Notes from the author:

Overall. This is the first chapter this year. Congratulations to everyone on the new year, 2025. And yes, don't forget to leave reviews3

Regulus exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair, and cast a distracted glance at Nembus.

In the conference hall, where the stern figure of their leader had gathered them, the air felt saturated with a mix of boredom and tension.

The walls, adorned with faded paintings and austere tapestries, muffled the sounds, creating the impression that their conversation was taking place outside of time and space.

The Archbishop of Greed sprawled lazily in a chair between Chelsea and Mirzam, leaning carelessly on the table. His indifference looked almost defiant, as if everything happening wasn't even worth his fleeting attention.

"So," Nembus began, his voice sharp like the crack of a whip. He folded his hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping across everyone in the room, impossible to avoid. "We have an assignment from the Revolutionary Army."

Regulus' gaze slid over the faces of the others. Chelsea, as usual, toyed with a strand of her hair, her expression nearly mocking.

Mirzam absentmindedly twirled a ring on his finger, as if it were more important than Nembus' words. And then there was Difda... She didn't even try to hide her irritation.

Difda scoffed loudly, throwing her boots onto the table with a heavy thud that made Nembus' brows furrow.

"Oh, really?!" she snapped, her voice like verbal gunfire aimed at the leader.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

"A week of nothing, and now they're throwing crumbs at us? Are we on vacation? Should I grab a cocktail and a straw hat while we're at it?"

Regulus felt the corners of his lips twitch into a barely noticeable smile but quickly returned his face to its usual expressionless mask.

Nembus, for his part, pretended not to notice Difda's outburst, though the tension in his shoulders became more apparent.

He picked up some papers from the table and spread them out in front of him, as if preparing to present something important.

"Our target is Albrecht, a commander in one of the Empire's regiments," he said dryly, pointing to a crude, schematic portrait of a man.

The face in the drawing looked stern but nondescript, like all military men.

"A supply officer?" Mirzam's voice was low, almost lazy, but tinged with mockery.

He raised an eyebrow, not taking his eyes off the portrait.

"We're going after a supply officer? While the Night Raid takes down officials, aristocrats, and ministers, we're hunting a canned-goods provider?"

"Maybe he makes really good canned goods," Chelsea drawled, lazily propping her cheek on her hand. Her voice was dreamy, but sparks of sarcasm danced in her eyes. "Chicken... tuna... mmm, finger-licking good."

Regulus chuckled quietly, covering his mouth with his hand, but quickly returned to his usual indifferent expression.

"May I remind you," he said calmly, raising a finger as if he were a teacher explaining something simple and obvious, "that we take on assignments not for their 'grandeur' but for their profit. If this... supplier of canned goods... brings us a decent reward, I see no reason to complain."

Difda rolled her eyes dramatically but said nothing.

Nembus ignored the jokes and pressed on, forcing the discussion back to seriousness:

"Albrecht is moving with an escort through a mountain pass to the city of Shinzo. The entourage is small, but there's a chance one of them possesses a Teigu. This makes the mission dangerous. Preparation starts immediately. We cannot afford failure."

Regulus slowly raised his hand, as if in a classroom.

His face remained as impassive as ever, but a faint gleam appeared in his eyes.

"A question?"

Nembus glanced at him and nodded curtly, allowing him to speak.

"And the compensation?" Regulus squinted, as if trying to read the answer straight from Nembus' expression. "What exactly is the reward for risking our... priceless lives?"

Chelsea stifled a giggle, hiding her smile behind her hand, while Difda let out an irritated sigh.

"Of course, he's back to that," she muttered. "Predictable as the sunrise."

Nembus looked at Regulus a moment longer than the others before answering coldly:

"Money. Obviously, money."

Regulus allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

"Now that sounds like a worthy incentive," he drawled. "Well, now all that's left is the easy part... making sure we don't end up in the red."

Nembus ignored the comment and looked back at the papers.

"We'll take him down in Shinzo. Failure is not an option."

Chelsea nodded silently, her mocking expression briefly replaced by seriousness.

Regulus rose leisurely, adjusting his scarf, and after a brief glance at Nembus, lazily remarked:

"Looks like we're in for a fun trip."

The wagon rocked gently on the uneven road, creaking and groaning as if it, too, were complaining about the long journey.

Mirzam sat in the corner, engrossed in reading manga. Her eyes darted across the pages, and her fingers occasionally bent the corners nervously when the plot became particularly intense.

Chelsea, sitting across from her, was just as lazy. She idly rolled a lollipop in her mouth, tossing her light auburn locks back, clearly enjoying herself as she sought a new victim for her sharp remarks.

"Mirzam, don't you think you're a little too old for this nonsense?" Chelsea suddenly asked, looking at her over the candy.

