Jungho stood in the courtyard at dawn, juggling apples with practiced ease. Each arc caught the morning light, reflected briefly in his eyes, then vanished into his waiting hands.
To the casual observer, it was a fool's warm-up routine.
But every toss had rhythm. Every rotation calculated.
Every moment rehearsed.
[System Notice: Passive Observation Active – Multiple Entities Detected]
[Mask of Performance: Minor Illusion Active]
In the corner of the courtyard, a trio of nobles feigned polite interest. Behind them, servants passed trays with unnecessary elegance. Above, from a balcony, a shadow flickered.
He knew the gaze. That one wasn't from the court.
The Fool's Guild watched again.
Still silent. Still withholding.
He dropped the last apple. Let it fall on purpose. The nobles chuckled and turned away, their interest waning.
Good.
Let them see what they expected.
Later, in the privacy of his chamber, Jungho studied the porcelain mask left by the Chancellor.
Its surface was impossibly smooth. A mirror without reflection. Cold, even in warmth.
[Item: Mask of Binding]
[Effect Duration: 5 Minutes (Per Use)]
[Cooldown: 48 Hours]
[Current Cooldown Remaining: 47:21:38]
He placed it gently back in its box.
The system had already mapped out the masquerade in his quest log.
[New Quest: The Dance of Daggers]
Objective: Survive the Court Masquerade While Advancing Jester Evolution Path]
Bonus Objective: Reveal a Noble's Secret / Sabotage a Rival Performance]
Jungho closed the screen.
"Not much for subtlety, are you?" he muttered.
Still, it was more direct than the guild.
Court preparations spread like perfume through the palace.
Every corner was draped in silk. Musicians rehearsed with half-eaten breakfasts beside their feet. Seamstresses bustled like commanders before a siege.
The Masquerade of the Seasons—an annual tradition.
But this year, the stakes felt different.
Higher.
The Queen had personally appointed him to open the evening's performance.
As a jester.
Not a man.
Not a hunter.
A mask that told jokes to a room of blades.
By midday, whispers began.
Baroness Velis, once a patron of the arts, now mocked Jungho in her drawing rooms.
"An outsider in patchwork pretending to be satire," she laughed. "I'd pay better for a monkey."
Sir Denric, who had once clapped too loudly at Jungho's insult of a rival, now drank in silence.
Support was thinning.
And from the shadows, the court's quiet predators circled.
In the western wing, Lady Marissa found him again.
This time, no fan. No makeup. Just a wrapped scroll and tired eyes.
"From her Majesty," she said.
He accepted the scroll with a bow. "No perfume. No wax seal. Urgency, or secrecy?"
"Both," she said, then hesitated. "Be careful."
That alone gave him pause.
Lady Marissa never cared.
Until now.
Back in his room, he unfurled the parchment.
"Laugh where you must. Bite only when ready. The masquerade will not be your trial alone."
It wasn't signed.
Didn't need to be.
The Queen didn't trust anyone—not even her fool.
That night, Jungho sat by his window again.
Below, fireflies danced above the practice yard. In the distance, nobles drank and flirted like war wasn't coming.
The paper coin lay beside him.
The one with the laughing face split by crown and noose.
He flicked it once. It landed on the floor, face up.
Noose side.
He didn't sigh. Didn't flinch.
He simply got up, dipped his brush in black paint, and began sketching on the inside of his sleeves.
Glyphs. Markings. Old magic—not system-sanctioned. Not quite forbidden.
But not wise.
[Warning: Unauthorized Spellcraft Detected – Monitoring Increased]
He smiled.
"Good. Watch closely."
High above, on the shadowed roof of the eastern tower, a masked figure watched Jungho through the window.
The Fool's Guild observer remained silent. But he tapped twice against the coin he carried—a signal.
From the darkness, a second shadow stepped forward.
Younger. Taller.
"A jester using blood-runes. That's not in the training manual."
The older shadow nodded. "He's not from any manual."
"Should we intervene?"
The watcher paused.
"No. Not yet. Let's see if he survives the Queen's masquerade first."
In the court below, the Chancellor received a missive wrapped in spider-silk.
He opened it with gloved fingers.
"The fool sharpens his tongue. But knives can cut both ways."
