While laughing, she also shyly threw a flirtatious glance at Eric Foster.

They were a group of demons, a group of ruthless killers who wouldn’t even blink when taking a life—how could they possibly care about such things?

But as for Eric Foster, he was made a bit uneasy by that last joke.

Obviously, it was because he still hadn’t managed to blend into their atmosphere.

At the same time, Eric Foster was also quite shocked by the initiative these people showed at this moment.

During the half year he was unconscious, these people had just been running the shop and doing business honestly and dutifully, but that wasn’t their true nature.

Somehow, it felt as if there was an invisible thread connecting himself to them.

They were waiting for him, waiting for him to wake up, waiting for him… to give orders.

Last night, the words Mason said to him echoed once again in Eric Foster’s mind. He had asked Mason, aren’t you all curious about this strange new world?

Mason said:

Before you woke up, that was a meaningless question.

In the end, Blind Nate suddenly sighed and said,

“If only our strength could recover, even just a little, we’d be much more at ease.”

Everyone fell silent again; clearly, this was a sore spot for them all.

“Well, there’s no rush for that. We’ll find a way eventually. Let’s eat first.” At this moment, Eric Foster stepped up like a “leader” to ease the mood.

Everyone played along and picked up their chopsticks, starting to eat and drink.

Mason silently took a bite of duck blood curd, then quietly spat it back into his bowl.

Olivia Green looked at Mason in confusion and asked,

“Did the cook do a bad job today?”

Mason nodded and said,

“It’s gone bad.”

Chapter 9: The Demon Dance

Blind Nate had almost assigned tasks to everyone, which really fit his image. Throughout history, in many literary works, fortune-tellers and strategists are often depicted as blind.

It’s just that the strategist profession is highly competitive and has few positions, so most blind characters end up as fortune-tellers.

These details weren’t actually shown in Autumn’s comic. In Autumn’s comic, he was a demon who set up his own court and fancied himself the embodiment of justice.

But people aren’t paper cutouts; they can’t just be two-dimensional. So, in this world, once everyone broke free from the constraints of the comic, the characters became much more vivid.

Next, everyone began making preparations.

Olivia Green first instructed a few of the inn’s young helpers to go outside and spread the word that the madam herself would be receiving guests—a bit like a certain Japanese star suddenly announcing her debut in adult films.

Jack Reed squatted by the well in the courtyard, a whetstone in front of him, and began sharpening his blades.

But what he was sharpening were small daggers and pliers—probably the standard tools of a burglar.

Eric Foster walked over curiously, squatted beside him, and asked,

“Where’s your sword?”

Eric Foster remembered that in the comic, Jack Reed was depicted with a huge iron sword slung across his back—maybe the author Qin Siyu really liked that kind of contrast.

While sharpening, Jack Reed looked up at Eric Foster and smiled, replying,

“Reporting to my lord, it’s gone.”

“It’s gone?”

“When we came to this world, aside from the clothes on our backs, everything else was gone.”

Eric Foster nodded—so that’s how it was.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit regretful. The things these people carried in the comic, if brought into reality, would probably count as magical artifacts.

“My lord can go sit in the front hall, have some tea or wine. After tonight, we’ll be able to report back to you what this world is really like.”

“Thank you all for your hard work.”

Eric Foster didn’t go to the front hall. Honestly, he was a bit afraid to face the unknown. Sitting in the front hall, waiting until the afternoon when guests would arrive, seeing people dressed so differently from the modern world—the sense of the unknown could make it hard to breathe.

But he couldn’t help wanting to explore that unknown.

Maybe he just wasn’t used to it yet—like a normal person watching a horror movie, both scared and thrilled.

Eric Foster returned to his room, lay down on the bed. Everyone outside was busy, making preparations, while Eric Foster took a nap.

He slept much longer than expected, and when he woke up, it was already dark outside.

“I really can sleep, huh.”

Eric Foster couldn’t help but mock himself.

Actually, Eric Foster also wanted to see if he could help with something. Otherwise, being called “my lord” by everyone made him feel embarrassed.

But Eric Foster knew all too well that he probably couldn’t help with anything, and if he forced himself to, he might just make things worse.

Maybe, just staying in his room and napping, letting them treat him like a mascot, would actually make them happier.

Leaving his room, he walked into the courtyard and happened to see Mason again.

Mason was standing in the shadow by the wine cellar door, seemingly holding a small file, as if trimming his nails.

Sensing Eric Foster approaching, Mason looked up at him and said: