Chapter 50
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 50
Chapter Title: Eating Two Loaves of Bread in the Morning
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Eating Two Loaves of Bread in the Morning
‘To surveil a Red-class individual…’
Gillian swallowed hard, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
Razvet, ‘blinded by ambition’ as her nickname suggested, had concocted a crazy plan to dig into the Red-class target’s background, find his client, and secretly sell the information.
Gillian had agreed to participate. It wasn't a choice.
Red-class individuals were the most dangerous to handle, even among those under special management. He wondered why a low-ranking member like himself had to take on the job, but…
‘Orders are orders.’
Though he wished they’d ordered him to do something else…
Gillian licked his lips and confirmed his target.
Surveillance was one of Gillian’s few specialties. He was so good at it that he’d never been caught, not even by the woman he’d been interested in, right up until her wedding day.
A colossal build, a face full of scars, and mismatched, colorful armor.
‘Why is his right pauldron missing?’
Gillian tilted his head and found his position.
The target was swinging his sword, even though it was early in the morning.
The sound was so brutal that even Gillian, positioned far away, could hear it.
- Diligent enough to train before sunrise.
Gillian pulled a piece of paper from his coat and scribbled on it.
‘Next to him… the Abbot? Why is the Abbot here so early in the morning?’
Gillian narrowed his eyes, observing, then clicked his tongue at the target’s brutish training methods. Each movement was so crude it looked more like torture than training. Torture designed to tear out every one of his own muscles.
After moving for a while, the target collapsed. The Abbot beside him healed him, and a moment later, the target shook himself off and stood up.
Perfectly fine, the target gave the Abbot a casual wave of his hand.
Considering his counterpart was the Abbot, it was a dismissal so rude it could have landed him in a holy trial.
The Church’s authority rivaled that of the Empire; not even a nobleman could treat an abbot with such disrespect.
Gillian tensed, moistening his lips.
But contrary to his expectations, the Abbot simply smiled and disappeared.
- Uses the Abbot as a mere training assistant?
Gillian found it so unbelievable that he added a question mark at the end of his note.
Once the Abbot was gone, a little girl and a man approached.
The girl handed the target a frosted mug of beer, while the man gestured at the target with both hands, muttering something.
As the target drank his beer, water suddenly sprayed from his body, and his face became fresh and clean.
‘Cleansing magic?’
Identifying the magic, Gillian narrowed his eyes.
The target stretched as if refreshed, and the man chanted another spell.
The target’s colorful armor, which had been dusty, now gleamed as if washed clean. The man then pitched forward and collapsed.
‘Even if cleansing mages aren’t popular… he’s not someone a mere guard Jojang can afford to hire. And the little girl is a mage too?’
Gillian was astonished by the shape of the ice the girl playfully levitated in the air. It was crafted with a delicacy he had never seen before.
The target patted the girl’s head, and she beamed. She was so cute that even Gillian, who despised children, couldn’t help but smile.
‘He uses the Abbot as a training assistant, has a personal cleansing mage, and another mage skilled in both ice magic and sculpture?’
The target was enjoying luxuries that not even a provincial noble could afford, and he did so casually.
‘The guard post is definitely a cover.’
There was no way a mere guard Jojang of a frontier outer wall could have an abbot and two mages at his beck and call.
There was definitely something more to him.
‘No wonder he’s Red-class.’
The man’s power was greater than he’d imagined. Gillian grew nervous, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.
The target left the inn, and Gillian forced himself to relax, maintaining his distance as he tailed him.
The target entered a building that appeared to be the Outer Wall Guard headquarters and came out with other men.
‘What… is that.’
Gillian was shocked by the other men’s armor.
Orange, green, blue, yellow, purple, red.
The men’s armor boasted such a wide array of colors it looked as if all the world’s hues had been gathered in one place.
‘Is he misappropriating a private group?’
There was no way mere guards of a frontier outer wall could afford steel breastplates. The fact that they were all painted in peculiar colors that most would avoid made it clear there was some secret, binding connection between them and the target.
Gillian gave more weight to the possibility that the target was the leader of a secret organization. He temporarily named this secret group ‘Rainbow.’
- Target is likely misappropriating an armed group (Codename: Rainbow).
“Safety good! Good! Good!”
The target shouted an incomprehensible slogan, and the other men followed suit. Unlike the confident target, they kept their heads down, stretching their arms awkwardly as they warmed up.
