Tonight, the bar was alive with laughter and chaos.
Drunken men babbled about their lives while poets recited vulgar verses that only fueled the crowd's laughter. Female dancers in flashy outfits entertained patrons with teasing smiles, making some men even more giddy.
I smiled faintly at the scene—wild to look at, but just another night in a place like this.
Adjusting the hood of my cloak, I walked slowly past the drunken crowd, submerged in the noise. The sharp smell of alcohol filled the air, strong enough to make my head spin. But I'd prepared for it by rubbing a bit of mint and citrus oil under my nose beforehand. It helped—at least a little.
I made my way to the bartender's table and sat on one of the rickety wooden stools. With a light tap on the counter, I ordered,
"One glass of Sweet Sizzle."
From what I'd heard, it was popular among the local youth, and I was curious to try it.
The bartender—a large man with a rough face—nodded without saying much. He skillfully grabbed a glass, poured the liquid from a large bottle, and slid it toward me.
"Two silver Kibkels."
I pulled two silver coins from my pocket and placed them on the table. The engraving of a small palace on the surface shimmered faintly under the oil lamp's glow. The bartender took them wordlessly as I reached for my drink.
I stirred it gently, then wiped my nose with my sleeve to erase the lingering mint scent. Bringing the glass to my lips, I inhaled—lemon, with a hint of ginger. The alcohol wasn't too strong.
I sipped slowly. Warmth spread down my throat—a perfect blend of lemony acidity and soothing spices. Not too harsh, but just enough to warm the body on a cold night.
"Not bad," I murmured, then downed the rest in one smooth gulp.
Just as I was enjoying my drink, a loud voice caught my attention. I turned toward the corner of the bar where a scruffy-haired man was speaking seriously. His gaze was sharp, as if trying to convince those around him.
"Believe it or not, the church in this town is conducting a witch hunt," he said.
Some laughed, while others began to take interest. I decided to listen in.
"They think magic is real and dangerous to society. I don't believe it myself, but if someone could show me real magic, I'd acknowledge it!"
He was clearly drunk, but his words piqued my interest.
He continued, "The church believes this magic corrupts minds and disrupts the social order. They want to purge it from the city. I've seen them burn evidence—mystical items, ancient books."
Ah, what a shame. If I were there, I might've cried and rushed in to save those precious items. But I value my life, so maybe I'd let it go.
More people around him were beginning to listen, curiosity growing, myself included.
"A witch hunt? That's the best story of the night!" someone joked, while others shrugged and resumed their conversations.
A few looked serious as they heard the tale, their expressions showing unease and deep thought. Some stayed silent, while others commented,
"I've heard of strange things happening near the church lately. Maybe there's truth to it."
The man remained unfazed. Raising his glass, he added,
"Believe it or not, it's real. They accuse people of witchcraft without solid proof. One day, you'll see the truth."
Suddenly, loud laughter burst from one corner. Some who had listened seriously now laughed uncontrollably, claiming it was all just drunken talk.
"Ah, sorry, friend! Turns out we're all just here for fun," one man said, slapping the speaker's back. "A witch hunt? Better suited for tavern tales than real life!"
The storyteller chuckled and joined in the laughter.
"You're right, maybe I'm being too serious. Let's enjoy the night with more drinks and laughter!"
The rowdiness returned, and the tale of the witch hunt was brushed aside.
Yes, forget about the story—let's get to the magic.
I was already beside the man who'd made the bold claim, and I patted his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sorry to interrupt your fun, sir. I'm intrigued by your challenge, so I'd like to show you some magic," I said calmly, flashing a friendly smile.
The room fell silent for two seconds—then erupted in laughter.
"A challenger! Hahaha! This is getting good—come on, show us your weird little magic!"
Laughter rang out, but I remained calm, my smile unshaken.
The man turned to face me with a mocking look.
"Oh really? Then go ahead, miss—let's see it." He laughed and took another swig of his drink.
"Gladly."
Confidently, I pulled a stack of tarot cards from my coat pocket.