The dark-haired woman turned a page without even lifting her head.

"And don't you think you're too old to suck on lollipops like a child?"

Chelsea pretended to think for a moment, then theatrically licked the lollipop and said:

"No, I don't think so. Besides, I can talk and enjoy candy at the same time. Isn't that a talent?"

Difda, sitting nearby, slapped her knee in irritation.

"Would you two just shut up already?! Chelsea, if you don't stop, I'll make you eat that lollipop—stick and all!"

"Oh, a bold statement!" Chelsea responded cheerfully, turning to face her. "But if I were you, I'd be careful: what if I choke and become a ghost who haunts you forever, ruining your life?"

"As if you're not doing that already," Difda muttered, rolling her eyes.

Regulus, sitting slightly apart, didn't participate in these bickering matches. His head swayed in rhythm with the wagon's movement, his eyes closed, and his breathing steady.

It was clear he had drifted off, and even Chelsea's remarks couldn't pull him out of this state.

Nembus, as always, maintained his legendary composure. In one hand, he held a small book with a worn cover, while his other hand idly fiddled with a toothpick in his mouth.

A slight furrow on his brow betrayed his concentration, as if he were searching for an important solution not in the book but in his own thoughts.

When the wagon finally slowed to a stop, the driver, an elderly man with a rough, hoarse voice, turned back over his shoulder and said:

"Well, we're here."

Regulus, who had been peacefully napping, was the first to rise. He stretched, feeling the blood return to his numb legs, and let out a deep, almost contented sigh.

"That was a long trip," he said, rolling his shoulders. "But thankfully, I didn't die of boredom."

Chelsea gave him a sly glance.

"And what could have killed you? My amazing sense of humor?"

"More like your endless chatter," Regulus replied calmly, looking at her with a faint smirk.

"You underestimate me, Reg," she retorted, waving him off with a smile.

Difda had already jumped off the wagon, letting out a heavy sigh as she turned around and loudly announced:

"Enough talking. We're not here to chit-chat."

Nembus closed his book unhurriedly, slipping it into his coat pocket, and stepped calmly onto the ground. His gaze swept over the group, assessing each of them.

"Difda's right," he said dryly, discarding his toothpick and narrowing his eyes. "We have work to do. Focus."

Mirzam, still holding her manga, snorted softly and tucked it into her bag.

"Let's get started, then," she said with a faint smirk. "And I hope this target is at least a bit more interesting than they look on paper."

Regulus exhaled deeply, surveying the city. The people here weren't as grim as those in the Capital, but they still looked wary, as if they knew the streets weren't a place for idling. Their steps were brisk, their faces focused, and their gazes lowered.

Buildings of red brick and streets paved with large stone slabs gave the city a strange sense of antiquity and stability.

He frowned as he looked at one of the streets, then at another house with stone arches, and a peculiar thought flitted through his mind:

"Looks like medieval Europe," he mused before grimacing. "Though… what is Europe? Who knows."

These terms, like many other fragments of knowledge, lingered from the memories of his alternate "self" from another world.

People in that world used such descriptions but rarely bothered to explain their meaning.

Mostly, they were used to describe cities with this kind of architecture. Even the Capital, he thought, could fit the label of "medieval Europe."

Regulus closed his eyes and exhaled again.

"Okay, Google," he muttered lazily, glancing at Mirzam.

"Google?" she responded immediately, throwing him a puzzled look. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Regulus just shrugged.

"Beats me," he muttered with a lazy grin.

Chelsea, standing slightly behind him, chuckled softly and then laughed outright. Her pink eyes gleamed in the soft light of the setting sun.

"You, Reg, use words you don't even know the meaning of?" she asked, squinting slightly, her tone both teasing and flirtatious.

Regulus glanced over his shoulder at her, waving a hand dismissively, like swatting away an annoying fly.

"You could say that," he replied nonchalantly, his voice calm but tinged with a faint smirk.

Chelsea snickered but didn't argue. She was used to his strange antics and knew it was pointless to dig deeper.

The Hyades moved unhurriedly toward a nearby house that Nembus had previously chosen as their temporary hideout.

The house looked modest, with peeling plaster on the walls and a roof covered in old, weathered tiles.

Inside, they found a small, single-room apartment with dim lighting and creaky wooden floors.

The furnishings were minimal: a shared mattress, a couple of chairs, and a table that had clearly seen better days.

"Alright," Nembus began, standing in the center of the room and scanning the group with his stern gaze. "Tomorrow or the day after, we'll begin the operation to eliminate the target. For now, you can rest."

He spoke quietly, but his tone carried such firm confidence that it made everyone treat his words as an order.

Regulus nodded silently and sat on the edge of the mattress, lazily staring at the cracked ceiling.