After warming up, they split into pairs and dispersed, making it feel as if color was being painted onto the gloomy castle.
After that, the target roamed the castle with a man in purple armor.
“Yesterday, Rosa took another customer, so the meat pie…”
Gillian maintained his distance, jotting down the target’s movements on his paper.
Target: Aron, Jojang of the Casedic Outer Wall Guard, 4th Squad (Cover).
- Immediately after leaving headquarters, the target heads to a tavern and drinks beer.
- Target makes contact with a man of enormous build in a back alley.
- Target grabs the man by the collar and slams him into the ground.
- The word ‘woodshop’…? was heard. Seems to be a code word, pressuring him to bring someone’s neck.
- The enormous man and the men in flat caps standing behind him offer no resistance. Target appears to have complete control over the Casedic castle’s underworld.
- While patrolling the castle, the target meets a heavily armed woman (pretty). The crest on her armor identifies her as an Inquisitor of the Church.
Upon identifying the woman, Gillian hastily scribbled out the word ‘pretty.’ He’d nearly gotten his head smashed in for something like that before.
- They nod to each other, and the woman nods a second time. Seems to be some kind of code (It was so fleeting that only someone as sharp as me would have noticed. The two seem very conscious of their surroundings).
- Separate from the Abbot he uses as a subordinate, the target also appears to have some sort of relationship with the Inquisitor. He seems to have connections with both the central council and the punitive branch of the Church.
- Target enters a back alley in another district.
- As soon as they see the target, menacing figures hand him silver coins and bow their heads to the ground (Appears to be a sign of loyalty).
- Hiding behind the trivial position of a guard Jojang, the target seems to be the true mastermind of Casedic Castle.
- A snake-like man (green armor) hands the target a green powder (drugs?).
- The target nods, and the snake-like man disappears. The two seem to be plotting something huge.
- Ben (a knight of Volt Castle) approaches the target.
- They talk, and their rapport seems very close.
- As Knight Ben walks away, the target mutters something like ‘That son of a…’
- After that, the target returns to headquarters.
Overall Assessment: The target appears to be the true mastermind of Casedic Castle, having complete control over its underworld. He also uses an abbot as a personal training assistant. Furthermore, he has some sort of relationship with an Inquisitor. He even seems to be on familiar terms with Knight Ben of Volt Castle…
Gillian stared at the paper crowded with his writing and swallowed.
‘What is all this…’
He had followed the target for an entire day, but instead of figuring him out, his head was now even more muddled.
An investigation of this nature usually took time, but trailing someone for a day typically revealed a general outline.
This target, however, was not coming into focus. Instead, the initial silhouette had swelled in size, becoming as vast and indistinct as a fog blanketing the entire area.
‘What in the world is he?’
Gillian stared at the paper he had written for a long time.
But no matter how many times he read it, he still didn't understand.
If he submitted this to Razvet as it was, he would surely get an earful. Gillian squatted by the roadside, racking his brain to somehow package his findings more neatly.
But no amount of thinking improved the situation, so Gillian remained squatting by the road for a long while.
***
‘Arrived in Casedic Castle about two years ago. No information on his activities prior to that. His level of strength is not precisely known, but he is quite strong, having single-handedly crushed a notorious gang of thugs upon his arrival. His face is covered in scars, as if clawed. His personality is so direct and he’s so quick to use his fists that he’s called a mad dog.’
-List of Key Individuals in Casedic Castle-
Razvet flipped through the bundle of papers, habitually biting her lip.
‘Just a mad dog?’
Razvet hadn't relied solely on guild information; she had gone out and gathered intelligence herself.
However, the information she had gathered was not much different from what was written on the paper.
In fact, there was a lot of bizarre information.
One person claimed the target was a blood-drinking demon who had been blessed, converted, and became an honorary monk.
‘A demon converting…’
Another speculated that the target was an artist who embedded people in walls, or that he would have made a fortune in building demolition.
Yet another said that, given his closeness to the executioner, the target must have been a former Imperial death row inmate who won his freedom in a duel.
‘All of it is utter nonsense…’
Razvet’s head throbbed, and she pressed her temples firmly.
She had invested a whole day with nothing to show for it.
‘I was so sure he was a fugitive.’
Razvet had thought the claw-like scars on the target’s face were a means to hide his identity, but his actions were the complete opposite of a fugitive’s.
Anyone in Casedic Castle you grabbed and asked knew about him, and everyone had a story to tell about his past. Most of it was bullshit, though.
