Regulus and Difda pushed open the creaky wooden door and stepped into the living room. The room greeted them with a familiar scene:
Mirzam was sprawled on the couch, her nose buried in yet another manga volume, while Nembus sat in an armchair, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, as if trying to solve the world's problems.
"We're back, Nem!" Difda loudly announced, tossing the bags onto the nearest table so carelessly that one almost fell off.
Nembus lazily turned his head, briefly glancing at her.
"Great. Dinner's on you," he said in an indifferent tone, as if assigning her a daily chore.
"Are you serious?" Difda scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Am I the only one here who knows how to turn on the stove?"
"Yep," Nembus replied with complete certainty, without a trace of doubt.
"Alright, you lazy demons, I'll feed you," she grumbled, heading toward the kitchen.
Meanwhile, Regulus surveyed the room and noticed that one familiar face was missing.
He walked closer to the couch, where Mirzam was lazily flipping through pages, and leaned slightly toward her.
"Where's Chelsea?" he asked, staring intently at her.
Mirzam didn't immediately tear herself away from the manga.
At first, she just hummed, then looked up and lazily waved a hand in Nembus's direction.
"Ask him."
Regulus shifted his gaze to Nembus, who sighed as if once again being asked to do something impossibly tedious.
"In her room," he finally said, scratching the back of his head. "She's doing paperwork."
"Got it," Regulus nodded, pausing for a moment. "What about new missions?"
Nembus shrugged.
"Nothing yet. Zero messages from the Revolutionary Army headquarters. Dead calm," he replied, his voice tinged with slight irritation, as if the "calm" was bothering him too.
From the kitchen, Difda's voice rang out immediately:
"Calm? That always leads to something! I bet ten silvers they'll send us to do some dirty work again!"
Mirzam, without lifting her head, chuckled lazily.
"Or maybe they just don't know what to do with us. I mean, we're too… unique."
Difda poked her head out of the kitchen, squinting at her.
"What's that supposed to mean, bookworm?" she barked.
Mirzam only smiled slyly, turning another page.
"It means you're still in the kitchen, and I'm here relaxing. That's what it means."
"Oh, you…" Difda froze for a second, clearly about to say something sharp, but instead, she just banged her knife loudly on the cutting board. "Fine, just wait for dinner, parasite."
Regulus chuckled softly, watching the two of them.
"Well, I guess I'll sit down," he muttered under his breath, dropping onto the couch next to Mirzam. He glanced toward her manga, clearly intrigued.
But the girl reacted instantly, sharply pulling the book away and scooting to the farthest corner of the couch, as if protecting her territory.
"Don't look," she said, her face turning slightly pink.
Regulus raised an eyebrow, smirking.
"I can't even imagine what you're reading that's got you so embarrassed. Romantic scenes? Or maybe… something spicier?"
"None of your business!" Mirzam declared, hiding the manga behind her back. "I forbid you to look!"
Still smiling, Regulus leaned his elbow on the back of the couch.
"Sounds suspicious. Maybe you're just shy I'll discover your *dark side*?"
Mirzam puffed her cheeks indignantly and, failing to come up with a fitting response, decided to counterattack:
"And what about you? You were alone with Difda. Admit it, what kind of dirty things were you two up to?"
Regulus froze for a second, then simply snorted, shrugging.
"Well, I didn't expect that from you. By what right do you accuse me?"
"Hey!" Difda's voice suddenly rang out from the kitchen. "Who said 'dirty things'? I'll shove your 'dirty things' up your ass along with your manga, you cursed bookworm!"
Mirzam, hearing this, instantly broke into a mischievous smile. She slowly leaned toward Regulus as if sharing a secret and loudly whispered:
"Straight up the ass? Oh, what a vivid imagination our dear Difda has. Quite… lustful for such a warrior, don't you think? Fufufu~," she added with mock disgust, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Go to hell!" Difda yelled, bursting out of the kitchen with a knife in her hand. "If you don't shut up, I'll teach you to eat your manga for dinner!"
Mirzam, unfazed, simply chuckled and pretended to go back to reading.
"Dinner's ready!" Difda loudly announced, stepping out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with dozens of sushi rolls.
Regulus turned his head lazily at the sound of her voice, casting a glance first at the girl, then at the tray.
