The magic lamp along the walls flickered as if disturbed by an invisible wind.
After disappearing for a while, Joker showed himself again. This time, he was on the destroyed podium. His sight toward everyone was same. All of them were just his prey.
"WHO ARE YOU?" Teres' voice cracked through the hall like a whip.
His patience had already shattered. Though he knew what the clown was called, he was sure the man had another identity.
Beside him, Claire stood straighter than before with her fingers subtly glowing with restrained mana.
Unlike Teres, she forced her breathing into rhythm. Panic was a blade that cut its wielder first.
Both of them were shaken not because of the clown's words but because of what they had witnessed.
When they attacked him earlier, they did not see him defend. They did not see him block nor retreat.
He simply vanished.
There was no distortion of space, no mana surge, and no incantation.
He disappeared into thin air and reappeared as much as he wanted just like the world had politely stepped aside for him.
The clown stood on the podium now, under the golden auction light. His painted smile seemed wider than before. His eyes gleamed with a theatrical delight that felt disturbingly genuine.
Claire scanned the hall with a pulse of detection magic.
There was nothing at there. No spatial residue, no teleportation trace, and no space tear. It was as if reality itself allowed him passage.
That alone made him dangerous beyond ordinary measurement.
If he were merely a lackey, someone would have recognized him. Yet, he entered a noble-protected venue unnoticed and stood at the podium like a master of ceremonies.
This was not intrusion but absolute control.
Unfortunately in this dire situation, only Baston understood the truth.
From his quiet corner near the side of the stage, he lowered his gaze slightly.
Two invisible threads were extended from his mind. One to the clown and one to the bald merchant trembling three rows away. It was his first and second puppet.
The threads were thinner than silk and hidden beneath layers of misdirection.
Baston's breathing remained shallow and heavy, like any frightened youth caught in catastrophe. His performance had to be perfect. The clown tilted his head and answered Teres lazily.
"My name is Joker. Have I told you before or do you struggle with hearing?"
"Don't mock me!"
A fireball roared across the hall, scorching the marble where Joker had stood. Once again, he was no longer there. Gasps erupted and Joker appeared atop a chandelier chain, swinging slightly like a playful child.
"Such poor manners," he said lightly, "When emotions rule you, traps embrace you."
Teres' jaw tightened, "I swear upon my family name, I will hunt you down!"
"Stop!" Claire's voice was firm, "He deliberately provokes you."
Inside her mind, calculations spiraled through possible future.
He avoided every strike effortlessly, showed no intent to kill directly, and enjoyed escalation. This was not random madness. This was staged.
But still, for what purpose?
Claire swallowed.
Fighting here would cause casualties. The hall was filled with merchants, noble representatives, and guards.
If Joker truly wished to massacre them, he had already done so. Yet, he played around like he could do anything to his prey. That unsettled her more than slaughter would have.
"Sir Joker…" Claire said carefully, "Since you have taken what you want, why not leave?"
The clown turned slowly toward her, "Oh, I could… But I am bored."
A ripple of unease passed through the hall.
"How about we play a game?"
No one answered. Joker's gloved finger extended lazily.
"You... The bald gentleman who smells of expensive perfume and poor decisions."
The merchant stiffened, "Me… me?"
"Yes. Let's play a question-and-answer game."
The crowd stared, confused. Truly, until now, they didn't know what the clown meant by doing all of this. It was hassle yet they didn't dare to voice their own opinion.
"It's simple," Joker explained cheerfully, "I ask, you answer. Then you ask, I answer. If you refuse, just say so. But if I answer honestly, you must answer honestly."
Claire's heartbeat slowed deliberately. This was the trap. It was not magic nor power. It was psychology attack.
Meanwhile, Baston tightened his mental grip. The second puppet trembled convincingly.
"Because I am benevolent," Joker continued, "You may begin first."
The bald man swallowed. Sweat beaded across his forehead, an effect Baston carefully induced through controlled muscle tension.
"What… What is your purpose here?"
Joker answered without a pause, "To steal the ice bead."
A collective murmur surged. So he admitted it again in the end.
"My turn," Joker said softly, "Why is your purpose here?"