The man was a celebrity in Casedic Castle.
Perhaps a popular figure. Or perhaps a mad dog.
‘Then is he not a fugitive?’
A fugitive would try to avoid being noticed at all costs…
Razvet’s mind was a mess, and she habitually chewed on her lip.
‘Let’s think about this from another angle. I’m looking for the client.’
*Hoo…* Razvet took a deep breath and shifted her train of thought.
‘The ones who could place a Red-class request… the Empire, the Church, nobles of marquis rank or higher. Major mercenary corps, the Mage Tower, and other famous individuals.’
When she listed them out, there were quite a few candidates. It was a small number considering she was narrowing it down from the entire Empire, but it was too many for her to identify on her own.
‘He’s an honorary monk and hangs around with the Abbot, so it’s not the Church. If it were the Empire, he would have been caught long ago. The Mage Tower doesn’t delegate requests; they handle things themselves… A noble? A major mercenary corps? Or someone connected to the guild master?’
She tapped her thigh with her finger, her thoughts racing. But she had far too little information.
‘…Do I have to borrow *his* power?’
After a moment of deliberation, Razvet made her decision and stood up.
Simply requesting information on Aron’s wanted poster risked revealing her objective.
So, she took out four more wanted posters of Red-class individuals she didn't know from her bag and mixed them with the target’s.
Then she took out another piece of paper and wrote a very short message.
‘Information request.’
Writing more than four words would risk him seeing through her, so she kept it as brief as possible.
She placed it with the sketch papers in a thin tube and took out a hidden birdcage from inside.
A pure white dove sat silently in the cage. Even with the door open, the dove remained still with its eyes closed.
Razvet carefully tied the thin tube containing the papers to the dove’s leg.
Then she took out several small, different-colored containers from her pocket and hesitated for a moment.
‘It’s risky and a waste, but I can’t do this alone.’
Biting her lip again, Razvet held a red container and a black container in front of the dove.
Sensing the scent, the dove opened its eyes. But where its eyes should have been, there was nothing.
Only then did the dove begin to flap its wings frantically, *whir-whir-whir*. It was as if it was demanding to be let out immediately.
Razvet opened the door, and the dove shot out, flapping its wings wildly.
It bumped its head on the top of the doorframe on its way out but seemed unfazed as it soared into the sky.
Perhaps from the strain, Razvet’s head began to ache.
‘Something sweet.’
Razvet muttered to herself and left the house.
As she closed the shabby door, faint, translucent letters flickered into existence and then vanished.
Razvet gave the closed door a slight push before turning away.
‘Is there any decent cake in a remote place like this?’
Razvet walked on, her brow furrowed at the thoughts that continued to churn against her will.
***
‘To think there’s a gem like this in the middle of nowhere! Haessan, was it?’
Her mood lifted by the delicious cake, a treat hard to find even in the city, Razvet bought two extra loaves of bread for the morning.
Normally, she would have only bought one for herself, but she had a feeling that dense idiot would mindlessly devour it, so she bought an extra.
Savoring the sweetness of the cake lingering on her tongue, Razvet recalled her conversation with the baker.
- Ah, Aron, you mean? He’s a good man, a rare sort. He might grumble, but he really cares about the people around him. That ‘mad dog’ nickname was given to him by the bad guys he dealt with. Aron just can’t stand to see wicked people get away with things! Tsk… those pathetic fools.
‘First a mad dog, now a good man… who’s telling the truth?’
The more she investigated, the deeper she fell into the labyrinth. On the surface, he was just a strange mad dog who enjoyed throwing his weight around but looked out for the weak…
‘A Red-class individual.’
The gap between the two was so vast she couldn't make sense of it.
On her way back home.
The sun had set, and the street was dark.
Razvet gripped the doorknob and rubbed it twice to the left and five times to the right with her thumb.
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
The house was dark, suggesting that dense idiot hadn’t returned yet. Not even moonlight penetrated the interior, making the pitch-black house feel like the maw of a demon.
‘How sentimental.’
With a smirk, Razvet stepped inside.
The moment she placed the bread on the table in the darkness and reached for a candle.
She felt a subtle difference from when she had left.
‘It’s cold.’
Anyone else might have dismissed it as their imagination, but Razvet trusted her senses.
‘But the spell on the door was intact.’
