Chapter 785

Chapter 785: An Intruder

Translator: TransN Editor: TransN

After Scroll withdrew, there was nobody in the office except him and Anna.

Roland opened the half-completed textbook, planning to finish the latter half, but words seemed to elude him. For a long time, his quill in the air, he did not write a single word.

Roland noticed that he always involuntarily looked in Anna’s direction, as though his eyes were glued to her.

“What’s the matter?” Sensing his gaze, Anna put down the parts she was working on and smiled at Roland.

“No, nothing.” Roland slightly shook his head. “If you feel bored here, we can go to the backyard of the North Slope Mountain.”

Anna curled up her lips into an imperceptible smile. “I don’t feel bored at all. I can finish the work here. Most importantly, I don’t mind where I am as long as I can be with you.”

These words might bring the color to a maid’s cheeks, but they just came out of Anna so naturally.

“Alright.” Smiling, Roland dropped the matter.

He knew Anna would never lie to him.

As Anna was the first witch with whom he got acquainted after coming to this world, Roland knew her quite well. Apart from a few academic discussions and pillow talks, most of the time Anna was quiet and poised, particularly when she was focused on her work. Roland did not think her a dull person in the least. Silence, to them, was also one means of communication.

Sometimes, a simple, occasional eye contact was sufficient enough for them to understand each other.

Roland decided to forget about the textbook for the time being. He put down the quill and started to study Anna’s face.

Her side face always fascinated him. Her ash brown hair, which had grown quite a bit, tumbled down, revealing only a tiny bit of her milky-white neck. The azure in her eyes was as clear as lake water as ever. She was dressed in a puffy, pastel yellow sweater and a pair of comfy black flannel pants, looking dainty and airy. Roland was happy that he designed these modern apparels himself.

Since Anna had sliced the metal ingots (whose composition had undergone a precise modification) into palm-sized cubes beforehand, she would only need to process them with Blackfire in the office once they were delivered to the castle. Roland was impressed by how fast those metal ingots be converted to complete parts in Blackfire. To some extents, the conversion was more a performance of art than a plain demonstration of Anna’s ingenious techniques and skills.

These little parts, which appeared to be so insignificant, would eventually be delivered to the plant and become one of the key parts of a machine or a weapon.

It was definitely not an easy task. Roland knew very well that the length and the width of the Blackfire were both needed to be controlled by Anna’s magic power. To summon several Blackfires and direct them to cut from different angles would be even harder than using both hands to work on two separate tasks simultaneously. It required incredibly high concentration. Probably, only a person as hard-working as Anna was able to continuously dedicate to and eventually excel in this job.

The girl, who used to practice fire manipulation in the castle garden, had undoubtedly changed a lot, but there seemed to be something still remaining the same.

The day slipped away unnoticed.

After night fell when Roland sank into a slumber with Anna in his arms, the other world just woke up.

…

Yawning, Roland turned to the calendar on his nightstand.

It was Saturday, October 14.

Although time went much faster in the dream world than that in the real world, Roland did not come to this world every night. As long as he was not dreaming, time was frozen here.

Breakfast was ready when Roland entered the living room

“Why are you so late today?” Zero asked while chewing a fried dough stick.

“It’s a weekend. Grown-people have their nightlife, so it’s normal for me to sleep in.” Roland went into the bathroom and picked up his mug and toothbrush. “Are you going out later?”

“No, I’m writing my homework,” the little girl replied. Then she said to him as much as to herself, “Nightlife? Come back home even earlier than me yet talk about nightlife. This old grumpy man is nothing but a loser with no friend or career…” Roland knew Zero said it on purpose, for the mumble was just loud enough for him to hear.

He almost choked on his mouthwash. Roland was very displeased to hear Zero call him “uncle”, now his title had directly skipped to an old grumpy man? He looked himself in the mirror. His appearance was not so much different than in the real world. By the look, he could be no more than 23 or 24 years old. Although not splendidly attired, wearing only an undershirt and shorts, he could not be considered as a “loser” or an “old grumpy man” by any means.

Roland blamed the child’s poor judgment.

He decided not to argue with the little girl but simply said, “In that case, I’ll leave my key here. I need to go out later, and you should open the door for me.”

“Got it!”

By the time he brushed his teeth and washed his face, Zero had finished her breakfast and retired to her room.

Roland waddled to the table and turned on the TV with the remote.

He needed to meet Garcia today.

Within several months, he had pretty much obtained all the necessary textbooks and materials and had shoveled them to the bedroom. The only work left for him now was to copy them. However, the search for other memory fragments met some obstacles.

No tenant in the Apartment of Souls was willing to let out his room. To this date, Roland had only persuaded two tenants, but there was nothing valuable behind the Gate of Memory. There were over 2,000 residents in the apartment, but it was hard for Roland to collect large capitals just by selling armors, for armors are no real antiques. His act would probably raise as much attention from the police as he broke into someone’s residence.

After a full reflection, Roland concluded there were only two possible ways: one was to increase his revenues and the other his reputation.

If he could be as distinguished as Garcia around Tongzi Street, he could then easily persuade his neighbors to move or rent his apartment. If he became financially capable, another solution would be purchasing the whole building.

Either way was a big investment, and currently, the more feasible way to access such big funds seemed to be joining in the Martialist Association.

According to Garcia, anyone who participated in hunting Fallen Evils would receive competitive compensation. If a skillful and powerful martialist was willing to partake in the operation, the association would give him full support. When Garcia mentioned about the remuneration, however, she looked quite contemptuous, as if she slew Fallen Evils just to protect human beings rather than for the money.

Roland spoke highly of her valor and gallantry. He then inquired about the detailed rules pertaining to the rewards.

If truth be told, Roland felt this organization, which boasted of responsibilities and personal dedication, sounded quite fishy. He somehow tasted conspiracies and shady underground business. Given that, he felt reluctant to work for them, and certainly would not work for them for free. He decided to be a member of the Martialist Association simply because this was his last hope after numerous fruitless, vain undertakings over the past few months.

When it was 10 o’ clock, Roland put on a suit and took off. Although they were going to meet up in Room 0827, Roland felt it advisable to be formally dressed since this was, after all, an official application.

But no sooner had he stepped out of the room than he heard a screeching child’s scream behind him.

It was from Zero.

The shriek apparently startled Roland. He turned around and found the little girl dash out of the room, frightened and unnerved.

“What’s the matter? Is there a mouse?”

Zero stammered out, “There, there’s someone in the room.”

“Someone?” Roland frowned and poked his head into Room 0825. He instantly stood rooted to the ground.

In the center of the living room, which had been empty just a minute ago, stood an unknown woman.