To avoid dinner with his aunt—and those relatives’ sour faces—Morris patted his wallet and grinned at the two girls. “Let’s go! Tonight, we’re hitting the night market near Lawls’ place. My treat!”

Sif’s eyes lit up. Night markets were her domain. As the daughter of a mercenary captain, a well-known figure among fighters, and a girl who turned heads wherever she went, grilling and drinking with her squad at stalls was old hat.

Lenna remained expressionless. “Wherever you wish to go, I’ll follow.”

But Morris glanced down. Her hands were clasped obediently before her short skirt… Lenna had never been this well-behaved.

“Lenna,” Morris asked, stroking his chin, “have you really never been to a night market?”

“…Back when they kept me caged,” she murmured, fingers tightening slightly on her arm as her right hand dropped and her gaze dimmed, “they’d feast on roast goose and turkey, toss bones through the bars, splash wine on me, and say, ‘This is your food for two days.’ I knew they meant it… so I cupped my hands and tried to catch every drop.”

“Enough.” Morris pulled her firmly into his arms, patting her soft, slender back. “My comrade, those hard times are over. The people are thriving now—we live in petit bourgeois decadence! Later, Sif’ll show you how to chug a whole bottle of ’82 vintage!”

Sif froze. “I-I’m not *that* good at drinking… And why am I suddenly part of this?!”

For a heartbeat, Lenna wondered if his embrace held love. Then she realized—he was just spouting nonsense again.

Morris released her with a chuckle. “Perfect! I’ll take you to the snack street near my childhood friend’s place. We met there long ago. Though we rarely see each other now, our bond runs deep.”

*Deep*, meaning she’d use him as bait to lure wealthy older women with a taste for young men… and he’d use her as a reliable secret route out of the city.

Somehow, that didn’t sound quite right.

“Oh! Right!” As they stepped out of Lawls’ gate, Sif turned. “Mr. Morris, Miss Lenna—what *actually* happened? Why are you suddenly in the Sindel Wastes? Weren’t you at the Church?”

Morris waved dismissively, studying the newly paved street. “Not a big deal. Can’t tell outsiders…”

*Because it’s embarrassing.*

He’d fled Macedon City to escape Lenna—yet now they walked side by side like nothing happened. She still stole kisses in private, unchanged.

First escape attempt: failed.

“If anything,” Morris mused, “call it… training. After leaving Macedon, I recalled something troubling my teacher—Pope Alex, the previous Pope. The Sindel Wastes border the Abyss, and I’d sealed Leviathan there long ago. Changed plans on a whim. Better check before trouble brews.”

Morris always prepared for the worst.

Sometimes, that habit saved lives.

Thank goodness she didn’t ask, *“How can you be both Saint and Pope?”* or *“Why do other Saints have lands and servants?”*—or he might’ve actually teared up.

Twilight warmed the cobblestones. Night market stalls glowed under Arcanum-powered white lamps wrapped in ribbons. Cyan wreaths and creamy lilac bouquets adorned trees and streets. The air hummed with sizzling meat and rich, intoxicating wine. Just the scent made Morris nostalgic. He hadn’t felt this free since joining the Church.

He fastened Sif and Lenna’s hoods. Daylight had proven it: Sif radiated youthful charm; Lenna, though stoic, was undeniably a cold beauty. Attention followed them everywhere.

“I remember now!” Morris spun around, eyes bright. “Today’s Hammer County Founding Day! Every district celebrates. Natives return from afar for the spectacle. Oh my *god*—we stumbled into something incredible!”

Tents lined the road. People strolled in yukatas and short sleeves, couples laughing arm in arm. At a grilled meat stall, oil dripped onto charcoal, sending up wisps of gray smoke.

“Mr. Morris!” Sif tugged his sleeve, eyes sparkling like stars, pointing to a slingshot stall where boys shot wildly at prizes. “What’s that?”

“You knock it down, you keep it,” Morris scratched his head. “Interested?”

Sif nodded eagerly, vibrating with curiosity—like an excited Shiba Inu.

“Here, take this,” Morris pulled out ten gold coins, then gestured for Lenna to follow. “Let’s go together.”

Water balloons hung neatly along the stall. The owner watched boys arrive thrilled, leave dejected. Business was business.

But the girl in a snug white yukata and mythical bird mask muttered while tossing pebbles: “I couldn’t hit you as a kid… Now I’m grown. Give me a keepsake.” Her pale ankle peeked below the hem, curves elegantly traced.

Just as the owner hid his glance behind a folding fan—*nice figure*—a shadow fell. Morris approached the counter with the girls. “Price?”

“Th-three coppers per shot! Five for two!” the owner stammered.

Sif weighed haggling—but Morris slammed the counter. “Too steep! How dare you?!”

The fan trembled. As the owner braced to lower the price, Morris boomed: “Three coppers once! Ten for three! Or we walk!”

Stunned silence. Even the masked girl’s slack jaw spoke volumes.

*Ten coppers = one silver. Ten silvers = one gold. Who miscalculates this?!*

“Y-yes! Done!” the owner yelped.

Morris pressed a silver coin into Sif’s hand. She winced—*should I tell him he messed up?*

She aimed at a rabbit plushie. Movements slowed, deliberate, humming with quiet intensity.

Release! Let go! *Plop!*

The pebble landed perfectly… in the gap between prizes.

Sif froze.

Morris and the owner burst out laughing. The owner shot Morris a wary look.

Morris patted Sif’s shoulder. Stepped up. Plucked a pebble. Tossed it—no aim.

A breeze swirled. A sharp *crack*, like shattering glass. The stone shot forward, pierced the plushie’s chest, tore through the red tent fabric, slammed the wall—and spun, smoking.

Now the owner froze.

“Uncle,” Morris chuckled, “still running this trick after all these years? Boring. And isn’t this a breach of the Wizardry Interference Act?”

“W-wait! I’m closing early!” the owner yelped, rising.

Morris pressed him back down. Thirty silver coins clinked onto his lap—glittering, singing. The owner’s eyes widened… then dimmed with dread.

“Enjoy yourselves, Sif—and you too, miss,” Morris smiled at the masked guest. “It’s been too long.”

She sighed softly, lifted the mask. Pale, elegant face revealed.

The owner wailed inwardly: *What karma is this?! Worse than that vampire taken down in fifty days?!*

“Long time no see, my Morris,” Yieta said, gaze drifting to the girls behind him. “Still as… intriguing as ever.”

“Long time no see, Sister Yieta,” Morris smiled. He knew what she meant—*you swore to leave the Holy Maiden*. Not the time to explain. “Consider this my treat for the drinks.”