Yousafer lifted the last morsel of meat, popped it into his mouth, and spoke while chewing, his eyes fixed on Yuray. "These dishes are truly exquisite."
Before Yuray could respond, a confident, melodic tone reached their ears: "You are right, lad. No matter how far you roam in this city, you will not find a restaurant that serves such savory delicacies."
Yousafer and Yuray both turned to the man sharing their table.
The man offered a knowing smile. "It seems you are not from this kingdom."
"No," Yousafer replied shortly. "We are not."
The man's eyes drifted to the gap in Yousafer's cloak, where the small, embroidered banner on his attire peeked through. "I take it you've come to enjoy the festival, then?"
Yousafer picked up a napkin, dabbing his mouth. "Yes, you could say that. And you? Are you a native of this realm?"
The man leaned back, lifting his earthen jar to take a long draught. "No, I am not from here. My homeland is very far away."
Yousafer raised a hand high to signal the waiter, then turned back to the stranger. "And are you here for the festival as well?"
A few stray droplets escaped the man's lips as he drank. He wiped his mouth with his hand, letting out a light sigh and a smirk. "I am searching for someone. The festival holds no allure for me." He paused, then asked, "You are insurgents, aren't you?"
Yousafer noted the man's gaze lingering on his clothes. "Yes. We are insurgents."
Suddenly, a low voice spoke from beside Yousafer. "And you are an insurgent as well, are you not?"
The man stared at the white-haired youth with the closed eyes, who had remained silent until now. He then tapped his own chest. "Yes, you could say that."
"I haven't seen that banner before," the man asked again. "Which rebel cause do you follow?"
Yousafer crossed his arms over his chest. "We follow no one."
"Can I get you something?" the waiter interrupted, appearing with a professional smile.
"Do you have newspapers?" Yousafer asked.
The waiter nodded. "Yes. Would you like the latest edition or the archives?"
Yousafer held up two fingers. "Both."
"Certainly, young master."
After the waiter returned with a stack of papers, the man spoke again. "It seems you've only just stepped out into the world. You're still at the beginning of your journey, aren't you?"
Yousafer flipped through the papers. "Yes."
The man turned his attention to Yuray. "You must tread carefully. Insurgents are perpetually hunted by the Army and the Bounty Hunters."
Yuray's face remained an emotionless mask, but he whispered in a voice that carried a heavy, ominous weight: "It does not matter who hunts us. The roles can reverse at any moment."
"Hahaha!" The man erupted into loud laughter, causing a sudden silence to fall over the restaurant as heads turned toward him. "You want to hunt the Army? I've never heard such a thing before!"
He raised his right hand, pointing at Yuray. "You are intriguing, boy. I like you. I came here for someone else, but there's no harm in taking you too. How about joining my league?"
The offer caught Yuray off guard, but Yousafer didn't care; a look of pure mockery flickered across his face before he returned to his reading.
"You belong to a league?" Yuray asked calmly.
Once the man fell silent, the curious gazes drifted away, and the usual cacophony of the restaurant resumed. "Indeed. The League of the Sleeping Kaiser. Have you heard of it?"
"I know nothing of organizations or any such things," Yuray replied flatly.
"So, what do you say? Will you join?"
Yuray leaned back, relaxed. "I'm sorry. I'm not interested."
The man was taken aback by the swift refusal. "You're quick, boy. Why not think on it for a day or two?"
"I don't care if years pass," Yuray said. "Once my answer leaves my lips, it remains unchanged. There is no difference between today and tomorrow."
The man sipped from his jar, the air filling with a sweet, floral aroma. "You are remarkably headstrong, lad. But it's a loss; you are quite powerful."
When the man had asked Yuray to join, it wasn't merely because of his words. From the moment the two had stood before him, he had felt a profound stillness emanating from Yuray, marking him as someone truly extraordinary.
*"This boy is truly strange. He would be a cornerstone for us. I cannot let him slip through my fingers; such youths are rare indeed,"* the man thought.
The man looked back at Yuray. "We wouldn't separate you from your friend, either. If you want to bring him along, so be it. He can join as well." He assumed Yuray's hesitation was out of loyalty to Yousafer.