"Sushi again?" he drawled, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
"Not 'again,' but 'as usual,'" Difda smirked, slightly lifting the tray as if declaring her victory.
Regulus leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes theatrically as he groaned:
"Amazing. A few more meals, and I'll start dreaming about sushi rolls."
Mirzam, still lounging with her manga, closed it with a soft clap and lazily looked over at Difda.
"Hopefully, this time they don't fall apart," she teased with a sly grin. "Although, you always claim your rolls are perfect, don't you?"
Difda, unfazed by the jab, placed the tray on the table and rested her hands on her hips.
"Doubt my skills, bookworm?"
"Not at all," Mirzam winked, moving toward the table first.
"Then stop whining," Difda shot back, grinning.
Nembus, who had been silently observing their banter, glanced at his watch and nodded before addressing Regulus.
"Regulus, go get Chelsea."
The Archbishop raised an eyebrow and looked at Nembus with mild annoyance.
"What, we do table delivery now?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm.
"No," Nembus replied calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. "But if you want her to storm in here screaming about not being invited, you can stay seated. Your call."
Regulus sighed heavily and theatrically got up from the couch. As he walked toward the door, he threw over his shoulder:
"If I don't come back, just know — she ate me instead of dinner."
"Just don't forget to leave me your rolls first," Mirzam quipped.
"Go to hell," Regulus muttered, disappearing through the door.
Regulus knocked on Chelsea's door.
"Hey, Chelsea," he called softly.
Silence.
He frowned and knocked a little louder.
"Chelsea, you in there?"
A heavy sigh came from behind the door, followed by her familiar voice lazily dragging out:
"I'm sooo tired."
Regulus pushed the door open slightly and peeked inside.
The room was a mess. Piles of papers cluttered the desk, ink blots smeared across various documents, and Chelsea herself was slumped over the table, her head resting on her arms.
Her hair was disheveled, her face slightly damp with sweat, but as always, she had a lollipop in her mouth.
"I wrote soooo much, soooo many reports," she groaned without lifting her head. "I just want to rest. You understand, Reg?"
Regulus smirked, stepping closer.
"Of course, I understand. Are you trying to give yourself insomnia again?" he asked, lifting her chin gently to look her in the eyes.
Chelsea gave him a tired smile.
"It's all for the cause," she whispered before letting her head drop onto his chest.
Regulus, softening slightly, ran a hand through her messy hair.
"You can rest, little sister," he said quietly, continuing to stroke her hair.
He froze for a moment, his mind slipping into memories of their first meeting.
"Today we'll have a small addition to our family," Mera announced, seated on a massive wooden chair in the center of the room.
Her posture was relaxed yet regal, as though she were sitting on a throne, and her mischievous gaze sparkled with amusement.
Regulus, who looked about sixteen, stood nearby.
His perfectly white outfit accentuated his snow-white hair.
In his hands, he held a bottle of wine, which he twirled between his fingers, barely hiding a trace of curiosity.
"May I ask who this is?" he inquired lazily, pretending to be uninterested in the news.
Mera glanced at him over the rim of her empty glass and nodded slightly toward the bottle.
"First, pour me some wine, Corneas."
Without a word, Regulus approached the table, filled her glass to the brim, and handed it to her.
"So, who is it?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly.
Mera took a small sip, savoring the wine, and, setting the glass back on the table, began to speak:
"A girl who possesses a Teigu."
Regulus raised an eyebrow, a hint of confusion flickering in his gaze.
"You've mentioned this word, 'Teigu,' before, but I still don't understand what it is."
Mera smirked, clearly enjoying his reaction. Her smile was enigmatic, carrying a hint of hidden knowledge.
"You'll meet her and find out," she replied, reaching for her glass again.
"So mysterious," Regulus muttered sarcastically, leaning against the wall. "What is she, one of those who can crush mountains with a glance? Or maybe she summons demons out of thin air?"
"Perhaps both," Mera said with a sly grin.
Regulus snorted, shaking his head and asking no more questions, though his gaze betrayed his growing interest.
An hour passed. Mera left, intending to seduce her next target with her irresistible charm, leaving Regulus alone in her office.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of a desk lamp.
He flipped through an old book he had found on one of the shelves.
The silence was interrupted by a soft but confident knock at the door.
Regulus looked up from the page, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Come in," he said lazily, pushing the book aside.
