""There’s a scene, a foreigner is fighting with the gang members." His sister’s reply startled Malin—why would gang members get into a fight with a stranger?
Driven by curiosity, Malin climbed onto the carriage and then he noticed someone using a cane and three gang members...no, the word ’fight’ doesn’t do it justice, it looked more like a game.
Although he had a beard and his Eastern features were gray-haired and changed, Malin recognized his true identity at a glance—Mr. Donald.
The very assassin those greenhorns had wanted to hire for a performance some time back.
What brought him here?
Curiosity made Malin flip back his hood and clap his hands, "Alright, gentlemen, the show is over."
The citizens, seeing it was Malin, paid their respects and then dispersed. A young gang member, who seemed to have just joined, wanted to say something, but was smacked on the head by the other two veterans, "Mr. Malin, do you know him?"
"I know him. Since he didn’t go too hard, do me a favor and let it slide."
"Of course, your words are commands, Mr. Malin. We’ll be on our way." The two veterans humbly bowed, chest hand gesture, and then caught the ten coins Malin tossed for tea money, "Go have some afternoon tea, on me."
Grateful, the three gang members backed off.
Mr. Donald, meanwhile, touched his beard somewhat awkwardly.
"This isn’t the place to talk."
Malin led the fellow into a nearby gun shop—nowadays, all of Carterburg’s gun shops had technological input from Malin; the shop owners stocked the best weapons in the Western Human World and were naturally obedient to Malin’s words. Seeing Malin bringing in a stranger, the manager immediately opened the back room for Malin.
Originally for discussing shady deals, it now seemed to have found another use.
"This is indeed a real beard, Mr. Malin. How did you see through my transformation?" Upon entering, the gentleman touched his beard again and looked at Malin with a puzzled expression.
"I can see right into your essence." Malin didn’t explain much, although saying so could make Mr. Donald’s imagination run wild, but it was still more pleasant than telling him he could see the true appearance of his soul.
After all, the ability to see a soul was too ghastly for most people to handle.
As expected, the gentleman was somewhat surprised, but couldn’t quite make the leap, "Indeed, you are Mr. Malin."
"What brings you here this time, Mr. Assassin?" Malin sat down, with Maya standing quietly behind him, holding Rewo.
The next second, Fio began to serve tea, Lorrin transformed into a new high chair for Maya to sit, Melo pulled out a large platter of pastries from his Spatial Bag, and finally, Mana sat on Malin’s shoulder.
"Ah..." The gentleman appeared somewhat at a loss—after all, he should be the first mortal of this era to see four World Tree Saplings. He struggled, probably due to his professional ethics, but soon his professional ethics lost to the reality that not speaking might get him killed on the spot as an assassin: "The thing is, I’ve come with a task."
Then he quickly stuffed two pastries into his mouth.
"Murder, who?" Malin asked, curious.
Fio took out three shotguns, with short barrels; at close range, they were the death knell for all humanoid beings.
"Uh, can I not say?" The gentleman, after swallowing, looked very conflicted: "I’ve sworn an oath when I accepted the job."
"If you say it, will your head explode?" Malin immediately thought of a possibility and began to check for any iron rings around the guy’s neck.
Unfortunately, there were none, but Donald nodded, "Pretty much. While my head won’t explode, the Assassin’s Guild would know of my betrayal, and then I would have to face all the assassins of the Guild; they’d mark me for death."
"Is it someone I know?" Malin continued to inquire.
"No, definitely not someone you know. Our guild wouldn’t even take on such a job. To earn a living one must have a life to spend it." After Donald finished this sentence, Malin heard Rewo chuckle behind him.
"Indeed a very interesting answer, but I’m still not at ease, so I must say three names. If one of them is your target, just nod, but if not, you don’t need to react." Malin looked at Donald: "Can you do that?"
"No problem." He nodded.
So Malin mentioned the names of the police chief, the mayor of the city, and the head of the Arcane Fist.
Donald did not move a muscle.
Malin nodded, looking at the circle at his feet: "In that case, I won’t interfere with your work. But how did you come to clash with those three?"
"The young one tried to pick my pocket, and I caught him." At this, a hint of displeasure crossed Donald’s face: "I always thought that in a big city like Carterburg, security would be better."
"Yes, the security is quite good, but how do I put this, I hope next time you come you can change your appearance; people from the Eastern Kingdom have recently fallen out of favor in Carterburg."
Malin was powerless in this regard—though he could warn the gangs not to judge by appearances, even destroy disobedient ones, but why? They could control those country boys who just entered the city, recommend them for jobs they’re good at, and with money to earn, they’d stay out of trouble.