The Royal Capital of the Faruk Kingdom was plunged into an unusual state of busyness at dawn.
The city guards were going door to door, relaying the royal order:
All residents must go to the main thoroughfare at noon, lining up on both sides to kneel and welcome the arriving dignitary.
Anyone who disobeys will face severe punishment, at the very least, exile to the frontier.
In a small workshop, the blacksmith shop owner Thomas had just received the news, his face full of resentment and confusion.
He was a middle-aged man in his early fifties, with a thick beard that had turned half-white, and the muscles on his arms were strong from years of forging metal.
"What damn noble again, forcing us to drop everything to go and kneel?"
The middle-aged blacksmith muttered a curse under his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his apron, his brows furrowed deeply like "川."
"We already had one visit in the first half of the year, and now they’re coming again?"
He angrily slammed the hammer in his hand onto the anvil, producing a loud metallic clang, as if trying to vent all his dissatisfaction.
"Does the royalty think of us as roadside weeds, to be trampled at will?
Those nobles sitting high in their castles have no idea how hard our lives are.
Every day the price of iron goes up, a decent sword can’t fetch a good price, and customers are still picky. Now I’ve finally got some orders, but we’re forced to go and bow to some... who knows which self-important aristocrat!"
His apprentice, a sixteen or seventeen-year-old youth, nervously glanced outside, making sure no guards were nearby before responding quietly:
"Master, keep your voice down. I just heard the visitor this time is a Wizard, and a friend of the Thirteenth Prince."
The boy’s voice was filled with fear and awe, a natural reaction to unknown power.
"A Wizard?"
Though the blacksmith had lowered his voice, the disdain in his tone was even more evident, his eyes gleaming with scorn:
"Just some charlatans relying on trickery to deceive the public. Selling colored water, chanting some hocus-pocus spells, and they swindle money and respect."
Thomas recalled that so-called Astrology Wizard who came to the city a few years ago, claiming to predict the future, and turned out to be just a fraud.
"Didn’t that last so-called Astrology Wizard fail even to predict he would be struck by lightning?"
He sneered, his tone filled with mistrust of supernatural powers:
"That fraud was still prattling on about ’guidance of the stars’ until the moment he got struck by lightning."
"But Master..."
The apprentice hesitated, a trace of genuine fear in his eyes, his voice almost inaudible:
"I heard this Wizard is different, he’s truly..."
"Truly what?" the blacksmith interrupted scornfully:
"Truly a fraud? Truly a madman? Or a truly dangerous person?"
His voice was full of contempt for the so-called extraordinary powers.
To him, only what was created by hands was real in this world; those unseen, intangible "powers" were nothing but illusions and lies.
Just then, a fully armed guard walked past the shop entrance, glancing coldly at the blacksmith.
That look was like a sharp dagger, piercing straight into Thomas’s heart.
The blacksmith immediately shut his mouth, bowing his head, pretending to be arranging tools.
But those coarse big hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but from suppressed anger.
The guard continued on, and the blacksmith released a long sigh, though the grievance on his face remained unabated.
He knew he had no choice but to obey the order, yet the discontent in his heart burned like a flame, growing ever stronger.
"What kind of world is this?" he muttered to himself:
"An old blacksmith who worked hard all his life, has to kneel before a Wizard who relies on trickery."
This sentiment was not his alone.
The entire city’s civilian area was suffused with a stifling atmosphere.
People were forced to lay down their work, don their finest clothes, and hurry to the main road sides.
In one bakery, the proprietress Sienna was complaining, her face reddened by the oven full of grievances:
"We’ve been under curfew for days, business has been terrible, and we’re running out of flour. Now they force us to welcome some Wizard, even if a deity descended, it wouldn’t make up for these losses!"
Her flour-covered hands slapped the counter forcefully, making a dull sound.
The bread shop’s aroma was overshadowed by anger, leaving only a stifling atmosphere.
Beside her, a small statured, middle-aged man calmed her:
"Don’t say it, be careful of eavesdroppers. Who knows what’s happened in the Royal Palace recently, there are guards everywhere in the city, even drinking water has to be in their good graces."
His eyes were full of fatigue and helplessness, an expression unique to civilians long living under oppression.
"It’s because everyone swallows their anger, those nobles and royalty increasingly don’t see us as human!"
The proprietress said furiously, but her voice was already lowered, filled with helplessness and grievance:
"I heard a few families were raided just because they spoke a few ill-timed words."
As time passed, the city’s civilians were forced to the main road sides, lining up kneeling on the ground.
The guards held weapons, standing amongst the people, closely monitoring every move.
Their armor gleamed in the sunlight, and the weapons they held shone with a cold glare, as if ready to punish any "disrespectful" act at any moment.