Star Lake Fortress, night.
The guards' dining room was thick with dust and cobwebs. Only two candles gave off a red glow, casting dim, eerie shadows.
Yet at that moment, quite a few people were crowded together eating, making a noisy, lively scene.
"That old man, what was his name, Vitano?" D.D. leaned against the wall with his legs propped on a bench, taking a huge bite of bread. "Since he got here, I've never heard him say a word. Could he be a zombie that crawled out of the ground?"
Zombie.
Everyone eating at the same table looked at one another, then subconsciously glanced toward the other table behind them.
D.D. realized what he had said. He gave an awkward smile, turned around, and waved to the real "zombie"—Gollor:
"Sorry about that."
Gollor was drinking soup. Hearing this, he dropped his spoon and fixed him with a cold gaze.
"Why are you apologizing?"
Doyle was stunned beneath the zombie's fierce stare.
"I..."
D.D. sensed that things were going badly. He gave two self-mocking chuckles and lowered his head.
"S-Sorry."
"But that old man, the watchman... perhaps he really is a zombie." Wyatt suddenly spoke from the other end of the long table, drawing everyone's attention.
The dining room fell silent.
Gollor frowned.
"Watch your words," Toledo, Lord Marius's messenger, warned solemnly. "Lord Marius has great respect for that old gentleman."
Wyatt shook his head. He lowered his head and took a sip of the strange-tasting "drink" the Logistics Wing had somehow obtained, his expression twisting in agony.
"No, I mean that he's no ordinary man."
D.D. leaned over. "What do you mean, the real Wyatt?"
"Star Lake Fortress had been without an owner for years. It was practically becoming a den for animals," Wyatt said gravely. "Animals are extremely