After opening a bottle of wine, a black-robed figure sat down on a comfortable sofa. He poured the liquor into his mouth while carefully flipping through a book.
<How to Be a Manager—Using Hellstar Demon-Iron Forge Production as an Example>
After reading a few pages, the black-robed man felt as if his head were splitting apart. Learning this stuff was practically killing him. He had infiltrated the church to live a good life, not to nervously study such complicated and terrifying things.
Scratching his back, he felt the protrusions beneath his black robe growing harder. Ever since completing the ritual, all kinds of tumors and lumps had begun growing over his body. Even cutting them off did nothing.
Now, whether he slept on his back or side, he felt uncomfortable. He could only wrap himself roughly in a blanket and sleep sitting cross-legged.
Still, compared to the laborers in the factory district who could only sleep on steel plates, he had it far too good.
"Really..."
With another sigh, he wanted to throw away the book in his hands, but he feared following the previous manager's path—delaying production and being thrown into the "factory" by the higher-ups to be processed.
That hellish sight had kept him awake for nearly a month after seeing it once. Whenever he fell asleep, he would see the true factory again and again. He finally understood the fate of those sent there for processing...
Silently raising his hand, he wanted to offer a salute and prayer for those poor people, but he did not know whether he should perform the Aquila salute. It seemed he had long since betrayed The Emperor.
A new salute? But they had never taught him one. They had only told him to carve the eight-pointed star deeper into his face.