After a moment of silence, Alger the Hanged Man continued sharing what he had seen and heard at sea, followed by Cattleya the Hermit, Emlyn the Moon, and the others...
As the final topic drew to a close, the free discussion soon came to an end as well.
Everyone rose together and bowed to Mr. Fool at the head of the table, after which illusory rays of crimson light rose one after another.
In his hotel room in Saint Millon, Cyril abruptly opened his eyes as he lay in an armchair.
After glancing around, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers softly, dispelling the invisible walls that sealed off the room.
At once, the clamor of pedestrians and carriages outside the window came pouring in, mingled with shouts and angry curses in Feysac.
Cyril shrugged, long accustomed to the Feysac people's tendency to shout at the slightest provocation.
Unlike the ideal of gentlemen and ladies popular in Loen, the Feysac people favored ferocity and courage. Under such customs, fights, brawls, and even bloodshed were commonplace in their daily lives.
In the two days since he had arrived in Feysac alone, he had already witnessed three street and bar brawls that left people with bruised, swollen faces and blood spurting from the corners of their mouths.
After quietly listening to the sounds outside for a while, Cyril picked up his sketchbook and drawing tools again...
It was almost dusk when he set down his sketchbook, put on a heavy fleece coat, a scarf, and a fleece-lined half top hat, then pushed his hand forward through the air, silently opening an Illusory Door.
Cyril turned his head toward the melody. There stood a giant who looked a full three meters tall-a real giant!
Perhaps because of the setting sun, his