"Why didn't you kill that man?" Jörmungandr asked.
He felt that earlier had been the best opportunity to kill the arrogant man who had shouted at Crowne. If his master had given him permission, he wouldn't have thought twice. He would have done it gladly, especially killing the young man named Alan. Jörmungandr disliked him for no reason at all.
Crowne only walked slowly. He did not immediately answer Jörmungandr's question. He stopped in front of a store that was still open even though it was already midnight. He stepped inside.
"I also wanted to do it, but for some reason, it felt difficult. Maybe it's because of the blood bond within my body." Crowne touched one of the clothes there. It was quite expensive, made from high-quality material. "Turns out I am not as cruel as I thought."
"You only need a trigger. If the right trigger appears, you would be far more terrifying than me."
Crowne picked up two sets of clothes. He carried them to the counter, placing them on the table, then handed over the coins according to the price mentioned by the cashier. Once the clothes were wrapped, he turned around and walked out.
"How do you know that?"
"Our souls are connected. To some extent, I can understand your feelings."
Crowne stored the two clothes he had bought into his Inventory Ring. "Oh, that's interesting. But why don't I feel the same? Isn't our soul connected?"
"That's because our contract is one-way. Top and bottom. Master and servant. Does a master really need to understand the feelings of his servant? Look at the workers in that store! They looked exhausted from working until midnight. Do you think that was their will? Of course not—it was the will of the store owner or their boss. Was the boss there sharing the same exhaustion?"
Crowne fell silent. What Jörmungandr said made a lot of sense. He had often seen similar things at the Valden family residence. Servants, soldiers, gardeners, cooks, and others working every single day. No holidays.
Even when they were sick, as long as they could still walk, they had to keep working. His father, the master of the house, never looked at them with sympathy.
"Ah, I see."
Jörmungandr nodded. "This world is cruel. No one truly takes your side—not even yourself."
After walking for quite some time, they finally arrived in front of the inn where Crowne was staying. He went inside. There was no one on the ground floor. The place was dimly lit. Crowne climbed the stairs on the southern side.
He walked toward his room, entered, and laid his body down on the bed. He closed his eyes, ready to sleep.
"Am I a bad master?" Crowne murmured.
"No. You're even too—"
Crowne's snores interrupted. Jörmungandr, who was inside the Dimensional Prison Ring, came out and saw his master already exhausted. Jörmungandr walked toward the window, gazing up at the night sky, watching the shining stars.
"I hope this world is better than mine," Jörmungandr said.
**
Morning came. Crowne woke up, bathed, changed clothes, ate, and immediately headed to the Adventurer's Guild. While walking there, suddenly Crowne and Ronan were surrounded by several adventurers.
There were five of them. From their eyes, Crowne could tell they had bad intentions toward the two of them.
"What do you want?" Crowne asked.
One of the adventurers stepped forward. He grabbed Crowne's head. "Quit being an adventurer! We don't like you."
Crowne did not react to the rough grip. His eyes remained cold, staring straight at the man who had touched him.
"Are you done talking?" Crowne's voice was calm, yet sharp like a freshly whetted blade.
The adventurer clicked his tongue. He was a big man, with a long scar across his cheek. "My name is Gareth Vorn. Adventurer Rank B-. I've seen many arrogant brats like you. Usually, they don't last more than a few days before their corpse is found outside the city walls. Do you want to be one of them?"
Gareth pressed Crowne's head harder. Ronan, who saw that, immediately stepped forward, swiftly knocking Gareth's hand away. "Remove your hand from my master!"
Ronan drew his sword and assumed a stance. His eyes were sharp, filled with anger. Crowne was his master, and seeing him treated with such disrespect made Ronan furious.
But Gareth was irritated by Ronan's action. He laughed loudly before his gaze turned sharper. He stood directly in front of Ronan.
"You're only Rank C. You're not on my level, boy! Step aside, I'm dealing with the brat behind you," Gareth said.
Ronan didn't step back. He steadied his stance even more. Gareth tried to reach for Crowne again, but Ronan quickly deflected his hand. The impact left Gareth's hand red.
Gareth's eyes grew sharper. "Bastard, how dare you!" he roared.
He set his stance and launched a punch forward.
Booosh!
The strike was extremely powerful. Ronan's body was pushed back several steps, only stopping when his back was caught by Crowne. Soon after, Ronan coughed up blood. Gareth's punch was devastating. Even though he had blocked it, Ronan's internal organs were still injured.
Gareth smiled with satisfaction. "I already told you to step aside. That's the price."
Without wasting time, Gareth moved forward. He channeled mana into his legs, more precisely into his heels. With one push, the ground beneath him cracked and caved in. In just a second, Gareth appeared in front of Ronan.
His movement was swift. Ronan raised his stance, ready to fight, but before he could step forward, Crowne pulled Ronan back. Crowne himself stepped forward. He slowly drew his sword and swung in a circular slash.
Slash!
Krassh!
Blood splattered. Gareth screamed in agony. He curled on the ground, clutching his severed left arm.
Seeing Gareth—an Adventurer Rank B-—defeated so easily, the other four adventurers panicked. They immediately fled, leaving Gareth alone.
"Bastards, you…"
Crowne crouched in front of Gareth, who was still clutching his bleeding wound. "I don't remember having any problems with you. Why did you want to kill me?"
Gareth glared at Crowne with burning hatred. "I just don't like you."
Crowne stood, grabbed Gareth's head, and smashed his face against his knee. Not once, but repeatedly until Gareth's nose bone cracked. Blood dripped from his nostrils. Gareth tried to resist, but he was already weakened from blood loss due to his severed arm.
"Tell me, who sent you!" Crowne demanded.
At first, Gareth refused to answer, but when Crowne patted his shoulder, he turned pale. "Stop! Stop! I beg you!"
"Say it!" Crowne ordered again.
"I don't know, but that young man wore neat clothes. He looked like a noble from the Valden family. I'm not sure, but the crest on his clothes was similar," Gareth confessed.
Crowne stood up. "Aaah, that dog."