Mirzam said nothing, collapsing onto the bed. She immediately pulled out her manga from her bag and resumed reading, her legs casually crossed. Her lips occasionally moved, as though she were silently reciting the characters' lines.

Chelsea and Difda almost simultaneously picked the nearest corners and laid down, seemingly ready to fall asleep right away.

Nembus followed suit but did so with visible restraint, as if even in sleep, he was still in control.

Regulus, too, was about to lie down and give himself a moment of rest when he suddenly heard Mirzam's voice.

"Hey, you hear me?" she said, her gaze still fixed on the pages of her manga.

He turned his head, raising an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

Mirzam lazily lifted her gaze, her pink eye glinting with a faint squint.

"How about you go grab me a beer?" she asked, her lips curling into a sly, teasing smile.

Regulus snorted, leaning lazily on his knee.

"Are you serious?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Of course I am," she replied, burying her face back in the manga. "I'd go myself, but, you see... I'm so comfortable right now, and you're just sitting there doing nothing. So, I thought, why not combine the pleasant with the useful?"

Her tone was completely casual, but there was a trace of mockery in it, as though she knew he'd refuse but wanted to see how he'd react.

"Your logic is flawless," Regulus drawled, stretching to loosen his shoulders. "But I've got a counteroffer."

"And what offer might that be?" she asked lazily, once again tearing herself away from her reading.

Regulus smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly, as he responded in a leisurely tone:

"How about you finally get off the bed and go get it yourself?"

Mirzam chuckled, but the sly smile remained on her lips.

"Tempting," she said, setting the manga on her chest and looking at him slyly. "But you know, I think you need it more than I do. After all, you don't often get the chance to do something useful."

"Ah, I see how it is," Regulus said lazily, rising to his feet. "Fine, for the sake of your peace of mind, I'll go. But just this once."

He headed for the door, turning briefly as he went:

"And next time you want something, you'll have to get it yourself. Deal?"

Mirzam smirked and waved a hand dismissively.

"We'll see."

Regulus just shook his head and stepped out the door, while Mirzam returned to her manga as though nothing had happened.

The Archbishop of Greed strolled through the dimly lit streets of Shinzo, lost in his thoughts.

A cold wind gently tugged at his cloak, and the rhythmic sound of his boots on the stone pavement echoed faintly.

At that moment, he paid little attention to his surroundings, fully immersed in his musings.

But his quiet journey was suddenly interrupted. Someone stumbled and bumped into him, forcing him to freeze momentarily in surprise.

His instincts worked faster than his mind: he managed to catch the falling figure, preventing both of them from hitting the ground.

It was a young woman. Her books fell to the pavement with a dull thud, scattering their pages. She lifted her gaze, startled and embarrassed.

"I'm so clumsy… I'm sorry," she said softly, lowering her eyes apologetically.

Regulus narrowed his eyes, studying her closely. She was slender yet curvaceous, with long violet hair that gleamed softly under the dim streetlights.

Her lavender cheongsam, adorned with intricate patterns, highlighted the graceful lines of her figure, while her stockings and white boots completed her unusual yet striking appearance.

Her glasses, slightly askew on her nose, and a scar on her right cheek made her even more memorable.

For a moment, he stood still, as though evaluating what he saw.

"Ah, it's nothing," Regulus finally said, though his voice sounded almost absent-minded.

He gently helped her to her feet and turned his gaze to the books, which she, rather unsuccessfully, was trying to gather.

Her movements were awkward, and her attempts to catch the slipping books were almost comical.

"Is she serious?" he thought with a faint trace of bemusement as he watched her clumsy efforts. "Fine. I'll help this klutz. After all, I'm not heartless," he decided.

Soon, all the books were neatly collected from the pavement and handed back to her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice tinged with shyness.

She made a small attempt to bow, but he quickly held up a hand to stop her.

"Don't," he said softly, sighing. "If you drop the books again, I'll have to pick them up all over."

She lowered her gaze and mumbled:

"Sorry…"

