up a cracked monocle, dark glass glowing faintly.
"This is the price. You want him humiliated? Or cursed?"
Telveron's letter was passed over.
"Both."
In the dark, the wind shifted.
And far above, perched behind the statue of the First King, a masked figure whispered into the night:
"He moves. Let him. The jester grows best in fire."