The door creaked open slowly, and a girl appeared in the doorway.
She was dressed in a maid's uniform — black and white, with a playful hem that barely covered her knees.
Her light auburn hair fell over her shoulders, and her pink eyes lazily scanned the room.
On her head were full-sized headphones that contrasted strangely with her outfit.
In her mouth was a lollipop, as if it were an inseparable part of her image.
The girl smirked, pulling the candy out of her mouth with a soft pop to reveal a confident, smug smile.
"And who are you supposed to be?" she asked, lazily twirling the lollipop between her fingers. "You don't look much like Mera."
Regulus, still sitting on the edge of the desk, tilted his head slightly and rolled his eyes, as if to show how little her comment had affected him.
Even so, his posture and tone carried a faint trace of mockery, accompanied by a touch of irritation.
"I'm Regulus Corneas," he introduced himself with exaggerated politeness, slightly lifting his chin.
"And you know, it's not very polite to ask someone's name without offering your own. That goes against the basic norms of human etiquette, which exist not just for show, but to create harmony in communication. After all, think about it: a name is the first piece of information a person shares about themselves. It's the key to starting any conversation, a symbol of trust and openness. When you ask for someone else's name without giving your own, you not only break unwritten rules of politeness but also leave the impression that you don't respect your interlocutor. For many people, their name is a part of their identity, something that defines them and shapes how the world sees them. Ignoring this fact can lead to a completely wrong perception of your personality. For example, the other person might think you're rude, disrespectful, or even arrogant. And, as everyone knows, first impressions are incredibly important — you only get one chance to make them. If you screw it up by failing to introduce yourself, fixing that will be far harder than simply doing it right from the start. Doing it right means saying your name first, showing respect and a willingness to be open and honest in dialogue. That creates an atmosphere of trust and puts your conversation partner at ease. Trust is the foundation of any relationship, whether it's a brief chat with a stranger or a long-term bond. That's why observing simple things like etiquette is so important: it shows not only your manners but also your readiness to see the other person as an equal, as an individual worthy of respect. Ignoring this, whether knowingly or unknowingly, paints you as someone either uneducated or too self-assured to care about such 'trivialities' which, as you can see, aren't trivial at all. They're the foundation of any normal interaction. So let me give you a piece of advice you should remember forever: if you want to know someone else's name, start by offering your own. Otherwise, you risk closing off countless opportunities, as people tend to shut down when they feel disrespected or undervalued. And surely you don't want to scare me off or make me feel uncomfortable, right? So let's simplify things: you say your name, I say mine, and then we can move past this lecture on etiquette and have a more productive conversation. Hopefully, you can manage that without too much trouble."
The girl stood silent, her gaze becoming sharper yet slightly flustered and even a bit surprised.
She rolled the lollipop in her mouth, folded her arms across her chest, and lazily replied:
"Wow. Do you always talk this much, or is this just for me?"
Regulus laughed briefly, clearly pleased with himself.
"Call it what you want, but I prefer to see things in order. So, if you don't mind…" He gestured invitingly for her to continue. "Will you tell me your name, or should I explain the rules again?"
The girl sighed, waving her hand as if to say she gave up.
"Alright, alright, talkative one. My name's Chelsea," she said, lazily turning the lollipop in her mouth. "So, are we friends now, or do I get another lecture?"
Regulus smirked and straightened up.
"Chelsea. Nice to meet you," he replied with mock seriousness, giving her a slight nod. "And we'll be friends once you stop asking dumb questions."
"You're a real charmer," she smirked back, demonstratively turning away. "I wouldn't be surprised if they're just putting up with you here."
Regulus chuckled, scratching his chin.
"By the way, what exactly is a Teigu? I've heard the word several times, but I still don't understand what it means," he asked thoughtfully, his eyes studying the girl before him.
Chelsea looked up, smirking, and ran her tongue over the lollipop in her mouth.
"You're serious?" she asked, her voice dripping with a mix of mockery and mild surprise. "You're in Oarburgh but don't even know what a Teigu is?" She shook her head, as if he were an especially clueless child. "Alright, fine, I'll explain. But listen carefully so I don't have to repeat myself."
She reached for her table and pulled out a small box adorned with a red checkered pattern.
It looked completely harmless, as though it was meant for storing makeup.
"And what's that?" Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow.
