While Fremont was gloriously joining the honorary ranks of the Liberi, Mo dispersed his subordinates among various strongholds.
They were merely a grassroots rescue organization, not Big Daddy’s Guerrilla Force.
There was no point in gathering everyone together when doing so would only hinder their work.
After finishing the tasks at hand, Mo neatly stacked the signed documents on his desk, carefully aligning their edges.
Looking at the perfectly arranged documents, Mo let out a satisfied sigh, stretched, and carefully rose from his seat.
There was something strangely pleasing about keeping things neat and orderly.
It made the mind feel at ease.
Picking up the weapon he carried with him, Mo prepared to patrol the various strongholds and check on their current situation.
He pulled open the tavern door, ready to welcome a new day and whatever challenges it might bring.
Ah!
Just thinking about it made his blood boil!
Life had never felt so fulfilling!
Creeeak.
Just as Mo opened the door and was about to step outside, he found two people standing there, carefully examining him.
Mo froze for a moment.
Then he began observing the two people standing before him.
The tall, thin one looks rather old, yet he has no horns on his head.
He probably isn’t a local.
His clothes look very professional, and his expression is extremely serious.
He looks almost like a dean of students.
That upturned mustache, though…
It seems familiar.
Have I seen it somewhere before?
And the tall, sturdy one…
He was dressed magnificently and possessed an extraordinary bearing.
His status must be quite high.
Probably some kind of noble.
But what is he doing at our little tavern?
Mo’s gaze slowly moved upward until it reached the man’s face.
The moment he saw it clearly, Mo blinked.
He exchanged a few glances with the Caprini standing opposite him.
Then, without hesitation—
Bang!
He slammed the door shut.
The two people outside looked at each other in confusion.
They stared at the closed door, apparently waiting for some kind of response from Mo.
Inside the tavern, Mo hurriedly threw his weapon into a corner and hid it as best he could.
He then took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
After a moment, he carefully cracked open the door.
Mo slowly poked his head out from behind it and took another quick look.
After seeing that face clearly again, he immediately closed the door.
His expression was filled with disbelief.
Then he repeatedly opened and closed the door.
Open.
Close.
Open.
Close.
No.
Was this really happening?
This couldn’t possibly be right!
Mo might not recognize the so-called “dean of students” standing beside him, but there was no way he could fail to recognize the face of the Witch King.
After all, the man’s portrait was still hanging inside this very tavern.
Holy crap.
I’m going to break down.
Outside the door, the Witch King and Fremont watched the door repeatedly opening and closing.
The Wendigo’s head repeatedly appeared from behind it before disappearing again.
Neither of them knew what to say.
Even with a mask covering his face, the Wendigo’s head, covered in osseous growths, was already quite intimidating.
Yet the sight of him cautiously poking his head out again and again, his expression filled with disbelief, was rather amusing.
At least, the Witch King clearly found it amusing.
“Interesting.”
The Witch King remained expressionless.
However, Fremont, who knew him quite well, could clearly sense the amusement hidden beneath that calm exterior.
“May… may I ask what the two of you want?”
After repeatedly confirming that the Witch King standing before him wasn’t some hallucination and finally accepting his fate, Mo opened the door and asked the monarch in front of him with difficulty.
“Coming to find you naturally means there is something I wish to ask you.”
The Witch King glanced at the tavern.
“What? Do you not intend to let us in?”
The Caprini with the intimidating curved horns remained expressionless, while the Lich beside him looked rather curious.
Mo helplessly stepped aside.
“Please, come in.”
The Witch King and Fremont entered the tavern and casually looked around.
“Ordinary walls.”
“Ordinary floor.”
“Ordinary wine.”
“Ordinary corners…”
“Hmm?”
The two guests slowly surveyed the room.
After determining that it was merely an ordinary tavern, their gazes simultaneously landed on one particular corner.
The corner where Mo had hidden his weapon.
“Um…”
Mo noticed where they were looking.
He immediately stepped sideways, blocking their line of sight.
“Is there anything the two of you would like to drink?”
While speaking, Mo quietly pushed his weapon even deeper into the corner.
Of course, there was no way to actually hide it.
But showing his attitude was what mattered.
I specifically hid my weapon to demonstrate that I have no intention of resisting.
So you can’t use this as an excuse to cause trouble, right?
Naturally, both of them noticed Mo’s little movements.
Not bad.
Quite sensible.
But…
“Do you know how to mix drinks?”
…
The silence that followed was terrifying.
Sometimes, the most terrifying thing was when the air suddenly became quiet.