The bar quieted again. All eyes were on me, curious to see what I would do.
I smiled slyly, a plan forming. I spread the cards between my fingers with smooth, practiced motions. Without a word, I began performing a card trick.
With one smooth turn of the hand, the cards vanished—leaving only one: a tarot card depicting a robed man pointing downward with one hand and upward with the other, holding a candle. The Magician.
Gasps and confused stares followed.
Still smiling, I let the card drop—but instead of falling, it hovered in the air. With a wave of my hand, the card spun and floated around me.
The crowd was stunned.
"How did she do that!?" some shouted.
I continued. With a flick of the wrist, the card shot into my palm.
Silence lingered. Some were still awestruck; others whispered, trying to guess the trick.
But I wasn't done.
I stepped confidently to the center of the room, letting silence settle before raising my hand high.
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight I present a show like no other!"
Some looked intrigued, others buried their faces in their mugs. No matter—I only needed one.
"I need a brave volunteer," I said, scanning the room.
After a few awkward glances, a large man with a bushy beard stood, grinning mockingly.
"I want to see what cheap tricks you've got," he growled.
I smiled. "Such courage," I said, patting his shoulder. "Alright then, let's begin."
I leaned closer, looking into his eyes.
"First, drink more. I need you properly drunk."
The bar laughed, and cheers erupted. The bartender slammed a full glass in front of him, and without hesitation, the man downed one... two... three...
His face flushed, his eyes watery, but he still stared at me defiantly.
I crouched beside him, theatrically placing my hand on his head.
"Now, I'll show you something beyond floating cards."
Another pat on the back.
"Try standing and spin three times."
He obeyed, staggering slightly. One turn, two... on the third, he stopped abruptly, face twisting strangely.
The crowd held its breath as he bent over, clutching his stomach.
Then came the sound.
"Urrghh...!"
He vomited.
But instead of a gross mess—golden glitter.
Coins spilled from his mouth, clinking and spinning across the floor in an impossible shower.
Silence.
Everyone stared, mouths agape.
Then, like fire to oil, the bar erupted in chaos.
Screams, gasps, and scrambling bodies. Men dropped to their knees, snatching coins with trembling hands. Others looked at me in shock and awe.
"That... that's real gold! How?!"
The skeptic man now sat on the floor, hands shaking as he picked up a coin, staring at it in horror.
Meanwhile, I stood by the bar's doorway, barely containing my laughter.
I stepped outside, the night air brushing my face. Once far from the ruckus, I chuckled and pulled one gold coin from my pocket.
A nearly perfect illusion.
The floating card trick? Sleight of hand, optical illusions, and an invisible thread.
But the coin vomit? A little trickier.
I had planned to use real gold coins and swap his position at the right time to make it seem real. But I realized the bar's drunken state, dim lighting, and crowd euphoria could amplify the illusion. With a hint of magic and a touch of perception manipulation, I made them see what they wanted to see—for cheap.
I laughed quietly. Then I felt something resonate inside me—a subtle wave of energy, like a soft vibration in my chest. I smiled.
My master was right. Every witch has their own kind of magic.
And me?
"A magician must be prepared," I whispered to myself, recalling the principle.
"Gain their attention, then deliver a shocking show."
My smile softened. My magic followed the core principle I once learned as a performer: prepare, capture attention, and surprise. The emotions people gave in response to my performance triggered the resonance of my magic—it worked because it made them feel.
Heh... I never thought magic could work like this.
I stepped into the shadows, vanishing mysteriously.
Wait—why am I leaving like this? I'm a magician!
I stopped mid-step in the shadows, hesitated, then turned, ran, and leapt onto a wall. My hands found cracks and edges, my feet pushed me up, and with nimble grace I climbed using my wrists and toes, leaping with momentum until—
—I reached the rooftop.
Running across the rooftops, leaping from one to another, the moonlight lit up my figure, cloak fluttering dramatically.
I struck a match and lit a flame. With a snap of my fingers, it flared, engulfed me—and shrank until I vanished, flames swept away by the wind.