"This…" she squinted slightly, as if she were doing him a huge favor, "…is my Teigu. It's called Phantasmagoria: Gaea Foundation."
Regulus glanced at the box again, now with genuine curiosity.
"Doesn't look particularly threatening," he remarked. "If this is a weapon, how does it even work?"
Chelsea leaned closer, her pink eyes gleaming.
"Now shut up and listen. I'll tell you a story. A story that, by the way, everyone in Oarburgh should know."
Regulus folded his arms across his chest, preparing to listen.
"Alright," she began, theatrically clearing her throat, "more than a thousand years ago, when the Empire was being founded, the first Emperor, like any reasonable ruler, started worrying about the future. The future scared him because he knew his family's reign might not last forever. What if someone dared to challenge the throne? What if enemies destroyed everything he had built? So, as the legend goes, he decided to create weapons that would make the Empire invincible."
"Wait," Regulus interrupted. "You're saying he just sat down and ordered a bunch of magical superweapons? That sounds like a fairy tale."
"Shh, let me finish," she waved him off. "It wasn't that simple. The legend says he gathered the smartest scientists from all corners of the world. And the materials for these weapons weren't ordinary either: ultra-rare, ultra-dangerous. Things like Orichalcum, ancient magical creatures, dragon blood, and so on."
Regulus snorted.
"This is sounding more and more ridiculous."
"Stop interrupting," Chelsea scolded, giving him an exasperated look. "Thanks to these scientists and his resources, the Emperor created not just weapons. He created 48 deadly artifacts called Teigu. Each one was unique, each one possessed incredible power, and only the strongest and most skilled warriors could wield them. The legends say that Teigu users on the battlefield were like gods, equal to entire armies."
Regulus whistled softly.
"If that's true, then why is the Empire in such bad shape now?"
"Because everything went to hell," Chelsea said with a light smile. "About five centuries ago, a civil war broke out. And in that war, half of all Teigu were lost. Some were destroyed, others disappeared, and some were lost forever. But the ones that remain…" She narrowed her eyes. "They aren't weapons for ordinary mortals. Each Teigu has its own unique abilities and rules. For example, my Gaea Foundation allows me to instantly change my appearance, become anyone, take any form. Which, you have to admit, makes me one of the most dangerous people in this house."
Regulus thoughtfully rubbed his chin.
"So, Teigu is more than just a weapon. These are key artifacts that can change the fate of the Empire, right?"
"Exactly," Chelsea nodded, putting the lollipop back into her mouth. "Now you understand how ignorant you were not knowing this, right?"
Regulus shrugged, frowning.
"Well... no one told me about it, so don't judge me too harshly," he muttered, looking at the box with slight disbelief.
"But still," he squinted, "it's hard to believe that this small box, looking like an ordinary cosmetics case, could be some incredible superweapon. It... sounds a bit like a fairy tale, doesn't it?"
Chelsea rolled her eyes, not hiding her annoyance.
"You always need to prove something, huh?" she sighed heavily. "Fine, watch and learn, smarty."
With these words, she opened the box.
Inside were indeed just brushes, markers, and other makeup tools.
Regulus tilted his head to the side, obviously expecting more.
"Exactly," he snorted. "Just a box of cosmetics. Thanks for the magical revelation."
Chelsea gave him a superior look.
"Shut up and watch."
She gracefully waved the brushes, applying them to her face.
Her hand movements were fast, confident, almost dancing.
A light cloud of smoke rose around her, as if woven from dust and light.
Regulus froze, leaning forward slightly, watching the spectacle with tension.
When the smoke cleared, he was stunned. Standing before him was... himself.
Chelsea, now an exact replica of Regulus, smirked, her eyes shining with pleasure.
Even the voice, when she spoke, sounded exactly like his own:
"Well, convinced now, Mr. Skeptic?"
Regulus swallowed nervously, looking at "himself" from head to toe.
"My God..." he muttered, touching his face as if checking if he had accidentally lost his appearance. "Even the voice... This... this is incredible."
Chelsea (or now Regulus?) smugly crossed her arms over her chest.
"Now imagine how convenient this is," she said in his voice. "You can become anyone. You can eavesdrop, spy, sneak around..." she paused, her eyes flashing mischievously. "Or frame anyone."
Regulus took a step back, still not believing his eyes.