Sometimes, it was a friend’s sudden concern.
“…No.”
Mo lowered his head slightly.
“I don’t.”
He really didn’t know how.
He barely even drank himself, so how could he possibly know how to mix drinks?
Drinking causes trouble.
Cherish life and stay away from alcohol.
One drink before driving, two lines of tears for your family.
The anti-drinking campaigns from his previous life had left a deep impression on Mo.
Unless the atmosphere and emotions were just right, he absolutely wouldn’t drink.
He had voluntarily abstained from alcohol altogether.
(Of course, having a high tolerance is one thing, but honestly, I still don’t recommend drinking too much.)
“Then what do you intend to offer your guests?”
The old man beside him frowned slightly.
The Witch King, meanwhile, seemed rather amused.
“Um…”
Mo glanced toward the bar.
“Would you like some milk?”
Thus, an extremely bizarre scene unfolded inside the tavern.
Three people sat around a round table.
Three glasses of milk sat on the table.
The milky-white drinks and the silent nobles looked completely out of place in the tavern, standing out awkwardly against its usual atmosphere.
Mo looked at the Witch King sitting opposite him.
Without realizing it, he straightened his posture like a student waiting for a teacher to criticize him.
The Witch King remained as elegant and composed as ever, holding his glass of milk and seemingly lost in thought.
The Lich sitting beside him was much more direct.
Fremont looked at the two silent people and sighed.
He’d had enough of these formalities.
He silently extended his leg and kicked the Witch King.
Then he glanced at him meaningfully.
Get on with it.
The Witch King looked at him before finally speaking.
“I am Helzoin.”
He gestured toward the Lich beside him.
“And this is Fremont.”
“Next, I will ask you three questions.”
The Witch King’s sudden declaration made Mo freeze for a moment.
After thinking it over, he nodded.
“The first question.”
The Witch King placed his cup on the table.
Mo closed his eyes and pondered for a moment.
Then he smiled helplessly.
“Because…”
“I want to do it.”
Mo had certainly thought about this question before.
He had come up with countless reasons for himself.
Realistic ones.
Idealistic ones.
Grand ones.
Small ones.
Everything imaginable.
But when he looked into the Witch King’s eyes, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to say any of them.
“I like seeing people happy.”
“I don’t like seeing people hostile toward one another, constantly filled with malice.”
“That is too ugly.”
“Simply disgusting.”
“Sickening to the point of nausea.”
“I can’t bear to live in a world filled with malice.”
“So…”
“I want to change all of this!”
The more Mo spoke, the more agitated he became.
Deep within his scarlet pupils, pitch-black flames burned fiercely.
As his emotions surged, those flames seemed to slowly spill into reality, surrounding him with an almost tangible presence.
Watching the Wendigo, who seemed completely unaware of the phantom flames surrounding him, the Witch King raised an eyebrow slightly.
His interest in Mo deepened.
“…Excuse my outburst.”
Mo finally recovered from his intense emotions and awkwardly scratched his head.
“No matter.”
The Witch King’s expression remained calm.
“So, you possess a strong sense of justice?”
“Perhaps.”
Mo smiled bitterly.
“I can’t even tell whether this is for the sake of justice or simply my own selfishness.”
“The third question.”
The Witch King lifted his cup again.
“What do you intend to do?”
Hmm?
The third question?
Mo looked up in confusion.
“What about the second question?”
“Didn’t I already ask it?”
The Witch King’s smile seemed to curl upward by a mere two pixels.
He leisurely rotated the cup in his hand, clearly enjoying Mo’s reaction.
Mo stared at the Witch King through the swirling milk.
He remained silent for a moment before answering the third question.
“I don’t know.”
“But I will try my best.”
“No one should have to live in suffering.”
“Suffering isn’t something worth praising or glorifying.”
“I have always believed that.”
Mo’s expression grew increasingly firm.
He looked directly at the monarch sitting opposite him and spoke with unwavering conviction.
The Caprini wearing the crown smiled.
It was an unusually relaxed smile.
He raised the cup and drank the milk in a single gulp.
“Very good.”
“I’m finished asking.”
Hearing this, Mo secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
“Don’t be happy too soon.”
The Witch King calmly placed the empty cup on the table.
“I’m finished asking questions.”
“But next, the Lord of the Lich Court also has a few questions he would like to ask you.”
Mo blinked.
He slowly turned toward the silent Lich beside him.
Fremont looked directly at him.
“You…”
The Lich paused.
“You’re probably not a Wendigo, are you?”