At those words, Yousafer's expression shifted. His eyes narrowed into sharp, arrogant slits, his eyebrows arched, and he bit his upper lip while exhaling sharply—a display of absolute, unbridled haughtiness.
The man stared, slightly bewildered, before speaking. "What is wrong with you, boy? Has your face suffered a stroke?"
"It seems it is your brain that has suffered a stroke," Yousafer retorted with biting pride.
The man turned his head back to Yuray, ignoring Yousafer's jab. To him, Yousafer seemed like an ordinary youth not worth his attention; his offer to include him was merely bait to catch Yuray.
"What do you say?" the man pressed.
Yuray sighed and murmured, "You've already heard my answer. No need to repeat it."
The man raised his eyebrows, finally losing hope. He lifted his jar and took another sip.
In that moment, a group of eleven people—ten young men and one girl—entered the establishment. They stood by the door, scanning the room. Recognition flickered through the crowd, and hushed whispers immediately broke out:
"Isn't that the Night Raven insurgent?"
"Yes, look! It's their leader, Raven Petthorn!"
Another person whispered, "His banner only carries a single star. He only appeared this year, yet he's already landed himself on the most-wanted list."
"But why show himself so openly?"
"Fool! Don't you know the festival is almost here? Violence is strictly forbidden. The festival is sacred to the kingdom; any conflict is met with zero tolerance. Even the Bounty Hunters won't dare move now. The Knights and the Army run this show."
Raven Petthorn stepped forward with confident strides. His brown eyes scanned the room, but found no empty tables. Many patrons bowed their heads, not daring to meet his gaze.
Raven stopped beside a table and gripped a man's shoulder. "I assume you've finished your meal," he said, his voice sharp and commanding. "Why not clear the table for us?"
No one dared to argue. The entire group at the table rose immediately, leaving the surface cluttered with scraps and bones.
One of Raven's subordinates spoke up. "Look, there's a table with only three people. Why don't we go there?"
Raven's gaze shifted to the table where Yousafer, Yuray, and the stranger sat. His eyes locked onto the man drinking from his jar, seemingly indifferent to the commotion.
Raven's eyes widened slightly as he recognized the insignia on the man's chest: a solid yellow banner with a wolf at its center. He immediately averted his eyes. "Do not approach that table," he ordered.
His men were confused, their curiosity piqued as they stared at the stranger. Yousafer and Yuray had their backs turned, so their faces remained hidden.
"Do you know him, Captain?" one of them asked.
"I'm not certain," Raven replied, "but there is no need to dig into his background."
Raven Petthorn had brownish-grey hair and wore a black cloak over a dark red shirt. At the center of his chest was a small red banner featuring a black raven, flanked by two black lines. He wore black leather trousers adorned with gold stars and a brown, wide-brimmed hat.
The rest of his group, save for two, wore matching dark red uniforms and black trousers with the same raven sigil. The girl wore a flowing red skirt, her brown hair tied back in a high ponytail.
The two outliers were Jack, a boy with shimmering blonde hair and blue eyes, dressed in patched, multi-colored rags with a long sword in a white scabbard at his hip; and Brilly, a man with black hair, brown eyes, and a jagged scar splitting his lip, dressed in a grey suit and black undershirt with a worn black scabbard at his side.
After forcing another group to leave, they all sat and began to chat. Jack, sitting beside Raven, whispered, "Raven, do you think those three are together?"
"How should I know?" Raven replied, watching the waiter clear the table. "We know nothing of them. But that banner on the man's chest... I'm sure I've seen it somewhere. It's no ordinary sigil."
Yuray leaned back, sipping his hot tea, while Yousafer skimmed the recent news, finding nothing of interest. He set the paper down and stared at the ceiling.
At that moment, the stranger, who had been quiet, finally spoke. "By the way, my name is Lilar. What are your names?" he asked, looking at Yuray.
"I am Yuray," he answered calmly.
Yousafer didn't care for the man, and the man didn't care for Yousafer, so he didn't offer his name.
The man stood up. "We shall meet again one day. I hope we are not enemies then... and I hope you do not regret the path you've chosen."
Yuray remained silent. Yousafer simply closed his pitch-black eyes and leaned back again.
The man, Lilar, turned to l
eave, clutching his earthen jar. Despite having drunk from it since the boys arrived, the water within seemed never-ending.
End of Chapter.