: -: -: -: -: -: -: -:.

‘Um, …… sorry to bother you at this time of night, Deacon Franz~?’

The sun has already set and the only light around is moonlight. Even though it’s just a step away from an abandoned house, it is no different from a church. Al forced himself to convince himself that it was a courtesy to the goddess, who was probably resting.

“…………”

‘No, I don’t need those obvious warnings anymore. I already know you’re behind the door, so just open it. I’ve got a delivery for you.”

With a heavy clang, the bolt-type lock opens and the heavy door opens. In the shadow of the door is Deacon Franz. His expression is not the one of resignation that stuck to Al’s face when they first met. There is anger.

However, Al, as if he doesn’t care about such things, immediately kicks open the door and blasts Deacon Franz into the church with the force of his kick.

‘Gah! …… What are you doing!’

‘Huh? What the hell is this guy talking about? Are there really only such feckless people? (What about a place called the Royal Capital?)’

Ignoring the protests of Deacon Franz, who was on his buttocks, Al throws the delivery next to him.

With a thud, the delivery itself grunts.

‘……ggg! …… uuuu……’

Mary the loser. Former assassin.

Al thinks it is disrespectful to the assassins of the world to call such a person an assassin.

Her face is bloody and she has a broken nose and several broken teeth. Then there is his right wrist and left knee. Even at a quick glance, it can be seen that the injuries are serious.

‘Ahhhh, Mary, Mary! Oh, my God!’

“…………”

Al thinks. What the hell are these guys?

Towns of the outsiders. Former slum. A place that still smells dangerous.

The backstreets are crawling with roughnecks and underworld organisations are active in the dark.

Those with scars on their shins and those who want to hide their past often drift in, and it is bad manners to pry into each other’s backgrounds here.

Such were the rumours.

But it was nothing of the sort.