"It's not right for such a beautiful woman to be so clumsy. Look at you—your hair, softly shimmering in the light of the street lamps, seems to overshadow the very light itself, rendering it insignificant compared to your beauty. Those soft, flowing locks appear as though woven from the night itself, embodying its calm and its mystery. What's even more striking is how they seem impervious to the grime of the world, as if even time and accidental clumsiness cannot tarnish their natural harmony. And your eyes... your eyes are deep and glimmering, like two stars lost in this dark, coarse world. There's something magnetic about them, something that draws attention and refuses to let go, as if you unconsciously compel people to search within them for answers to questions they didn't even know they had. Still, despite all this perfection, here you are, walking these streets, tripping and dropping books, as if you're deliberately trying to prove to the world that even the most exquisite beauty has its flaws, flaws that only highlight its true value. Do you know how that looks from the outside? It's like taking a flower of indescribable beauty—a rare, refined creation of nature meant to be seen only in the most noble of places—and tossing it into the dirt, trampling it under withered leaves, as though trying to hide it from the world, as if it's unworthy of attention. It's both sad and... charming. Yes, charming, because this quality gives you an allure that can't be achieved intentionally. I could say that I don't find such things attractive, that I'm not one to notice such details or waste time on such observations. But somehow, in your case, it's an exception. You're like a character from some absurd yet captivating story, someone who, by chance, ends up here and makes people wonder just how inexplicably beautiful life can be, even in its clumsiness. And you know, perhaps your imperfections are the very touch that makes your beauty not just something superficial, but alive, real, and therefore even more captivating than perfection. Still, for your own sake, I suggest being a little more careful. Who knows where this clumsiness of yours might lead, especially when even a meeting with someone like me happens solely because of your knack for stumbling at the most unexpected moment."

The girl blinked several times, stunned by his long speech, as if trying to process the flood of information he had just unleashed.

"Uh... I see," she stammered, clearly overwhelmed.

"Th... thank you!"

Regulus smirked, satisfied with her reaction, and without another word, turned and continued down the street, leaving her standing in the middle of the road.

The girl remained where she was, clutching her books to her chest. She watched him walk away, her heart beating faster than usual from his words.

The Archbishop of Greed stopped in front of a small, dimly lit shop, its exterior as modest and unremarkable as the rest of Shinzo. The sign above the door creaked in the wind, bearing a faded inscription that was barely legible.

He stepped inside.

The air smelled faintly of stale wood and dust, and the shelves were sparsely stocked with goods that looked like they hadn't been touched in weeks. Regulus scanned the cramped space without much interest, his eyes immediately finding the section with beer.

He crouched down, his black kimono rustling softly as he bent toward the lower shelves. His gaze skimmed over the meager selection, but without hesitation, he grabbed the first bottle that came to hand.

"Well then, might as well grab something for myself," he murmured under his breath. His voice was so quiet that even if someone had been nearby, they wouldn't have caught the words.

As he straightened up, his eyes wandered toward a neighboring shelf stocked with snacks. After a brief moment of deliberation, he reached out and picked up a small bag of popcorn.

A simple, unassuming choice, but nothing else seemed necessary in this situation.

Approaching the counter, Regulus lazily set the bottle of beer and the bag of popcorn on the wooden surface. One hand already rummaged in his pocket for coins, but before he could pay, the cashier—a stern-looking woman in her middle years—spoke up in a cold, businesslike tone:

"ID, please."

Regulus looked up at her, blinking slowly as though he hadn't fully registered her words at first.

"ID?" he repeated, his voice calm but laced with a faint note of mockery. "Is that really necessary?"

The cashier didn't so much as flinch. Her gaze remained steady, and her voice carried the same mechanical certainty as if she'd said this a hundred times before.

"Those are the rules," she replied flatly. "No ID, no sale."

Regulus paused for a moment, as if considering her statement, then sighed quietly and straightened his posture.

"Fine," he said, pulling a few coins from his pocket and tossing them onto the counter with a casual flick of his wrist. "Just the popcorn, then."

The woman silently removed the beer from the counter, leaving only the popcorn. She rang up the purchase without the slightest change in her demeanor, even as Regulus gave her a look that blended boredom with mild irritation.

"Five silver," she said coldly, sliding his change toward him.

Regulus grabbed the popcorn, turned, and walked out of the shop without another word.

Outside, the streets of Shinzo were even quieter now. The dim glow of the streetlights cast long shadows that seemed to stretch endlessly across the stone pavement.

Regulus took a deep breath, the cold night air filling his lungs. His thoughts drifted as he began the walk back to the hideout.

After a short while, he stopped abruptly in front of the building where the Hyades were staying. He looked up at the dark structure, its windows unlit, blending into the surrounding gloom.

"Well, no one's watching," he thought to himself, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Regulus activated the power of his Authority Greed: Object Time Suspension.

The ground beneath his feet—no more than a square meter of it—froze in time, defying the laws of reality. With surprising grace, the piece of ground rose into the air, carrying him toward the roof of the building.

When the platform reached the desired height, Regulus stepped forward. The instant his boots left the surface, the suspended ground dropped back to the earth, resuming its normal state as though nothing had happened.

He didn't hurry. His movements were slow and deliberate, like those of a man who believed he had absolute control over his surroundings.

Regulus lay down on the roof, one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding the bag of popcorn he had just bought. The soft crunch of kernels was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night.

His gaze drifted upward. Beyond the city's haze, the stars spread out in a glittering, endless array, infinite and captivating.

"Now this... this is how every night should be," he thought, his expression softening as the tension melted from his face.