“You’re a good child. Your character truly moves us. If you ever find yourself in trouble, you must come to us—we’ll do everything within our humble power to help you.”

  Mrs. Ryan spoke with solemn sincerity.

  “I will,” Glen replied with a gentle smile.

  At that moment, a knock echoed from downstairs.

  “I’ll see who it is.”

  Mrs. Ryan descended at once, and Glen, realizing it was time for him to leave, bade farewell to the sheriff and followed her down.

  Standing at the door were four policemen dressed in black uniforms. As soon as they saw Mrs. Ryan, they greeted her politely.

  “Oh, it’s you! You’ve come to see your captain, haven’t you? Please, come in.”

  Clearly, she was well-acquainted with them and stepped aside to let them through.

  As the four men entered, they immediately noticed Glen coming down the stairs. The youngest of them, a brown-haired youth, exclaimed in surprise,

  “Aren’t you the one living with Bayek? What are you doing here?”

  The other three, reminded by his words, all wore looks of recognition.

  “He runs a furniture stall on Central Street,” Mrs. Ryan explained cheerfully. “I asked him to come fix our broken door, but to my astonishment, he turned out to know medicine—and cured your captain!”

  “You’re leaving already, child? I was hoping you could stay and taste some of Douglas’s finest wine!” she added warmly.

  “No need, I—”

  “Wait a minute!” the brown-haired youth interrupted sharply. “Ma’am, did you say he sells furniture? Isn’t he a butcher? And he cured the captain?”

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Ryan confirmed with a firm nod. “He’s both a butcher and a carpenter. As for curing Douglas—if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”

  The four policemen exchanged bewildered glances. His professions aside, the fact that Glen had healed their captain was baffling. They all knew Douglas’s condition wasn’t something ordinary medicine could fix.

  Could this man be a mage—or possess some enchanted artifact?

  The same thought crossed all their minds.

  “How did you do it?” the young man pressed.

  With no choice, Glen repeated the same story he’d told upstairs. The four listened, half doubtful, half intrigued.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  But Glen had no need to convince them. When he finished, he turned politely to Mrs. Ryan.

  “Ma’am, I’ve already measured the frame. I’ll bring the finished door tomorrow and install it for you. Is there anything else you’d like?”

  “Just the same style I picked earlier, nothing more,” she said, referring to one of his sample doors.

  “Very well. Until tomorrow, then.”

  “Take care, and good luck.”

  As Glen disappeared beyond the doorway, one slightly plump officer muttered, “What a mysterious fellow…”

  The others nodded in agreement.

  After exchanging a few pleasantries with Mrs. Ryan, the four men headed upstairs to see their captain.

  They were about to offer their well-wishes when Douglas waved a hand impatiently.

  “Spare me the pleasantries. Tell me—has anything happened at the station while I was gone?”

  The men exchanged looks; none were surprised by his tone—they knew their captain’s temperament all too well.

  The brown-haired youth spoke first.

  “Captain, you’d better brace yourself. Things at the station aren’t looking good…”

  Douglas’s brows drew together. “What is it this time? Those squad leaders acting up again?”

  The youth grimaced. “The leaders are fine. It’s the victims’ families… They nearly tore the station apart. After you fell ill yesterday, those bastards went mad—running rampant through town, kidnapping more children. We’ve been overwhelmed.”

  “What?!” Douglas nearly fainted from rage. “Those filthy vermin! They’ll rot in hell! Cough, cough!”

  “Captain!” The officers rushed to steady him, alarmed.

  Since the first child had gone missing, the pressure on the police had grown unbearable.

  And Douglas had borne the brunt of it. Now, at last, his restrained fury broke loose.

  He cursed until his voice grew hoarse, then fell silent, panting heavily. His subordinates, unaccustomed to seeing him lose control, dared not make a sound.

  “Captain, are you alright?” one of them asked timidly.

  Douglas caught his breath, then said through gritted teeth, “This case clearly involves supernatural forces. Has no one reported it yet?”

  “We have, sir. The higher-ups said they’ll send a Second-Class Knight… but it’ll take a few days.”

  “How many days exactly?”

  “About… ten.”

  “Ten days!? Those children’s lives are hanging by a thread, and they say ten days!? Did you not tell them how serious this is? That’s over twenty children—twenty families! Cough! Cough!”

  He broke into another fit of coughing, his face flushing red, veins standing out on his forehead.

  “We told them everything, sir. But the knight they’re sending is Sir Tyre. You know what he’s like…”

  “Tyre…” Douglas closed his eyes, a wave of helplessness washing over him.

  Sir Tyre—the infamous slothful knight. No task, great or small, could rouse him to urgency. Despite the criticism he faced, his indolence remained unshaken. Douglas could already picture him now—ambling along on horseback, half-drunk, taking his sweet time.

  “Go on, then. I’ll return to the station soon.” Douglas waved them off.

  “But, Captain—your health—”

  “I said I’m fine!” he barked.

  Knowing there was no point arguing, the officers reluctantly withdrew.

  …

  Counting the day’s earnings of copper and silver coins, Glen drove his deer cart back to Bayek Town in high spirits.

  After a simple meal of bread, he headed straight to the pigsty.

  The noble young master was, as always, incorrigible.

  The black pigs grunted hungrily amid piles of weeds they refused to eat, clearly starving.

  Under the shade of a tree, Laville yawned lazily, the picture of comfort.

  When he saw Glen approaching, he hastily picked up a sickle and pretended to cut grass.

  “Seems you’ve ignored what I told you this morning. Don’t blame me, then,” Glen said evenly to Laville’s feigned diligence before going to cut fodder himself.

  As if I’d stoop to doing a peasant’s work… I’d rather die, Laville muttered inwardly, scowling.

  Once the pigs were fed, Glen began crafting the wooden door for Mrs. Ryan’s house—a task that took him only a short while.

  He spent the rest of the day building more furniture.

  That night, when preparing supper, he deliberately left Laville out.

  The young noble, proud as ever, refused to beg—he merely returned to the storage shed to sleep.

  He had no idea yet how cruel hunger could be to those who’d never known want.