Running through and dismissing hypotheses in her mind, Razvet pretended to be unfazed, slipping her hand into her bodice as if fanning herself because of the sweat gathering on her chest.
In hidden pockets on either side of her chest were two different weapons.
One was safe to use but had a mediocre effect. The other should not be drawn but was devastatingly effective.
Razvet paused for a moment, caught between them.
“We meet again, by chance.”
A deep, familiar voice filled the house.
The voice of a predator not yet fully awake from its slumber.
‘This is my house. What do you mean, by chance…’
Razvet’s deliberating hand moved toward her left breast.
Toward the weapon that should not be drawn but was devastatingly effective.
Her hand slipped, either from pre-existing sweat or the cold sweat of extreme tension.
“It’s a nice view, but I recommend you don’t draw it.”
The voice was languid, but it was a clear threat.
Razvet bit her lip hard, her fingers twitching over the weapon.
‘Showing panic is like baring your neck. Calm down, Razvet.’
Whispering to herself, Razvet forced the corners of her mouth up to project an air of composure.
Then she slowly turned her head toward the source of the voice.
A man was sitting there, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight.
He was in the very spot Razvet had been sitting just moments ago.
In front of him, the papers were scattered in a different arrangement than before.
The scars on his face were shadowed by the moonlight, casting a chilling impression. The very man depicted in the scattered papers was sitting there, watching her.
The shadows around his eyes concealed them perfectly, making them look like bottomless pits.
‘…A mistake.’
It was a clear miscalculation. She had trusted the security spell on the doorknob too much. She should have considered that a Red-class target would have a way to bypass it.
‘No, I never expected him to make the first move.’
The complacency of being in a remote area and the man’s somewhat clumsy demeanor had caused her to let her guard down.
“I may be handsome, but to have me followed and even investigated like this… To have fallen for me so hard, so soon. I’m quite taken aback.”
The man held a bundle of papers in one hand, fanning them lightly as he growled.
A sheet of paper escaped his grasp, floating in the air before slowly drifting down. Through the fluttering paper, the man’s eyes were still fixed on her, and she swallowed hard.
The fallen papers were covered in her own handwriting.
Papers with notes she had written in a hurry, without encrypting them, littered the floor.
‘That oaf got himself caught?’
“I’ve always been the type to fall in love at first sight.”
To hide her alarm, Razvet desperately forced her stiff lips into a smile and subtly shifted the hand she had placed on her left breast.
Her clothes shifted, revealing a sliver of bare skin, but she had no mind for such trivialities.
“Aggressive.”
“Do you like it?”
The man murmured as if joking, and Razvet retorted, pulling her dress down further.
The fabric slipped to the side, making it even easier to draw her weapon. Pretending to adjust her clothes, Razvet placed her fingers on the weapon.
The man’s lips curled into a smirk, a smile that seemed less of lust and more of ridicule.
Razvet couldn't tell if the ridicule was directed at her chest or the weapon she was about to draw. She hoped it was the former, as that gave her a better chance of survival.
“I have a prior engagement, so let’s make this quick.”
The man pulled one of the papers from the bundle and held it up for Razvet to see.
On it was written, ‘Red-class request. Who?’
“I’ll tell you who the client is. Use my wanted poster as bait to lure them to the city of Karzan. I’ll pay you one and a half times the original commission.”
It was an unexpected offer. Razvet’s eyes widened, forgetting to maintain her expression.
“Are you serious?”
“The fact that I haven’t ripped your throat out yet should be proof enough of my sincerity.”
Razvet couldn't tell if the man was joking or serious. One corner of his mouth was raised, but the scar near his lip made it look as if it were turned down.
With that, the man stood up as if his business was concluded.
“Ah, and this is in return for the view.”
The man tossed a piece of paper into the air.
Razvet reached out and caught it.
It was the paper on which she had listed the ‘Individuals who could place a Red-class request.’
Small red circles were drawn around all the potential clients. As if all of them were correct.
And there was one particularly large, bold circle. Inside it was written, ‘Nobles of marquis rank or higher, major mercenary corps.’
‘Why both at once?’
After a moment of thought, a realization struck Razvet like a bolt of lightning, and she shuddered.
On the entire continent, there was only one person who fit both descriptions.
Startled, Razvet turned to where he had disappeared, only to find a large hole there.
A gaping hole, just big enough for a man of his size to pass through, was punched through the wall.
‘…?’
Razvet stood in front of it, holding the paper, and stared blankly at the hole.
