Pas City was a very ordinary mid-sized city. It had no distinctive features; it was neither good nor bad, and among the many cities of the Central Continent, there was almost nothing about it worth noticing.
Like every other city, Pas City had its light and darkness. In certain shadowy corners, people who were trying to survive or pursuing other goals practiced the oldest profession in the world: thievery.
The profession of thief was the lowest in the Central Continent. No one thought highly of them.
These inconspicuous people searched among the ordinary folk for opportunities to strike.
They did not dare target Professionals. Every Professional possessed spiritual power, and any thief bold enough to reach for a Professional would meet a miserable end.
In a small courtyard in eastern Pas City stood the base of the city's thieves. Though the thieves seemed disorderly, they were managed here.
Any thief who came from another city and failed to report here would be disciplined—or even killed outright.
Milton was the owner of this small courtyard, a thin old man who looked to be over sixty.
At that moment, Milton was handling a dispute. He listened with a smile as the two thieves each explained their side. His fairness was famous, and when conflicts arose among the city's thieves, most of them wanted him to settle the matter.
Of course, this was also related to his decree that they were not allowed to resolve their problems privately and that all disputes had to be handled by him.
The thieves who violated this rule had their corpses sunk to the bottom of the river.
Milton enjoyed dealing with these matters. They made him feel that he had something to do.
In truth, as a god who had lived for several thousand years, whose