CHAPTER 87: SURPRISE, IT’S A MYSTERY

"Huh...?" Cynthia blinked in confusion.

Before she could say another word, Marcus grabbed her wrist with a mischievous gleam in his eye and tugged her along.

A grin tugged at his lips—one of those troublemaking, too-charming-for-its-own-good grins that only ever meant one thing: chaos was coming.

In the span of a few quick steps and hushed laughter, they darted into a narrow alleyway near the city’s central square, the cobblestones slick with mist and moonlight. Tucked behind the shadow of a merchant’s stall and half-collapsed crates, they crouched low, hidden from passing eyes.

"What are you planning...?" Cynthia asked, voice lowered, pressing a little closer to Marcus as she peeked around the corner. Her shoulder brushed against his chest, her breath visible in the cool air as she followed his gaze.

"Waiting for some unlucky guest to be subject to a few... well-placed pranks." Marcus chuckled, eyes scanning the square like a hawk looking for prey. His tone was too casual, too cheerful, and entirely too pleased with himself.

Cynthia let out a soft, half-disbelieving laugh. "This isn’t really my style..."

Marcus simply gave her shoulder a gentle pat, his grin unwavering. "It’ll be fine. Live a little." His voice dropped into a teasing lilt, and for a second, it almost sounded like an invitation to something more than trouble.

"Any moment now..." Marcus murmured, peeking toward the inn’s door like a rogue laying a trap.

"You’re way too into this," Cynthia muttered, half-laughing.

And just like that, fate delivered.

A door to one of the nearby inns burst open, swinging on old hinges, and a lone man stumbled out. His clothes were wrinkled, his shirt half untucked, and his face red from drink.

"Goddamnit, it was just a small touch..." the drunkard grumbled, swaying unsteadily as he made his way toward the silent fountain in the square. His steps dragged, sluggish, each one threatening to become a collapse.

"I’m a paying customer, for god’s sake!" he cried out to no one in particular, dragging himself to the edge of the fountain and leaning over as if it were a loyal friend, there to soothe his hangover with cold water and sympathy.

Marcus’s grin widened, now positively devilish. His eyes gleamed under the moonlight, far too pleased with someone else’s misfortune.

"Now that’s a perfect target..." he muttered with glee, snickering under his breath.

Cynthia sighed, crossing her arms as she leaned against the crate beside him. "So... what exactly are we going to do?" she asked, though the faint curve at the corner of her mouth betrayed her curiosity.

Marcus pointed toward the fountain with a casual flick. "A drunkard leaning over a fountain... and a girl who happens to be proficient in water magic..." he trailed off meaningfully.

"I think you know where I’m going with this."

Cynthia raised an eyebrow, fixing him with a mildly judgmental stare. "That’s kinda juvenile..."

Marcus only shrugged, that same roguish smile never leaving his lips. "But the reactions are fun."

They locked eyes for a few moments. No words were exchanged, but a silent battle raged between them—her reluctance against his persistent, infectious energy.

Her lips twitched, the corner of her mouth betraying the thrill she didn’t want to admit. It was ridiculous, childish... but oddly freeing.

Finally, Cynthia exhaled dramatically, rolling her eyes as she turned back toward the fountain.

"Okay, okay, I’ll have fun this time..." she said with a reluctant smile. She lifted her arm, and the ring on her finger began to glow with a deep blue light, shimmering like moonlit waves.

"How powerful?" she asked, her expression suddenly focused.

"Hmm..." Marcus tapped his chin, pretending to consider. "Enough to make him believe in karma."

With a delicate flick of her wrist, Cynthia cast her magic. The surface of the fountain shimmered—and then exploded upward in a spectacular column of water, a geyser so strong and sudden it could’ve been mistaken for divine judgment.

The drunkard let out a bloodcurdling scream as the blast slammed into his face, sending him sprawling backward onto the cobblestones, drenched and gasping.

"W-what the hell—?! It’s real! Th-the myths... they’re real! I told ’em... I told ’em!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet like a man possessed. Without a second glance, he turned tail and ran back into the inn, his soaked clothes slapping against him as he disappeared through the swinging door.

Inside, confused shouts and murmured voices followed as the patrons tried to make sense of his panic.

Marcus blinked, caught mid-snicker. "The myths?" he echoed, the amusement on his face slowly turning to curiosity.

Cynthia straightened, her brows furrowed as she replayed the man’s words in her mind. "Do you know anything about that?" Marcus asked, his tone shifting from playful to intrigued.

She shook her head slowly. "I don’t really go around listening to tavern tales... but it is weird that he blamed a myth instead of assuming it was just some mages messing around."

Her eyes narrowed in thought, mind already ticking through possibilities. "So it must be a fairly popular myth, at least, if that was his first assumption."

Marcus’s smile returned, this time slower, wider, and far more thoughtful than before. Something about this was pulling at him—and judging by Cynthia’s deepening focus, she felt it too.

She glanced at him, sensing the same spark. And though messing around in the city at night wasn’t quite her usual idea of fun, investigating strange rumors definitely was.

"I think we have a new agenda for tonight..." Marcus said, his eyes gleaming with mischief and purpose.

"Right back at you," Cynthia replied, her voice smooth with anticipation.

The two of them turned, shadows dancing behind them as they slipped deeper into the alleys, already forming plans to uncover the truth behind the so-called myth.

After all, in a world where magic was as real as breath and blood, a myth was rarely just a myth.

There was always a reason.

And often, that reason was far more fun than anyone expected.