"To… To join the auction fun…"
Joker's painted smile widened, "Why do you lie to me?"
The hall grew colder.
"You came to meet a certain married woman in private after the auction, did you not?"
The merchant's pupils shrank, "How… How did you know?"
A ripple of horror passed through the audience. He showed his own secret information. His tension showed his exposure. Joker leaned closer.
"Such dishonesty invites consequence…"
The merchant opened his mouth, and before he could reply, he screamed painfully.
The sound tore through the hall like fabric ripping. His skin rippled unnaturally.
Patches of coarse fur sprouted along his neck, scales shimmered beneath his sleeves, and feathers burst from his shoulders in grotesque succession.
It was fast, too fast to think what happened to the man.
Fifteen seconds of escalating horror. In this short time, Baston's control was absolute.
The transformation was illusion layered over rapid muscle contortion and mana distortion.
No real mutation occurred but to the untrained eye, it was undeniable.
Panic soon detonated and before anyone could process the horror, Baston gave his order invisibly.
The puppet detonated in a burst of blinding light and fine ash. It left no corpse and no blood.
There was nothing just like his existence had been erased. There was a creepy silence before chaos ensued.
"We're going to die!"
"Help!"
"I don't want to die!"
People surged toward exits. Joker clapped slowly, enjoying the show.
"Run if you wish," he said calmly, "I will enjoy watching your bodies explode beyond the doors."
The panic froze instantly. The crowd remembered.
Outside, the explosion would embrace them. No one dared move. The hall felt suffocating.
Claire's eyes narrowed.
Joker really manipulated fear precisely.
This was orchestrated.
She extended her senses to the outside but found nothing.
There was no mana residue and no explosion array. The absence of evidence was itself terrifying.
"Let's play another round," Joker announced cheerfully, "The last one. I am short on time."
Hope flickered desperately among the crowd. There was only a need for one victim. Only one more before the nightmare left. Silence swallowed the hall.
Joker's finger lifted again.
"You… The merchant in the embroidered robe."
Rembrant froze, "What? Me? No!"
His rivals exhaled in relief and his allies paled. Baston felt the tension in the threads. This was the turning point. Before fear solidified, Baston stood.
"I will replace him…"
Gasps followed instantly. People couldn't comprehend why the boy dared to sacrifice himself.
Panto's voice trembled, "Baston… Don't!"
Baston walked forward alone. Every step was measured and every breath was heavy.
From the perspective of the crowd, he was a plump boy walking toward death.
From Baston's perspective, he was stepping into the center of his own stage. Joker laughed with delight.
"A hero emerges! Are you certain? You may share the bald man's fate."
"Yes," Baston replied steadily.
The hall watched in morbid fascination.
Claire hesitated whether she should intervene.
If this boy died, would the morale collapse?
But if she interfered and failed, uncertainty would come to her. Baston reached the podium. The threads tightened.
"Ask something…" Joker said.
Baston inhaled slowly, "What will you use the ice bead for?"
Joker answered smoothly, "To freeze a large area."
A wave of unease spread. Where would he do it? In people's mind, another nightmare was soon created.
"My turn," Joker continued, "What will you do with the money?"
Baston answered lightly, "Stay at the finest inn and eat the best dishes."
Joker tilted his head, "That is incomplete…"
Baston said nothing, waiting for the clown to continue.
"I answered fully," Joker said softly, "You offered only half-truth. It won't end well with you."
The word curse hung unspoken.
Suddenly, Baston screamed. He clutched his head and collapsed. The pain performance began. He rolled across the marble floor. His breathing was disturbed and his limbs jerked.
In thirty seconds, he gave a perfect pacing.
His humiliation was worth the effect. No one dared approach, afraid of getting the same curse. The fear slowly thickened.
Joker observed the invisible pocket watch playfully before he snapped his fingers.
"Ah, time is up," Joker said brightly, "You are fortunate."
He bowed theatrically then vanished completely.
This time, Claire launched forward immediately.
Her detection magic burst outward. She still found nothing. There was no trace and no residual mana. It was impossible. Teres scanned the air in fury yet he also found the same result.
"He's gone…"
They rushed to Baston, checking whether he was still alive or not.
