“Amy, take Ugly Duckling upstairs. You’ll find its food there,” Mag said with a smile.
“You made something special for it, Father?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Amy said happily. She licked her empty bowl, slid down the chair, and picked the kitten up. “No braised chicken for you, Ugly Duckling. Let’s see what Father has made for you.”
Mag watched Amy leave and stood up as Barzel walked in.“You know why we’re here,” Brazel said, staring at Mag, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. He’s strangely calm after killing a man—he must have got used to it.
Barzel had spent 20 years in the Gray Temple, and had arrested many murderers himself, but no one had been as emotionless as Mag. Murderers always look scared, but not him.
Mag saw the letter “P” embroidered on his front, and realized he was one of the patrol guys. He met his eyes without blinking. “Yes.”
The Gray Temple had three departments: the patrol department, which patrolled the city every day; the garrison department, which guarded the city; the police department, which was responsible for making sure that people obeyed the law.
They wore black pants, black leather boots, and gray robes with four rings on the back, which was also the Gray Temple’s emblem. Knights were equipped with swords, while magic casters wore gray magician robes.
“A knight got killed, so it’s a level 3 incident. Tell me what happened,” Barzel said solemnly.
“You see, we’re closed today. My daughter, two waitresses, and I were eating, and suddenly a swordsman and a magic caster broke in and swore to kill us.“They attacked us first, and my daughter Amy acted in self-defense. She threw two fireballs at them and knocked them out. Then, when the other two tried to drive that carriage into our restaurant, Amy threw a fireball at them too in fright.”
Barzel narrowed his eyes. I don’t know how powerful his daughter is, but that man was no doubt killed by the chopstick. “Murder is a serious crime.”
“Serious my a*s!” said a hoarse voice.
“My a*s! My a*s!” echoed his crow.
A patrol man was enraged. “Who do you—” Then, he saw Urien, and his face changed. His boss had warned him not to mess with this hunchbacked old man.
“You were saying?” Black Coal said, staring at the patrol man with its beady eyes.
He looked at the crow, and gripped his sword in anger, but then he thought better of it, and at last said, “Nothing.”
“I thought so,” said the crow.
“Murder is a serious crime,” Barzel repeated, looking at Urien defiantly.
“I wonder if Roland will say the same if I kill you,” Urien said, smiling a cold smile.
Barzel grasped his sword. He was ready to die to defend his honor.
“Lord Roland said to give you his regards, Lord Urien. He said he’d like to have a drink with you someday,” Brandli said with a smile, panting from the effort of running, signaling Barzel to back down.
“Someday? I don’t have many days left.”
Brandli managed a smile, a bead of sweat rolling down his face. “He’s really very busy these days. By the way, what’re you doing here, Lord Urien?”
“I was told there were people who wanted to kill my disciple. I’d like to see them try,” Urien said coldly.
If the old man had come earlier, none of the four would have survived, Barzel thought to himself.
“They must have lost their minds!” Brandli said.
“Who wants to kill my disciple?” a voice called out outside the restaurant.
