Seven days and seven nights later.
Samael stretched lazily in the sunlight, pushing aside the arms and legs wrapped around him. The corners of his lips curled up in satisfaction; all the pressure in his body had been relieved as never before, leaving him refreshed and invigorated.
The ox that had plowed continuously had not dropped dead. Instead, the patches of farmland that had received its grace had been overworked until they were nearly drained of all nutrients, corpses sprawled everywhere.
After finishing up, he naturally needed some entertainment.
Samael stepped over his masterpieces scattered across the floor, walked behind Morgan's desk, pulled open a drawer, and rummaged through it.
Unfortunately, the drawer was neat and tidy. No cigarettes, no lighter.
Unlike that old chain-smoker Orange, the Witch who had become Prime Minister had clearly not picked up the bad habits of modern society.
With no other choice, Samael settled for second best. He swiped some state-banquet-grade black tea from the drawer, boiled a kettle of water, brewed himself a cup, then leisurely lifted it and took a satisfying sip.
Then he turned sideways and lowered his head.
"Oh? There's another one?"
"I'm not! I didn't! I didn't see anything!"
Seeing the head poking out and that dazzling smile, Dragon Daughter, who had been hiding in a corner, instantly went pale. Her pink tail shot straight up as if electrocuted, the scales along it all flaring in terror as she frantically waved her hands, trying to distance herself from the matter.
Though Elizabeth's uniform was somewhat dirty, it remained as intact as it had been at the start. There were no extra marks on her body; she was merely mentally exhausted, her eyes bloodshot.
Clearly, Dragon Daughter had relied on her skill at crawling under tables and playing dead to