"They’re heading west, westbound, towards the train station," the old man concluded after his thoughts. He looked at the killer, "They’re going to leave."
"Every night at nine o’clock, a train arrives at the station. We’ll head to the train station and catch them all in one go, how about that?" the old lady inquired.
"Catching them all in one go is a good idea; it’s settled then. But considering there might be more henchmen showing up uninvited, I need to dig up the fellows in the yard. Dear, please go to our yard and get our motorcycle out. We’ll need it to transport them, or else walking to the train station with them in tow, we’d become this year’s funniest dead former Judges of the Church of Justice and his assistant," he said.
"No problem, my love, I’ll go get the car out and you pick out what we need," the old lady replied, releasing the curtain and looking back at him with deep affection.
"Of course, we need to put on the lining, then slot the boards into the lining," her husband remarked, referring to the work they had always been doing.
"Just the front boards will suffice," the old lady said. "We’re old now and can no longer be fully armed as we used to be."
"Of course, but we don’t need the back boards since behind us stands a great city," the old man added.
At that moment, the two aged hands held each other’s.
"For our Lord, may He have mercy," he said.
"For our Lord, may He have mercy," she echoed.
Casaman put on his coat and led his team out of the staging area. A group of eleven people, armed with firearms, walked down the street, causing the citizens who saw them to scream and turn to run. No one fired— they had to breach the transit center as swiftly as possible, grab all the gold bars they could carry, and escape at breakneck speed.
Approaching the wall, a Caster among them turned the fence to mud with his spell, as if it were a relic of the past. Bursting through the warehouse, in accordance with the pre-discussed plan, Casaman caught sight of his target: "Hold on, why is it so quiet in the warehouse?"
The man had long-standing conflicts and dirt on each other with Casaman, but hadn’t expected that today Casaman would extend his hand and catch him so completely off guard.
Then there was a gunshot. The target grabbed by Casaman was shot in the head, fragments of his skull tumbled through the air, and he fell to the ground lifeless. And just as agreed upon earlier, gunfire immediately erupted, cutting down several members prying at the warehouse door in a pool of blood.
The remaining five sought cover while turning their attention toward the direction of the gunfire. But as they hid behind large wooden crates, shots rang out from behind them, bringing down all five.
Casaman raised his hand and stood still, quickly joined by the person in charge.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Miss Navali who joined him, but a stranger he didn’t recognize.
"Surprising, isn’t it? This place no longer belongs to Mr. Malin; the princess from the Sydney Union has taken over the execution of this operation," the man said expressionlessly before showing Casaman a look of regret. "Hurry to the train station; you don’t have much time. If you can’t make it to the station before the deadline, you won’t be able to leave the city tonight with that guy."
"I understand," Casaman replied, then turned and left.
What happened to Mr. Malin, the other person in charge? Did he run into some trouble?
Casaman had many questions, but his reason told him this wasn’t the time to delve into secrets. So as he passed a member, he looked at the man leaning against a wooden crate, raised his gun, and shot the Chaos cultist dead, who was breathing as desperately as a bellows due to a lung shot.
Exiting the breach, Casaman reflected for a moment and realized he couldn’t recall the man’s name.
He only remembered the panic on his face, and the incomprehension, and... gratitude.
Perhaps this world was just a playground, and everyone... nothing more than pitiful toys in the hands of the Goddess of Fate.
It’s been ten years; how many decades do I have left?
The no-longer-young bottom feeder asked himself.
Larraya felt her disguise was flawless—who would think a girl dressed in men’s attire was actually a boy? She held Four-leaf’s hand as they stepped down from the carriage, the stack of standard Sydney currency in her pocket making the youth feel exceptionally blissful.
On the train to Carterburg, it would take only half a month to reach their destination.
A new home, a new life, and the child they would raise together—everything was so beautiful, so joyful. Since the orphanage burned down when they were six, Fate had tormented him and Four-leaf for a full ten years, until now it finally smiled upon them.
He guided her up the steps and into the train station hall.
The hall wasn’t crowded; perhaps that’s because most of the passengers had already departed on the earlier train that morning.
Larraya noticed on the right side, two individuals in blue uniforms were paying attention to the entrance. The younger of the uniformed men scrutinized Larraya with a suspicious gaze for a long while before finally relaxing, as if he had not recognized anything.
They were not there for her.
Relieved by this thought, Four-leaf secretly pinched the palm of his hand she was holding.