"He's still breathing," Teres said, "There is no wounds on him."
Claire frowned, "Just like the first victim… No physical residue."
Her mind churned.
What kind of curse left no mark?
They soon organized the evacuation. Guards rushed outside cautiously. There was no explosion and no traps. It was nothing in front of everyone. Confusion replaced panic.
Had Joker lied?
Inside the hall, Baston remained motionless.
He was waiting for his moment. Only when the majority had fled did he stirred slightly, groaned and collapsed again. It was just to make his condition more convincing.
Rembrant knelt beside him, shaken toward what had already happened.
"This boy saved me…"
Gratitude overwhelmed calculation. He barked orders instantly.
"Bring him to the best healer! Immediately!"
The servants quickly scrambled. In the meantime, Claire watched quietly. Her gaze lingered on Baston a moment longer than necessary.
Something felt incomplete but she lacked proof. And uncertainty without proof was meaningless.
*****
Later that night, in the finest inn of the city, Baston lay upon silk sheets beneath golden lamplight.
The healer had found nothing wrong. It was only exhaustion, shock, and stress. That was the official conclusion.
Rembrant paid without hesitation even though they found nothing physically wrong with him.
Money was meaningless compared to a life. Especially the life of someone who had stepped forward in his place.
The old merchant personally supervised the arrangements, ordered compressed warm herbal, hired two additional attendants, and even requested protective barrier to be placed discreetly around the room. His fear lingered longer than logic.
When the door finally closed and the servants withdrew, silence settled like dust after a storm.
Baston lay still beneath the silk blanket, eyes closed, and breathing slow.
From the outside, he was a boy recovering from trauma.
From the inside, his thoughts were sharp and methodical.
Fear spread faster than fire. He replayed the past event in his mind.
The moment the bald man screamed, the instant the crowd froze at the word explosion, the hesitation in Claire's eyes, and the fury in Teres' clenched jaw.
Every reaction had layered another thread into the web. Terror was not meant to kill tonight. It was meant to linger.
Tomorrow, merchants would speak in hushed tones over breakfast.
Nobles would send urgent letters sealed with wax.
The city council would hold emergency meetings behind closed doors. No one would admit how helpless they had felt but everyone would remember.
More importantly, they would remember the name of Joker.
A phantom who bypassed security.
A lunatic who punished lies.
A man who claimed he would freeze a large area.
That last statement would rot quietly in their minds.
Freeze where?
The merchant district?
The noble quarter?
Or an academy?
Uncertainty was heavier than certainty.
If Joker had demanded money or slaughtered randomly, the event would be simple. Dangerous but simple.
Instead, he left questions. Questions forced imagination to work against itself. And imagination, when fed with fear, became a far more obedient servant than any puppet.
Baston exhaled softly.
Even the absence outside had meaning. There was never any explosion array. Never any trap yet the mere suggestion had paralyzed an entire hall of elites.
That was the true revelation. Strength did not always require power. It required timing.
He shifted slightly under the blanket.
Claire's lingering gaze returned to his memory.
She was not foolish. She sensed something missing. His thought did not have evidence but his intuition whispered such imagination.
That was acceptable as long as it didn't point to him directly.
Suspicion without proof was like smoke without fire. It irritated but could not burn. As long as Joker remained an untouchable phantom, Baston would remain an innocent participant.
Outside the window, the night wind brushed against the glass. Somewhere in the city, rumors were already forming shapes.
Perhaps tomorrow, someone would claim Joker belonged to a hidden organization.
Perhaps, another would insist it was a foreign assassin killing the target.
Perhaps, conspiracy would bloom.
Baston welcomed it. The more theories existed, the safer the truth became. He let his breathing grow heavier, mimicking uneasy dreams.
In the darkness behind his closed eyes, he reviewed one final thought.
Mystery must never be fully explained.
It must feel close enough to fear yet far enough to grasp.
Joker had entered like a storm and left like mist.
As for Baston himself, the frightened and trembling boy who offered himself as sacrifice would recover slowly, earn sympathy quietly, and watch carefully as the city tried to chase a shadow that had never truly existed.
That was precisely the point.