At the royal court, in a street-side tavern.
Thoreau and Leon sat facing each other, their eyes locked on the street outside.
A squad of Sage Lord guards passed by.
Another squad of Sage Lord guards came through…
The one after that was still Sage Lord…
…
The seventh. The eighth. The ninth…
Their minds went numb.
"Guests, your coffee."
A server walked over with a tray.
Leon snapped back to himself and abruptly stopped the server.
"Friend, let me ask you something. Do you recognize those patrol guards?"
The server followed his gaze outside and smiled.
"Sir, you're joking. That's the Empire's permanent security force stationed at the royal court. They come down this street every day—how could I not recognize them?"
"Security force?"
Thoreau forced the words out with difficulty. "And you don't seem surprised at all?"
The server blinked, then laughed. "Guests… you're from out of town, aren't you?"
