After discussing the details, Harold told the other party to wait for a response in a week, and instructed them to spread the word that this batch of goods had already been bought by the second son of the Lester family, the second young master of the Rooks family, and the third young master of the Morton family. As for the rest, there was no need to worry—just wait quietly for good news. Originally, these barbarians were still a bit anxious, but seeing that Harold and his companions had no intention of taking the goods away, they immediately felt much more at ease and began to act honestly according to the instructions.

After arranging everything, Harold knew that since he had done this, it would be impossible to simply lay low and let things blow over. But he had never planned to return to Cypruss City and live out his life quietly—such a life was far too dull and tasteless.

Chapter 8: The Rose Lounge (1)

The experiences and sights of these three years wandering outside had already brought great changes to his thinking. Looking back now, his actions in Cypruss City seemed so childish and ridiculous to his current self. Especially recently, Harold had found that his mind was often filled with countless strange fantasies that he couldn’t understand. Many things he had never thought of before, many things he had never imagined, would surface in his mind for no reason, as if the memories and thoughts of another person had suddenly merged with his own, forming a different person altogether. Yet Harold felt it wasn’t quite like that—at the very least, his thinking still followed his original patterns.

Perhaps everything was changing, and his own thoughts were changing as well. Life was like this—gradually forming greater changes through countless small ones, quantitative change leading to qualitative change. Society developed in just this way. Suddenly, this philosophical saying welled up in Harold’s mind for no reason. When Harold and his two close companions climbed up to the famous Rose Forest Lounge in Cypruss City and drank to their hearts’ content, the news that the three wolves of Cypruss had returned spread like wildfire, quickly circulating throughout the entire city.

At the same time, several tough-looking knights rode slowly past the grand entrance of the Rose Forest Lounge. The middle-aged knight, his face haggard, looked utterly exhausted. Days of searching had left his brothers worn out, but that damned fellow had vanished from Cypruss City as if he’d grown wings. According to the shipmaster, the man should have landed in Cypruss, but the city was so vast, and they had arrived two days late—how could they find someone they’d never met? The target carried the aura of necromancy, but that could only be sensed at a fairly close distance, and it was unclear whether he always carried necromantic items with him. Searching aimlessly like this was no different from looking for a needle in a haystack. Yet the archbishop had repeatedly ordered that they must find the item on that man. What exactly was it? The archbishop had been vague. Thinking of this, the middle-aged knight felt a wave of frustration.

“Sir, why don’t we go upstairs and have a rest?” The burly knight following behind the middle-aged knight was also travel-worn. His gaze swept over the bar’s massive archway, and he couldn’t help but suggest, “The brothers are all exhausted. Let them relax a bit. After all, this isn’t something that can be resolved in a day or two.”

After a moment’s thought, seeing the hopeful looks on his brothers’ faces, the middle-aged knight said gloomily, “Very well, let’s all go in for a drink. But we can’t stay too long.”

Casually lifting the short skirt over the plump buttocks of a passing waitress, giving it a firm squeeze, Harold grinned as he tossed back a glass of ice-cold martini. The rich, fragrant liquor swirled in his throat before sliding into his stomach, the warmth slowly spreading from within his body, making Harold feel incomparably comfortable and relaxed. It had been a long time since he’d felt so at ease. The feeling of indulgence was wonderful, especially in this tipsy, half-drunken state, when everything seemed both far away and close at hand—within reach, yet what he grasped seemed like an illusion, worth savoring.

Paul, whose face was now flushed, had already been knocked out by a few beers—truly hopeless. That damned Elliot was still picking out the most expensive Royal Salute whisky and drinking non-stop. Was he really planning to drink the bar dry? Harold’s gaze swept casually over a few patrons passing by the door. By the flickering light of the night pearls in the bar, he seemed to catch a familiar scent, wrinkling his nose in confusion. These guys looked like outsiders, burly in build, but he was sure he’d never seen them before. So why did they feel familiar?

“Sir, let’s go over there—it’s quieter.”

“Mm.”