The Prince in Question Is Not Stable-Chapter 48: The Caretaker

[Phase 2 – Charlatans (The War of Minds)]

One Year Later.

~ Silver-Valley. North-Western Mountain Ranges of the Lunar Kingdom.

Rain streaked down the tavern windows, blurring the glow of the evening sun just above the horizon.

’♪’

Jazz harmonica, the fiddles, drums, and laughter resounded across the room, mugs clashing like steel, beautiful women servers weaving through the crowd with trays.

At the bar, a middle-aged man with dark blue hair that even shaded his brows, a fine physique, and ocean eyes sat draped in a black cape. He was leaning casually on the counter, reading the newspaper in his hands as the bartender prepared another drink for him.

He was focused on a short informational news on the top right of the front page of the newspaper.

’Reports from multiple provinces indicate that individuals suspected of ties to the underground group known as ’Blind Spot’ have been found dead over the past year under unclear circumstances. The sudden collapse of an assassin’s organisation remains unexplained.’

"Here you go, Graves. Another strong shot of tequila..." The bartender spoke, sliding the glass of drink to the man.

His name was Graves. Graves Corbin. A clearance five magician excelling in the water element.

Graves had a rather diverse profile. But...

"A lot of criminals are being butchered, aye?" he spoke, and smirked.

The bartender’s face turned grim and cautious. He was a young man with dirt blonde hair and decent looks. Enough that the servers were attracted to him.

"It really depends on the perspective, Graves, if you think about it," Bartender paused and started preparing another order.

"They’re just assassins, they don’t commit crimes intentionally...they’re paid to do a job," he continued.

"A crime’s still a crime, Yarrow. Yarrow, right?" Graves said and confirmed the name of the bartender.

"I keep the Y silent, Arrow sounds more elegant," Yarrow responded.

"Sparrow’s not a bad idea either," Graves mumbled and drank his shot.

"But, seriously. There’s the funny thing about assassins," Graves said, banging the glass on the table.

"They always believe they’re professionals," and then he lifted it again. "Until someone better shows up."

Yarrow froze for a second and looked at Graves.

"Don’t you think, little birdie?" Graves smirked.

"A-absolutely... they should know their place," Yarrow shook his head, and continued his work.

"Right?" Graves said, and a server came and sat beside him, exhausted from all the work she’d been doing.

"Whoo---" She heaved a sigh, leaned on the table, brushing the slab, and tapped her finger, calling Yarrow.

"Water. I’m dying of thirst, honey," she said.

"Right up," Yarrow replied, and poured her a glass of water.

She drank from the cup, then looked at Graves, sizing him, and squinted.

"I’ve never seen you around here...you’ve got that noble stature," she said and leaned forward, with her hand resting on the bar, and looked into his eyes.

"Oh, I have been living here for years, I believe," Graves replied, and turned his body towards her.

"Really? How come I’ve never seen a man as handsome as you then? There are no rumours about a blue-haired muscle in the town either," she seemed interested in him.

Graves smirked and nodded at her doubts. He then looked towards the windows behind her and pointed at the mountains past her.

"I live there..." He said, and the whole tavern turned silent.

Musicians who heard that stopped playing their instruments, servers dropped a few plates, and the men chatting in the tavern turned silent. Even Yarrow was left frozen the moment those words came out of Graves mouth.

The lady in front of him was also left stunned as she followed the direction of his finger and looked at the mountains, thunderclouds rumbling over them.

"You do know what’s there, right?" She paused and gulped.

"You can’t just point at it and say you live there; not a single human has the capability to enter those mountains," she said.

Her voice stuttered a little as she looked at the confidence in Graves’s eyes.

"That’s where the palace of the fifth Prince is..." she whispered.

"Graves Corbin. Butler of Ymir Celestie of Lunar... and the caretaker of the Palace of Perpetual Rain," Graves responded casually.

Thunder rolled across the mountains, and moments passed in silence.

No one spoke a word.

There are only five Prince Palaces in the whole Kingdom of Lunar. Each of them is different, unique, and revered as places of not just royalty but divinity.

For many, it’s a dream to even witness the face of one.

Yarrow’s hand tightened around the bottle he was holding. The glass creaked faintly under the pressure.

Graves didn’t miss that. He leaned back on the stool.

"Relax," Graves said, rolling the empty shot glass between his fingers.

"I’m not here for the drinks,"

A thin bead of sweat slid down Yarrow’s temple.

One of the men sitting nearby chuckled nervously.

"Prince’s servant, eh?" the man muttered. "Didn’t know royalty drank in places like this."

Graves tilted his head slightly and acknowledged the comment, but he didn’t answer.

Instead, he just stared at the bartender with his ocean-blue eyes.

"Yarrow, or arrow, or sparrow..." he said quietly.

Graves tapped the folded newspaper against the counter.

"You’ve read this, I assume."

Yarrow said nothing.

"The blind spot collapse is quite unfortunate. An entire organisation disappearing like that."

A drop of liquor spilt from the bottle Yarrow was still holding. The server, besides Graves, was sensing something; she felt threatened and suppressed just by Graves’s words.

"Careful," Graves smiled. "Your hands are shaking."

Yarrow took in a deep breath and placed the bottle of liquor on the table.

"You said you lived in those mountains?" he said, forcing a laugh. "Why come down here to drink with commoners?"

Graves thought for a while and tilted his head.

"Work." He said.

"For the tequila," Graves placed a single gold coin on the counter. It was far more worth than a few shots of liquor.

Then he stood up.

Yarrow’s eyes darted toward the back door as he slowly started releasing the blood seal that suppressed his core.

"You know," Graves said, brushing his cape. "During my time hunting the lot of assassins, I’ve come to some conclusions,"

"It’s that Blind Spot always had a bad habit."

Yarrow took a step back.

"They believed anonymity was protection."

He took another step back as his aura started circulating throughout his body.

"And that they take a lot of time releasing the seal on their core."

Graves lifted a finger. A small ring-shaped magic circle formed on it.

Water from the server’s glass trembled and rose violently, forming into a fine and thin ribbon that was sharp enough to cut the air with the slightest of its movements.

The people in the tavern turned and started running towards the exit, including the server who was beside Graves.

The ribbon of water moved in an instant and snapped into a spider web, coiling Yarrow in the centre, like prey.

"Running," Graves continued calmly, "never seems to solve these problems."

The treads sank into cloth, then skin, and then muscles. Drinking his aura, blood, slowly turning a sharp puddle colour of black and red.

Yarrow’s eyes bulged, sound tore from his throat as the threads carved a spiral around his skin, peeling the skin back in a curling ribbon.

He thrashed, tried to get free, and squirmed in pain.

The tavern had become pure chaos. Chairs overturning, servers screaming and running, the one who’d flirted with Graves moments ago slipped on spilt liquor, slamming her knee into the table.

But not a single one of them looked at Yarrow or tried to help him.

Yarrow’s aura finally flared with all his might; his assassin-grade killing intent filled the whole tavern and snapped the wooden panels of the walls, but the water threads just kept cutting him slowly.

He looked at Graves with eyes that screamed curses for life and generations. His lips, which were already torn, tried to move into mumbles.

"W-hy?"

Graves tilted his head and smiled.

"You should die in suspense."

Then, he snapped his fingers.

The water threads collapsed inward. Every filament contracted at once, Yarrow’s body jerked in a final spasm as his whole body was cut into several meat and bone pieces, dropping onto the ground like finely butchered meat.

The only thing that remained intact was a pair of eyes, rolling across the bar before stopping in front of Graves.

Graves picked up the empty tequila glass and calmly placed it over the rolling eyeball.

"Messy work," he muttered.