"May I ask, is this the lady you mean by the priestess?"
The young man looked solemn. He held out a palm, facing downward, and everyone saw a cloud of dust gather between his hand and the ground. Glittering fragments spun together into an image—the unmistakable likeness of Hypamira.
"Ah, Priestess Sister." The little boy cried out in surprise.
The young man raised his head and looked at the crowd. "My name is Brando. I'm a friend of Hypamira's. Please tell me where she is."
"Are you her lord?"
The young man—Brando—nodded.
"You're going to save her, right?" the thick-browed girl asked cautiously.
In her eyes, although the young man's clothes were badly worn and tattered, he possessed an indescribable bearing, as though he were one of the court knights outside Saffos Gate: calm and composed, with refined speech. Besides, his skin was fair and delicate. At a glance, he clearly did not look like a commoner.
"What happened to her?"
"Lady Hypamira was stopped by a monster while protecting us." The big man eyed Brando warily and answered in a deep voice.
"What kind of monster?" Brando asked again. "Where is it?"
"Wait, sir." A voice came from behind the crowd. Everyone turned back in surprise and found that it had come from the young man in black robes. Sweat covered the latter's head, as though he had just been hauled out of water. He raised a hand toward Brando and said, "I'll take you there."
Brando looked at him, his gaze sweeping over the patterns and style of the black robe. A Black Fire Cultist? he thought. However, he knew that the Black Fire Cultists had many low-ranking followers, most of whom were merely deluded, ignorant commoners. Thus, he paid it no mind and only replied, "No need.