The delegation’s pace slowed as they passed through the main gate of Gantz, a bustling city alive with its inhabitants’ vibrant energy.
The streets teed with people hurrying to and fro, their footsteps blending into a symphony of bustling activity. rchants called out their wares, enticing passersby with colourful displays. The air was filled with the enticing aromas of various cuisines wafting from street food stalls, tempting the senses.
As they ventured further into the city, their eyes darted around, taking in the sights and sounds. Brone, the group leader, a figure of authority, clicked his tongue, a subtle sign of annoyance. His gaze turned to his mage, a slender man riding a horse beside him.
"It seems your magic is not working, Derek," he scoffed with scepticism. "Everything seems fine here."
Derek’s expression tightened, contorted into frustration. Ever since their arrival in the kingdom, no discernible signs indicated the spread of the Laradie epidemic as he had predicted.
The magical item he had ticulously crafted and had soone placed in a remote cave on the border between Cassian and Dracor was intended to be the catalyst for the outbreak. It was a calculated decision, for the isolated location would enable the spread of the epidemic to occur unnoticed, evading suspicion and raising no imdiate alarms.
Drawing on his knowledge of previous cases that occurred twenty years ago, Derek knew that the disease should have travelled and affected the cities within the kingdom by now. Laradie was highly contagious and easily spread, presenting a grave threat to the population.
Yet, his observations had failed to reveal any evidence of such an outbreak thus far. The absence of visible signs only deepened the mystery and heightened his sense of curiosity.
Derek’s confusion mounted, his mind swirling with frustration. He had diligently followed the intricate steps, chanting the spell flawlessly. This was not his first attempt at creating the enchanted item; years of dedication and ticulous practice had gone into perfecting his craft.
He had been so confident that this ti would be different, that he would finally succeed. Yet, the undeniable reality before him revealed that he had failed again.
Anger welled within him, and a torrent of curses escaped his lips, a futile expression of his exasperation. However, instead of eliciting remorse or understanding, his outburst only prompted a disparaging smile from the leader of the Bargesians.
"Let’s see if you can truly sense your so-called Ro’an descendant now," Brone taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Perhaps they are dancing right before your eyes."
The words stung, accompanied by mocking laughter from Brone’s subordinates. Derek’s fury intensified, a seething fire within him.
"Shut up!" he hissed, his voice cutting through the sceptical laughter, silencing the mocking jests.
As the delegation made their way through the bustling streets, the curious gazes of the city’s inhabitants followed their every move. Suspicion hung in the air as the passing onlookers cast apprehensive looks towards the distinct group.
The delegation mbers stood out from the crowd, their appearances commanding attention and sparking intrigue. Towering in height with imposing fras, their muscular physiques and bronzed skin exuded strength and resilience. Their countenances were marked by fierce expressions, further setting them apart from the locals.
The city’s people had rarely encountered foreigners bearing such a striking appearance. Over the years, their encounters with individuals from distant lands had been limited, and the sight of persons with such remarkable features was a novelty to them.
Whispers and exchanged glances followed the delegation’s progress as the city dwellers puzzled over the origins and intentions of these enigmatic visitors.
"Shall we seek accommodation, Lord Morro?" one of Brone’s n inquired.
The Bargesian leader’s gaze hardened as he faced the man who dared to ask such a question. He unleashed his frustration with a scathing rebuke.
"Are you stup*d or what?" he spat, his words dripping with disdain. "We are no longer re rcenaries at the beck and call of an imbecilic king. We now represent Ardel as an ambassadorial delegation!"
The man’s head lowered in deference, understanding his mistake. Brone, dismissing the idea of finding lodging, asserted his authority. "We will make our way directly to the palace," he ordered dismissively. "I will personally demand our accommodation there."
"Yes, my lord!" the man replied, his nod quick and subservient, acknowledging the new directive.
After diligently following the directions provided by a helpful passerby, the delegation finally arrived at the imposing Cassian palace. The palace’s grandeur was awe-inspiring, with its majestic architecture adorned with intricate carvings and glistening marble. Towers reached towards the sky, casting long shadows over the courtyard.
As their horses ca to a halt at the main entrance, they were t by vigilant guards dutifully stationed on duty. Stepping forward, one of Brone’s n confidently introduced themselves to the guard, presenting their identification as proof of their status.
"We are delegates from Ardel, and I present to you Lord Morro, our esteed ambassador," the man declared proudly. He proceeded to explain their purpose for visiting the palace: to seek an audience with His Majesty, the King of Cassian, upon the orders of King Ronan, the newly crowned King of Ardel.
The guard listened attentively with serious expression. "Please wait for a mont. I shall relay this ssage to Lord Enos, the royal chamberlain," the guard replied respectfully.
Brone’s subordinate nodded, acknowledging the guard’s response. After a brief wait, the guard returned, accompanied by a man in his forties, who bore a pale complexion indicative of his seasoned years.
"Greetings, esteed representatives from Ardel. I am Lord Charles Enos, the royal chamberlain of the Cassian palace," Charles greeted politely. "How may I be of assistance to you?"
Brone wasted no ti and descended from the horse, followed by his n.
"I am Lord Brone Morro, the appointed ambassador of His Majesty, King Ronan of Ardel," he declared. "This is my letter of credence, along with the letter of intent, indicating our visit. We humbly request an audience with His Majesty, the King of Cassian."
