Several days had passed since the meeting with Guild Master Davis. The empire's atmosphere remained taut with tension.
Though Shin and Laverna kept their discoveries secret, the banquet's fallout spread unchecked. It ignited a volatile mix of political unrest.
The incident fueled suspicions among neighboring kingdoms. Skeptical of the Crown's growing influence, they fanned the flames of discord.
Whispers escalated into speeches, then official proclamations. Rumors of treason, divine manipulation, and secret deals spread like wildfire.
Enemy nations twisted the narrative to their advantage. They portrayed the Crown as a destabilizing threat to global order.
Propaganda posters sprouted at borders and trade hubs. They depicted King Tristan as a tyrant controlled by ancient bloodlines and cursed magic.
Pamphlets flooded travelers and merchants with lies. They distorted the banquet's events, alleging the Crown summoned demons to upend the current order.
Social unrest rippled in small waves. Some noble houses quietly withdrew support from the capital, wary of the future.
Despite the disinformation, the Crown stayed silent. Whether strategizing or reeling from the chaos, no one could tell.
Fear festered in that silence. Shin's resolve, however, only grew stronger.
In the Lucky Sturgeon's dimly lit common room, ale and heated debate filled the air. Shin and Laverna sat in a shadowed corner, listening as patrons and guild members clashed over the empire's future.
A grizzled merchant slammed his mug down, face flushed. "The Crown's kept us prosperous! King Tristan ensures safe roads and thriving markets; my caravans haven't been raided in years!"
A young guild mage with silver-runed cloak leaned forward, eyes sharp. "Safe roads don't equal freedom. The Crown hoards power, taxing us dry while they feast in golden halls. Those pamphlets about demons at the banquet, what if they're true?"
"Pamphlets are lies spread by cowards!" snapped a scarred, retired guard. "Tristan rebuilt the western provinces after floods and sent healers to every village. This demon talk is just foreign filth tearing at our unity."
Across the room, a lean revolutionary climbed onto a chair, drawing attention. "Tristan's no savior, he's a leech! The monarchy chains us; we don't need a king to govern ourselves. The banquet proves he's lost control, time for a republic where no one kneels!"
The room erupted, some cheering, others shouting defiance. A burly blacksmith, loyal to the Crown, jabbed a finger. "You'd swap order for chaos? Without Tristan's bloodline, warlords and rogue mages would carve us apart!"
"Bloodlines are outdated nonsense!" the revolutionary retorted. "Power should rise from the people's will, not a dusty throne. The banquet was a sign, we're fools to prop up a failing king!"
Shin's jaw tightened as he absorbed the arguments, his heart a furnace of suppressed rage. The truth about King Tristan's betrayal, his alliance with the Hi Okami Clan—the murderers of Shin's family—burned like a wound reopened with every mention of the Crown's virtue.
Laverna, hood low, leaned closer, whispering, her voice steady but laced with concern. "They're splitting like wood under an axe. Half see a savior, half a tyrant."
Shin nodded, scanning the room, his eyes dark with the weight of his knowledge. "The truth's drowned in this noise. Those pamphlets aren't just rumors, they're weapons sharpening the divide, and I'm sitting here knowing Tristan's hands are stained with my family's blood."
Yuri slumped back, hair swinging as she shook her head. "What's the world come to?" she sighed. "One side worships King Tristan like a god, the other's ready to torch the capital, and we're stuck in the middle, knowing too much to speak."
Laverna's lips curved into a grim half-smile, though her eyes flicked to Shin, reading his turmoil. "The middle's a dangerous place when blades start swinging."
Shin's gaze hardened, his resolve unshaken despite the storm within. "Then we'd better be ready to dodge."
The two factions, Crown Loyalists and Revolutionists, teetered on the edge of violence, their voices a crescendo of clashing ideals. Fists clenched, eyes blazed, and the air crackled with the promise of a brawl.
As if on cue with Shin's words, the merchant hurled his mug at the revolutionary, who ducked, letting it shatter against a wooden beam. The room exploded into chaos, Loyalists and Revolutionists colliding in a maelstrom of fists and fury.
Tables overturned, splintering under the weight of grappling bodies. Tankards flew, ale splashing across the floor, slicking the boards and tripping fighters mid-swing.
A mage's errant spark ignited a tapestry, flames licking up the wall before a quick-thinking patron doused it with a bucket. The Lucky Sturgeon, no stranger to brawls, groaned under the strain, its timbers creaking as ideologies clashed in a cinematic tempest.
Shin, Laverna, and Yuri slipped back, dodging a stray chair that crashed into their table. They wove through the chaos, reaching the bar's edge, Shin's fists clenched as the Loyalists' praise for Tristan fueled his silent fury, while Laverna's calm masked her growing unease at the empire's fracture.
This was no petty tavern scuffle over spilled drinks or wounded pride. It was a microcosm of the empire's fracture, each blow a manifesto, each shout a call to war.
Bubbles, the orc bar manager, a towering figure with scars crisscrossing his green hide, had seen enough. He leaped onto the bar, his bellow shaking the rafters, and unleashed a ki technique, a pulse of raw intimidation that froze every soul in place.
"Enough, ye daft lot!" he roared in a thick Scottish brogue, voice like a storm over the highlands. "Ye think ye can wreck my tavern o'er yer bletherin' squabbles? Loyalists, Revolutionists, I dinnae give a fuck damn, ye're all eejits if ye think this settles aught! Sit yer arses down, shut yer gobs, or I'll heave every last one o' ye into the gutter maself!"
His eyes glowed with primal authority, his presence a mountain that dwarfed the room's chaos. The fighters stilled, fists hovering, breaths ragged, as the brawl died under his glare.
The Lucky Sturgeon fell silent, save for the drip of spilled ale and the crackle of the singed tapestry. Patrons slunk back to their seats, nursing bruises and grudges.
Shin, Laverna, and Yuri exchanged glances, the weight of the moment settling in. Though the fighting had stopped, the tension hung thick, a storm paused but not dispelled, and Shin's heart still seethed with the bitter truth of Tristan's treachery.