It was only when she made eye contact with a woman passing by outside that she snapped back to her senses.
‘He could have just torn the door down, so why go through the wall? Is this a warning? That he can come and go as he pleases?’
Even with a security spell on the door, it couldn't possibly be stronger than the thick wall.
Razvet stood in the night breeze filtering through the inexplicable hole and tried to organize her thoughts.
‘I can’t just stand by and do nothing.’
The cool night air helped Razvet reformulate her plan.
One way or another, a massive ball had started rolling. To avoid being crushed by it, she had to keep her feet moving without rest.
***
Among those looking for me, the only one who would bother placing a request with the White Leaf Guild was *him*.
‘…I shouldn’t have made that promise.’
I scratched my head and stared straight ahead.
‘Still, for a knight to request a duel first.’
In front of me, Ben stood bathed in moonlight, watching me.
I had run into him during my patrol, and he’d told me he would soon be returning to Volt Castle. He wanted to cross swords with me before he left.
I was curious about his skills myself, so I readily accepted.
I wanted to know just how much of a non-human he was to be on the ground every time I saw him.
“Then, I’m in your care.”
Ben said with a slight bow of his head.
‘Not very knightly… or perhaps, more knightly than anyone.’
Thinking he was a peculiar fellow for this medieval world, I drew my sword.
“I won’t be using Aura.”
Ben declared in a confident voice, aiming the sharp tip of his sword at me.
‘That arrogance is very knightly, though.’
I chuckled softly and adjusted my grip on my sword.
Ben stepped forward with his right foot, lowered his stance, and placed his left hand on his hip.
His right arm was not fully extended but held at a slight angle to obscure the distance.
It was a perfect, textbook stance.
However, it was a pointless gesture, as I had already gauged his reach the moment we first met.
His reach was about a fist longer than mine.
The sharp tip of his sword was aimed at me.
But I focused not on the tip of his sword, but on his left foot.
“You first.”
I didn’t decline the knightly Ben’s courtesy.
I tapped my foot lightly before kicking off the ground with my right.
Since he said he wouldn't use Aura, the only places his sharp sword could do any damage were my neck or the seams of my breastplate.
I raised my sword diagonally upwards, using my left pauldron to cover my neck, forcing him to aim for a specific target.
The moment I entered his range.
Ben’s left foot scraped the ground, churning the mud.
It was the telltale sign of a thrust from someone using a sharp sword.
Ben planted his left foot, leaned his body forward, and extended his right arm. For a moment, it felt as if the rapier had stretched out, the thrust was so fast.
Unfortunately for him, the target he was aiming for was the one I had chosen for him.
‘The seam of the breastplate.’
Getting stabbed there would only sting, so I took another step forward and swung my sword diagonally.
Startled by my counterattack that disregarded defense, he twisted his right hand, which had been aiming for my seam, to block my sword with the hilt of his weapon.
The tip of his twisted rapier scraped against my breastplate, sending sparks flying with a screech of metal on metal.
‘That would have stung quite a bit if it had connected.’
Then, his hilt and my sword collided.
*Ting—*. With a clear metallic ring, his sword went tumbling pathetically to the ground. In contrast, my sword was now pointed at his neck.
It was a pathetic match, over in a single exchange.
‘Careless.’
His stance and fundamentals were excellent, but the reason for his defeat was clear. The carelessness that came from thinking this was just a duel.
A man with such carelessness could never be a match for me, someone whose mind filled with thoughts of killing his opponent the moment he gripped a sword.
The question was whether a knight like him would accept such a hollow defeat—but if he didn't, I would just have to keep at it until he did.
I had realized one thing for certain from that single exchange.
‘Without Aura, I can beat a knight.’
The knights, softened by their reliance on Aura, that sharp weapon that could pierce anything, were no match for me.
From the knight drowning in alcohol, to the one who died with a broken neck, and now even the relatively decent Ben…
‘The Empire’s knights are more rotten than I thought.’
Of course, that was assuming they didn't use Aura.
“Hah— you, you’re truly incredible.”
Ben let out a small gasp of admiration and raised both his hands.
“I’ve lost.”
I was the one taken aback by his clean admission of defeat.
‘He’s a knight, after all.’
I had expected him to at least throw a fit.
“When I thrust my sword, I thought you would retreat. But you took another step forward and swung yours. As if you didn't care about being stabbed…”
He muttered to himself, as if replaying the fight, and picked up his fallen sword. His right wrist was swollen and red.
