Quintus let out a deep sigh—for the fifth time.
In the office of the Supreme Commander of the Military, located in the west wing of the royal palace, the head of the Central Magic Association, Vundo, had barged in without notice. The man was seventy-two years old, with white hair and a body so thin he looked like a dried branch—but somehow, he was still bursting with energy, as if he could survive anything.
Even though Quintus was already stressed out over the unpredictable actions of the Dalmasca Kingdom, the old man showed no concern for that. He was entirely consumed by his own obsession and wouldn't leave, no matter how many times Quintus told him to come back later.
Was this what happened to people as they got old? Did they all become this stubborn and hard to deal with? Quintus was exhausted just listening—or pretending to listen—to this old man's endless rambling.
