As Casaman turned to leave, he saw a werewolf girl and a small-statured boy walking out of the Church.
Ah, what a beautiful sight, when he was young, he, too, had left the Church with an acquaintance and set out to explore the world.
He still remembers... she also had such beautiful ears, and such a beautiful fluffy tail, except that he had forgotten... forgotten what she looked like.
It’s been fifteen years... my goddess, I beseech you, may this beauty endure, may this friendship last forever.
"Goddess of Harvest, you are the savior of the farmers."
Malin read the inscription on the base of the statue.
"That’s the first line of the worship prayer."
A thin, tall boy stood next to Malin, appearing to be a genteel young gentleman—if you overlook the black eye clouding his face.
Ah, right, forgot to introduce, this is Jamie Shelling’s younger brother, Lula Shelling; seeing his brother so injured yesterday, he was the first to charge in today’s training fight, was punched twice by Malin, had already received four treatments for moderate injuries, and wasn’t yet fully healed.
Then Malin taught a lesson to the upperclassmen here one by one, and that was what quieted down the previously incensed youngsters.
"Don’t you even understand this, you useless fellow, do you not have a brain?" He opened his mouth, and his forked, venomous tongue darted through the air.
Malin stepped aside and made a gesture, "Shall we try that again at the training ground?"
The guy fled swiftly.
That was a pity for Malin; if only some people’s bones were as tough as their mouths, that would be great.
Speaking of which, after Jamie Shelling woke up yesterday and learned of the situation with Malin and Faye, he quickly made amends with Malin; facing such a child that knew to correct his mistakes, Malin had no heart to wreck his brother anymore—a friend in need is a friend indeed, and that sort of ’destroy-the-entire-family-at-a-moment’s-discontent’ attitude was either insane or idiotic.
Besides, it’s good for these half-sized brats to take a beating every now and then; and as for when they can feel the ’fistful of kindness’ from strangers, that really varies from person to person.
"Hey, Malin, shall we go out for a walk?" Jessica beckoned Malin at the door.
Malin walked over, "What about everyone else?"
"They’re watching Miriam make Spiritual Medicine, I, the Spiritual Medicine Class E, got kicked out." Jessica was a bit embarrassed, which made Malin laugh as he took her hand, "Let’s go."
"Mhm." The werewolf girl smiled happily.
Exiting the Church, Malin squinted, the streets at dawn were sparsely populated, and as he swept his gaze across the street, he saw a man in black clothes.
Well... he seemed to be dressed a bit warmly, but considering the pre-dawn weather wasn’t hot enough to take off his coat, that didn’t seem so strange.
"Where shall we go have fun?"
"Heard there’s some great Thainan snacks downtown yesterday, want to give them a try?"
After hearing Jessica’s words, Malin was also eager to try—these same black-haired foreigners looked much like how Malin had looked in his past life; although their temperaments could be peculiar, their pastries were nonetheless quite appealing.
So, following the map, Malin saw the man in black again; this time, he was standing in front of a stall, apparently haggling with the vendor.
He seemed like a respectable gentleman, why would he discuss a few copper coins with a fruit seller?
After pondering, Malin could only attribute this to the idle amusements of wealthy life; after all, this was a world where people would believe in an Evil God for the sake of a few extra ounces of flesh. It seemed fairly normal for a Noble to have such harmless quirks.
Perhaps, this was also a new kind of idle romanticism for the aristocracy.
With this in mind, Malin and Jessica passed through the inner city gates leading to Downtown.
With a small bag of apples in hand, Casaman received a note as he paid for them.
This was an observation point established by the organization near the Downtown area, where many valuable pieces of information and marks often originated.
It was Casaman who had set this up expressly; otherwise, he and his organization would have starved long ago.
He glanced at the address—across from Happy Cafe street in the Downtown area, 799 Nancy Avenue.
After the brief exchange, Casaman nodded and headed towards the inner city gates leading to Downtown.
Coincidentally, he had a meeting with that old thing at the Happy Cafe this noon; it was perfect to pick up some information first, and see what made this mark worthy of being chosen as the fat sheep.
Happy Cafe was said to be a century-old establishment, yet Casaman wasn’t particularly impressed. The survival of Happy Cafe to this day was mainly because both the cafe and the four-storey apartment building above it belonged to the owner’s family fortune, with the secondary reason being that the coffee at Happy Cafe was indeed delectable, just as their scones were always delicious.
Despite being a respectable and wealthy gentleman, why he would continue to run his family’s coffee shop was a mystery—leasing it out might even bring in more money.
Thinking it over, Casaman could only attribute this to the idle amusements of the rich; after all, this was a world where people would believe in an Evil God for the sake of a few centimeters. It was quite normal for a wealthy person to have such a harmless pastime.
Perhaps, this was a new kind of idle romanticism for the wealthy lifestyle.