Most of the Brass Nobles, including the Council President, did not understand what the name "Jack Bailey" meant.
But Bishop Cleve and Saintess Euphemia knew all too well just how much trouble this fellow's betrayal would cause them.
No wonder she had known she would die, yet refused to flee and instead chose to be brought to the council chamber.
She had calculated this very moment from the start!
Realizing all this, Cleve ground his back teeth beneath his mask until they creaked.
Had he learned of Vivian's plan a little earlier, he would have crushed Jack and Vivian like rats, leaving their corpses to rot and stink in the sewers of the Rust Iron District until not even bone fragments remained!
Though under the watchful eyes of everyone present, he and Euphemia could do nothing now.
But did she think a rat from the Lower City could bring us down?
Vivian, you were still far too young.
Amid Cleve and Euphemia's silence, the Council President finally waved to the guards.
"Bring Jack Bailey from the Lower City here."
"Yes."
After a long wait, the doors of the council chamber opened once more.
In an instant, a sour stench of rust mixed with engine oil burst into the chamber, diluting the tulip fragrance that had long permeated the room.
Unlike the neatly dressed and elegantly mannered Brass Nobles in the council chamber, Old Jack wore a worn leather jacket. His right cybernetic prosthetic arm, modified with low-grade machinery, was visibly mottled with rust.
Slovenly. Crude.
The "barbarity" of the Lower City was displayed to the fullest upon Old Jack at that moment.
"Tch~"
After a wave of disgusted inhales, several Brass Nobles dramatically pulled out handkerchiefs and covered their noses and mouths.
They were clearly resisting the air in the