"Okay, okay, this... is amazing," he admitted. "But it still doesn't explain why it's needed as a weapon."
Chelsea rolled her eyes, and smoke enveloped her again.
The next moment, she was back to her original self—light red hair, pink eyes, and a lollipop casually sticking out of her mouth.
"You're just not very bright, are you?" she said, putting the brushes back in the box. "Imagine if someone infiltrates the enemy's headquarters pretending to be their commander. Or steals important documents without leaving a trace."
Regulus squinted, noticing that in the lower rows of the Teigu box, instead of the expected brushes or other tools, there were neatly arranged dozens of lollipops in bright wrappers.
The entire bottom compartment of the box seemed to be filled with them, which made him smirk.
"Seriously?" he snickered, looking at Chelsea with a sly smile. "You love lollipops so much that you filled your super-hyper-ultra weapon with them? Is this your apocalypse stash?"
Chelsea looked up at him, and her pink eyes sparkled with mischief. She didn't look embarrassed at all; on the contrary, she ran her finger across the box's lid with a pleased expression.
"So what?" she replied, smirking back. "Lollipops aren't just candy, they're philosophy. They calm the nerves, improve your mood, and..." she paused, casting a sly glance at Regulus, "sometimes, they can be your last candy in life."
"Last candy?" Regulus asked, slightly frowning.
Chelsea just gave him a sly smile, took one of the lollipops, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth.
"Of course," she said with a slight chuckle, squinting her eyes. "Because on the path of an assassin, you can die at any moment... even a Teigu user."
Regulus exhaled and shook his head, clearly unsure if she was serious or just joking.
"I suppose you're right," he muttered, standing up and heading for the exit.
Chelsea laughed, closed the box, and carefully hung it on her belt.
"Alright," she added, stretching as though she had just gotten up from a long day of work. "Where's Merraid Oarburgh?"
"Follow me," he called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
Chelsea nodded, not removing the lollipop from her mouth, and walked behind him, whistling a tune that slightly annoyed Regulus, but he decided not to pay it any attention.
Regulus and Chelsea arrived at the door of Mera's room. The blond man slightly cracked the door and peeked inside.
"So?" Chelsea asked, stepping closer and trying to peek over his shoulder.
Regulus calmly closed the door and stepped back, crossing his arms.
"She brought some girl in to... have some fun," he said, as if choosing his words carefully.
"Anyway, you know how it is with Mera, just like the rest of us, she has her... quirks."
Chelsea frowned and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"Wait... do you mean *this*?" She crossed her arms and tilted her head, looking at Regulus with a scrutinizing gaze.
He nodded, maintaining his cool composure.
"Exactly."
The words only fueled Chelsea's curiosity.
She swiftly approached the door, and before he could stop her, she peered through the crack.
"Hey, I wouldn't—" Regulus started to warn her, but the redhead had already made her choice.
Her eyes immediately widened.
A couple of seconds later, she sharply pulled away from the door, covering her red face with her hands.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!" she screamed, practically jumping on the spot.
"What exactly did you expect to see?" Regulus asked nonchalantly, observing her reaction with a slight smirk.
Chelsea, her hands still covering her face, looked utterly panicked.
"They... they... they're naked!" she blurted out, blushing deeply. "She... Mera... is groping the girl!"
Regulus nodded as if confirming the obvious.
"Yeah, sounds like Mera. You'll get used to it, don't worry."
"GET USED TO IT?!" Chelsea took a step toward him, pointing a finger at the door. "How can you be so calm? This... this... this is a moral crime!"
"Moral crime? In our clan?" Regulus smirked and spread his arms. "Chelsea, you seriously underestimate our organization."
The redhead turned even redder, stomped her foot, and turned her gaze away, trying to regain composure.
"So what now?" she muttered, picking up the lollipop that had fallen to the floor.
"Now?" Regulus pondered, tapping his chin. "I suggest we leave them to... enjoy life. We're not here for that."
Chelsea let out a heavy sigh, still bright red, and put the lollipop back into her mouth to calm herself down.
"Psychos," she muttered, stepping away from the door. "Everyone here is a psycho."
Regulus and Chelsea stood still until the door leading to Mera's room slowly opened.
Mera herself stepped out, stretching leisurely.
She was wearing nothing but underwear, barely covering what it was supposed to.