He smiled.
And ordered more wine.
The ballroom of Thalesa had been transformed.
Lanterns of floating crystal hovered near the arched ceiling, casting flickering golden light upon a polished obsidian floor. Petals rained from above, suspended in a silent spell that never let them touch the ground. Noble masks gleamed—gilded lions, jeweled serpents, and painted phoenixes.
But none laughed.
Not yet.
All waited.
For him.
At the far end of the hall, beneath a crimson banner woven with the royal crest, Jungho stood still as the herald announced him:
"The Court's Favored Fool. The Laugh of Winter's Eve. The One Who Speaks What None Dare Echo—Jester Jungho!"
He stepped forward. Not in mockery. Not in jest.
In command.
His patched jester's coat had been repainted by his own hand: a crooked harlequin diamond in red and black, cut across the heart with a streak of silver. His mask was simple—white porcelain with only one feature: a painted crack running from crown to chin.
The room was silent.
Then came a laugh—soft, deliberate—from the Queen's throne.
The signal.
The game began.
Jungho bowed with theatrical grace. "Noble lords and masked monsters—how honored I am to juggle truths before such elegant deception."
Some smiled. Some scowled.
Perfect.
"I come not with rhyme or riddles tonight, but with a lesson. A tale for the season."
He stepped into the center of the ballroom.
"Once upon a time, in a kingdom very much like this one, there lived a worm who dressed as a lion."
Gasps.
Eyes flicked to Baroness Velis.
"Now, this worm was clever. She wore pearls and perfume and whispered in the king's ear, like a tick."
Her wineglass snapped in her hand.
"But alas, the worm forgot—when you speak as a lion, true beasts may answer."
A servant stepped forward. Jungho snapped his fingers, and the man produced a silver plate. On it: a single worm carved from sugared almonds.
Jungho bit it in half.
The ballroom erupted with scattered laughter.
Baroness Velis stood, livid.
The Queen raised a hand. Silence returned.
Jungho turned, bowed low.
"And so concludes my tale."
He rose, but his voice dropped low. Only those nearest heard the words.
"And I haven't even started yet."
As music resumed and nobles began to dance, Jungho retreated to the edge of the floor. Sweat clung to his spine.
[System Notification: Court Favor +4 (Masquerade Opening – Outstanding)]
[Evolution Progress: 62%]
But below that, a second message blinked.
[Warning: Noble Threat Level Increased – Active Sabotage Detected]
He scanned the room.
Sir Denric had vanished. So had two guards near the western stair.
The Queen remained still on her throne. But she no longer smiled.
Behind the ballroom's arched columns, the Fool's Guild observer watched in silence.
"He played the worm," said the younger shadow beside him. "Open mockery of a baroness. That's suicidal."
"No," the older one replied. "It's bait."
Down the hall, Jungho turned into a narrow corridor, meant only for staff.
He didn't flinch when Sir Denric stepped out of the shadows.
"You've insulted the wrong house, fool."
Jungho smiled. "Do you even know what house you serve anymore?"
Denric lunged with a dagger.
Jungho didn't move.
The blade stopped mid-air.
Not in his hand.
In Denric's.
Frozen. Paralyzed.
[Passive Skill Triggered: Laughtrack – Target's Aggression Reflects as Inaction for 3 Seconds]
Jungho took the mask from his belt. The porcelain one.
And placed it on Denric's face.
"Smile for me."
[Item Activated: Mask of Binding – Thread Perception Enabled]
The web appeared.
And Jungho saw it—Denric's thread pulled not to the Queen, not to the court, but to a shadow deeper than either.
An outside faction.
A saboteur's thread.
He released the mask.
Denric gasped, falling back.
"Who… who are you really?"
Jungho leaned close.
"The only one playing the right game."
As he returned to the ballroom, the orchestra paused.
A noble couple parted—and Princess Arin stepped through, wearing a feathered mask the color of dusk.
Their eyes met.
She said nothing.
But she smiled.
Not cruel. Not mocking.
Just curious.
And that made him uneasy.
From the rafters, the Fool's Guild watcher sighed.
"He's ready."
"Ready for what?" the younger asked.
The shadow passed him a second coin—red ink and silver thread.
"To choose."