Brone presented the leather container he pulled from his waist to Charles, who received it with a respectful nod. The chamberlain carefully unsealed the container and unfurled the parchnt, eyes scanning the written contents.
His forehead creased in concern as Charles perused the details on the parchnt. He hesitated montarily before raising his gaze to et Brone’s eyes.
"Welco to Cassian, Lord Morro. We sincerely appreciate your peaceful visit," Charles began, his tone diplomatic. "However, I regret to inform you that His Majesty King Kyden’s schedule is heavily occupied today due to a prior engagent. Would it be possible for to arrange another date for the audience?"
Brone’s countenance suddenly transford, his expression sour and displeased. His voice dripped with arrogance as he responded to Charles’s suggestion.
"Mr Chamberlain, we have travelled a considerable distance from Constance. It would be greatly appreciated if your king could spare even a small portion of his busy schedule to et with us," Brone retorted haughtily. "As an ambassador, I represent His Majesty, King Ronan. Treating with disregard is akin to disrespecting the sovereign King of Ardel."
Brone’s words carried an air of entitlent and self-importance as he sought to assert his authority and demand the respect he believed was due to him and his delegation.
Charles’ lips curved downward slightly, revealing his disapproval of the Bargesian leader’s tone and manner of address. However, he maintained his professional composure, choosing to respond with tact.
"Please accept my apologies if I have inadvertently offended you. However, given that you did not have a prior appointnt, it would be challenging for to accommodate your request. Our scheduled audience with His Majesty has a set ti fra, and other attendees are expected to arrive soon," the chamberlain explained in a asured voice.
Brone’s face displayed a flicker of realisation. "Ah, so the other party has not yet arrived. In that case, I fail to see any issue if we utilise the current available ti slot."
Charles maintained a calm deanour as he clarified the situation. "The appointnt has been specifically arranged between His Majesty and the existing attendees, Lord Morro. It would be considered highly impolite if the guests were to arrive during your session with the king."
Charles’s response emphasised the importance of maintaining proper etiquette and respecting the prearranged schedule, underscoring the need for adherence to protocol in their interactions with the Cassian monarchy.
"Are you implying that I hold you in contempt, Mr Chamberlain?" Brone raised a disapproving eyebrow. "This is not a trivial matter. It concerns the relationship between two kingdoms. Have I not made it abundantly clear how imperative it is for us to et with your king? I insist that you go and announce our presence imdiately!"
Charles held his breath, suppressing his growing annoyance at the uninvited guest’s arrogant deanour.
However, he remained composed, reminding himself of his duty to maintain professionalism even in challenging circumstances. After all, encounters with individuals displaying such arrogance were not unfamiliar to him.
"Allow to consult with His Majesty first regarding this matter, and I will return with a response," the chamberlain replied, mustering a wistful smile. "Please be patient and wait."
Brone nodded curtly, acknowledging Charles’s words. As the chamberlain departed with the letter in hand, Brone’s gaze followed him, a mix of impatience and expectation etched on his face.
It didn’t take long for Charles to reerge, bearing a ssage from King Kyden, which would determine the outco of their request.
"His Majesty has graciously inford that he is willing to see you now in the throne hall," Charles relayed the ssage.
"Good! That’s more like it," Brone responded with a satisfied smile.
"Please be aware that the next audience will comnce in approximately one hour," the chamberlain added, providing a tifra for their eting.
"No worries. We won’t take up much ti. While we are in the presence of His Majesty, I would like you to attend to our horses. They have been on the move without proper rest for quite so ti," Brone demanded, asserting his expectations.
"Very well then." Charles glanced at the guard, gesturing him to call the servants to attend to Brone’s request. The guard moved at the signal.
"Now, for your information, before entering the throne hall, it is essential that you comply with the palace protocol," Charles explained. "This entails surrendering all weapons and any items that may raise suspicion to the guards. Additionally, a routine body search will be conducted for everyone’s safety."
"What? Do you presu us to be malicious?" one of the Bargesian leader’s n questioned, a hint of offence in his voice.
"Definitely not. It is rely a standard procedure followed by all visitors," Charles reassured, his tone even. "We prioritise the safety of everyone within the palace walls."
"Fine then! There is no need to argue over this matter. Rest assured, should any unforeseen events occur, we are more than capable of defending ourselves without relying on weapons," Brone remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of defiance.
They dutifully adhered to the protocol, allowing the guards to rummage through their belongings and conduct a thorough body search.
As the guard inspected Derek’s belongings, his attention was drawn to a peculiar-looking bottle tied to the mage’s waist.
Curiosity piqued, the guard inquired, "What is this?"
"It’s a dicine," Derek replied calmly, his tone indicating his confidence in its innocuous nature.
The guard cautiously opened the bottle’s cap, only to be assailed by an overpowering and repugnant stench. Recoiling instinctively, he hastily closed the lid, a look of mild disgust on his face.
"I’m sorry, but this cannot be allowed through," the guard declared, his decision firm.
Derek’s initial impulse was to protest, but a subtle gesture from Brone urged him to remain silent. Reluctantly, the mage complied, retreating with a sombre expression, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Turning his attention back to their guests, Charles maintained his professional deanour.
"Gentlen, please follow this way," he gestured, leading them towards the designated throne hall.
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