"Oh, I'm so tired!" she exclaimed, spreading her arms and looking at the guests. Her lips curled into a playful smile. "You must be Chelsea?"
Chelsea met her gaze, raised an eyebrow, and replied dryly:
"Yes, and you must be the 'great' Merraid Oarburgh, the one everyone has been talking about."
Mera, ignoring the cold tone, stepped closer, her gaze becoming a little more sly.
"Don't you want to have some fun?" she asked suggestively, tilting her head slightly.
Chelsea quickly stepped back, pretending something had urgently called her away.
"Sorry, you know, I'm of normal orientation..."
But she didn't get to leave. She was stopped by hands. Four hands.
From the shadows emerged the figure of a girl with violet hair styled in two tight braids, wearing a maid outfit that perfectly highlighted her flexibility.
However, the outfit clearly featured four sleeves, one for each limb.
"Lady Chelsea, right?" she asked softly, her violet eyes gleaming with a mysterious light. "Sorry, but you shouldn't leave just yet."
Regulus, standing a little farther away, glanced at the newcomer and snorted.
"Well, here we go. Our version of Ryomen Sukuna has arrived. Or wait, is this Cassandra from a low-budget opera?"
The four-armed figure ignored his remarks.
Her top right hand grasped Chelsea's chest, while the bottom left hand went under her skirt. The remaining limbs held her arms, not allowing her to escape.
"You must learn the truth, Lady Chelsea," she spoke with quiet confidence. "Don't worry, resistance will only make the process more painful."
Chelsea's eyes widened, her gaze darting between Regulus and the mysterious maid.
The girl's cheeks turned bright red, and the lollipop Chelsea had been holding fell out of her mouth, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
"Regulus! Do something!" she screamed, wriggling in an attempt to free herself.
Regulus, arms crossed, just smirked.
"Chelsea, this is your chance. Not every day does someone want to give you 'the truth.'"
"When I became an assassin, I knew I'd have to leave morality at the door, but—!" Chelsea began to shout louder. "But I didn't think it would involve *this*!"
"Quiet, quiet," the four-armed figure spoke calmly, bringing her face close to Chelsea's. "This is just part of your journey."
Chelsea, already on the verge of hysteria, tried to pull away, but the four hands held her too firmly.
Regulus awkwardly smirked as he recalled the scene. His gaze fell on Chelsea, whose head was now comfortably resting on his chest.
He gently ran his fingers through her hair, feeling the warmth of her body.
"You can rest, sis," he said, slowing the movement of his fingers. "But if that's the case, your portion is coming to me."
Chelsea lifted her head, her eyes meeting his.
A mix of surprise and discontent froze on her face.
"Portion?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow, not immediately realizing what he meant.
Regulus nodded, his expression almost carefree, but there was a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Yes, portion," he confirmed with a smile. "Difda rolls were made for dinner."
Chelsea immediately jumped off his chest, as if the fatigue had disappeared on its own.
She pressed her hands to her sides, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?" Her face took on a slightly offended expression. "You're so bad, Reg! You know I love rolls!"
A large man with tanned skin stood in front of a terrifying creation: a human spine from which he had somehow managed to make something resembling a clothes rack.
T-shirts, jeans, and shirts were attached to the spine as if it were the most ordinary piece of furniture.
The man wore a butcher's outfit: a white apron stained with blood, and an axe carelessly resting on his shoulder.
He grinned widely, as if proud of his "masterpiece." His name was Antares.
"Hah!" The butcher laughed briefly, adjusting a hanging shirt. "I told you you'd make an excellent clothes rack!"
His voice was rough and booming, but there was a genuine, albeit disturbing, pride in his tone for the work he'd done.
Antares' gaze slowly shifted to the two girls sitting in the corner of the room.
One of them clenched her fists, while the other clutched the strap of her bag, ready to flee at any moment.
The butcher tossed the axe over his back and scratched his chin with his free hand, as if contemplating some important decision.
"Well," he drawled, nodding toward them. "You can't make a proper clothes rack out of you two. Your heights... well, as you can see, you're a bit too small for that job."
Antares smirked, baring his yellowed teeth. His eyes gleamed as though he had already decided what to do with them.
"Wallets! That's what I can make out of you. Yeah, nice wallets, made of thick leather. Convenient, spacious... and I'll throw in some shoes as a bonus," he chuckled, taking a step forward.