"We ran into each other even here. We really were fated. How about we find time to have a drink together sometime? My treat."
The handsome young man slung an arm around Samael's shoulders and pulled him behind an ornamental rock, smiling as he brushed him off.
"Not sometime. Right now, 'Sir Lancelot.'"
Samael returned his smile and held out his hand to the daytime extortionist, deliberately stressing the words in a teasing tone.
Caught red-handed impersonating someone, with the real Knight of the Lake and his close friend just behind them, the handsome young man weighed the pros and cons and reluctantly fished around in his pocket. With obvious pain, he stuffed five silver coins into Samael's hand.
"I remember giving you ten."
Samael looked at him darkly, his expression utterly serious.
I...
The handsome young man's face stiffened. Just as he was about to flare up, Samael pointed toward Lancelot and Tristan waiting for his return in the corridor behind them, smiling as he reminded him.
"Yes, yes, I remembered wrong..."
The handsome young man finally yielded. Looking deeply miserable, he rummaged through an inner pocket and produced another five silver coins. His hand trembled slightly as he passed them to Samael.
What a humiliation! What a humiliation!
Under the night sky, the man's expression twisted with anguish, and he looked so grief-stricken that he wanted to beat his chest and stamp his feet on the spot.
As the logistics director in charge of the army's funds and supplies, he had always been famous for making the most of everything and plucking every feather he could. Not even a nail could slip through his fingers. Yet after meeting this bastard only twice, he had lost five silver coins. It hurt even more than carving flesh from his chest.