Werther got up early the next morning.
The moment he stepped outside, he found Monet had been waiting at his door for some time.
"Heh, looks like yesterday's incident really got to you."
Werther took the opportunity to pull Monet into his arms. Strangely, she didn't resist at all.
Then again, it was no wonder. The two of them had spent more than ten minutes grappling in her room last night.
"Of course. I want to know who was controlling me. I'll never forgive them."
Werther sensed resentment pouring off Monet. Women really knew how to hold a grudge, he thought.
"Where's Buffalo? I didn't see him at all last night."
"He's probably still at the casino. He's always been like that. He often spends the whole night gambling."
Werther nodded and put Buffalo out of his mind.
After leaving the hotel, Werther noticed a gloomy air hanging over the streets.
Last night's bustle was gone. Only a handful of people were outside, and they all seemed to be in a hurry.
The sight drove home just how terrified the townspeople were of Lord Ohm.
Just then, he spotted a group of neatly dressed people coming down the street.
Their clothes were tidy, but their steps were a mess.
A fat man led the group. At first glance, he reminded Werther of a food from his previous life: a soy-braised egg.
The man's head looked remarkably like one—an enormous oval with no ears visible from the front, as though he didn't have any.
This "braised egg" strutted down the street, utterly unlike the grief-stricken townspeople around him.
What surprised Werther most was the wooden sign the man held aloft. A line of text had been written neatly across it.
Werther looked closer and was stunned by what it said.
"Faith