“Duels between knights have made me too complacent. In those duels, the match was always decided when my opponent retreated from my thrust. And if I used Aura, the winner was decided with a light clash of swords.”
Sheathing his sword, he extended his left hand for a handshake.
“Thanks to you, I’ve remembered something I had forgotten in my complacency.”
His face was filled with a relieved smile, one that didn't suit a loser.
‘He’s a strange one.’
I glanced down at his hand for a moment before taking it.
You can learn a lot about a person by crossing swords with them.
Sometimes, a life-or-death sword fight is more truthful than a hundred words.
Ben’s sword was that of an honest knight.
His swordsmanship matched his upright character, but for that very reason, it wasn't threatening.
That honesty was a delicious meal for someone like me, who would throw sand and even spit to win a fight.
“But next time will be different.”
His following words were so cliché that I couldn't help but laugh.
“…I’m serious.”
Ben coughed awkwardly.
“Alright, I’ll look forward to it.”
The outcome would have been different if he had used Aura, but such hypotheticals were meaningless.
Still, the sparkle in his eyes made me look forward to our next encounter. People with that sparkle in their eyes usually ended up either dying young or becoming excellent killers.
“By the way, are you by any chance from the battlefield? The sword of a knight I once met in the capital, who was from the Empire’s western front, was as vicious as yours…”
At Ben’s next words, my smile froze.
***
“Good morning, Jojang.”
Berman, looking unusually cheerful, greeted me.
“What’s with you? You’re creeping me out.”
“Huh? Oh, Jojang. It’s nothing.”
“What is it?”
“Just… a woman struck up a conversation with me this morning. We talked for a bit, and we got along well, so I’m in a good mood.”
To be this happy just because he talked to a woman… I felt a pang of pity.
“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s unsettling.”
“It’s nothing. So, a woman? Was she pretty?”
“Yes. She was very beautiful. As pretty as Hana or Nova.”
I had no idea why their names came up, but Berman looked at me with a serious gaze and spoke as if making a declaration.
“Then be careful. She might be a con artist.”
I said, dusting the mud off my leather boots.
“…Excuse me?”
Berman’s eyes widened as he asked.
“You said she was pretty, and you’re ugly. If a pretty woman like that approached you, she must have a motive.”
A clump of dried mud fell from my leather boot.
“…That’s not something I should be hearing from you, Jojang.”
“Are you sulking?”
“I’m not sulking. And we just talked for a moment. It was nothing.”
“So, how many kids are you planning to have?”
“About five seems right… Ah! It’s not like that!”
“Already planning a family. You’re a lost cause.”
“It’s not like that! Hey, why are you laughing!”
At Berman’s outburst, I chuckled.
“…And you’re ugly too, Jojang.”
“What?!”
At his unacceptable remark, I grabbed Berman’s head for the first time in a while and spun him around.
“Aaaaargh! Jojang! Aaaaargh! My hair!!”
Berman shrieked, clutching his head.
After a moment, I let him go and discreetly brushed off the handful of his hair that had come off in my hand.
***
Gillian woke up a little earlier than usual.
On the table were two large loaves of bread. Razvet must have prepared them.
‘She’s a bitch, but she can be kind. Is she interested in me?’
Gillian sat at the table, took a loaf in each hand, and took bites from them alternately.
‘Bread is definitely best when you eat two at once.’
Gillian, who ‘eats two loaves of bread in the morning,’ patted his full stomach and left the house, satisfied.
“Let’s do our best today! I’m going to uncover the mastermind’s identity!”
Gillian exclaimed energetically, nodding his head.
Her mind a tangled mess, Razvet woke up slightly later than usual.
It was still before sunrise, but time was a bit tight to execute her plan.
‘Sweet. I need something sweet.’
Razvet headed to the table to clear her heavy head. But on the table, there was no bread, only a scattering of crumbs.
At that, Razvet’s train of thought, which had been running nonstop since yesterday, came to a halt.
And then she realized that Gillian, who ‘eats two loaves of bread in the morning,’ had eaten both loaves.
“Is he actually insane?”
Razvet slammed her fist on the table and chewed her lip nervously.
Then, she suddenly remembered the reason for Gillian’s demotion.
- Ah, that guy? He was on a mission with the branch manager’s daughter, and whatever he did, he got on her bad side so thoroughly that he ended up getting demoted.