The Little Girl in the Art Studio

"Hey, kid over there, where are you from?" Orton asked as soon as he approached, signaling his underlings to surround Aeneas.

"Me?" Aeneas did not make any rash moves and answered directly, "I'm from the Hilrute Mountains!"

"Just as I thought!" Orton wore an understanding expression. "You're with Bellamy's group too? Just a bunch of brats—what kind of trouble can you possibly cause?"

Aeneas's eyes widened.

He hadn't misheard, had he?

"Did I just hear Bellamy?" Aeneas looked utterly confused. "Spring Man Bellamy? What did he do? I have nothing to do with him!"

But Orton actually swung his massive axe and chopped at Aeneas.

"Die, brat!" Orton looked as though he were facing some terrifying enemy, but upon closer inspection, it was only a child.

"Boss, is that really necessary? That's too bloody. You won't even spare a child?" One man took pity on him and spoke to the big-nosed man with shattered glasses beside him.

The big-nosed man with shattered glasses glanced at the speaker.

"You'd better not say that too much. We're all in this business. And when it involves Bellamy's group, you can't treat them like brats. Bellamy once destroyed a warship and a pirate crew with a twenty-million Beli bounty all by himself!"

"What?" The man was utterly shocked. "He's that strong?"

"Yeah. Terrifying brats—you absolutely can't underestimate them. Even the Kam Group has been driven mad by them," the big-nosed man with shattered glasses continued.

"I see."

But Aeneas was having a much worse time—if he had guessed correctly, he had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire.

"What exactly did this Bellamy do? Why does everything have to drag me into it?" Aeneas was annoyed. "Still, at least I learned that Bellamy is here. Maybe I can run into another lottery draw early. Bellamy isn't a spy, so compared to Vergo, who has the greater reputation?"

As he watched the axe blade tear through the air toward him.

Aeneas did not remain still. He gave a light leap, tapped the axe's shaft with the tip of his foot, then used the force to spring up again. He drew the Iron Sword from his back and smashed it toward Orton's neck.

That was right—smashed.

The Iron Sword had no edge. It was a blunt weapon, not sharp in the slightest.

"Hm?" Orton suddenly sensed the Iron Sword swinging toward him and actually freed one hand to catch it.

Aeneas was stunned. Orton had been wielding that huge axe with both hands just moments ago, yet he could still free up one hand?

"Just how strong is he?" Aeneas was now basically certain that Orton was a monster comparable to the Terror Black Bear, possessing astonishing strength—and Aeneas absolutely could not fight him head-on.

"Do I have to activate Pit Grit already?" Aeneas did not want to do that. "It burns too much stamina, and I don't know whether anyone else is hiding in the shadows in Tinos. It's too dangerous!"

Aeneas's gaze swept rapidly over the surrounding houses, searching for an escape route.

"There!" Aeneas cried out. He pulled back the Iron Sword and slung it behind his back, then leaped again. He stepped on Orton's head and bounced onto the roof, immediately jumping down the other side. His figure quickly vanished into the streets and alleys.

This Orton was basically the same type as that Terror Black Bear from before.

"He's slower, but a little more agile than Little Black. Just a little, that's all!" Aeneas glanced back at Orton while leaping across the rooftops.

"What are you staring at? Chase him!" Orton flew into a rage out of humiliation. "Those damn brats are driving me crazy! If I catch you next time, I'll smash you to death!"

Orton rubbed his bald head, feeling utterly humiliated.

He swung his huge axe around, smashing the surrounding buildings at random.

The other underlings hurriedly retreated, quickly crossing the street to search for Aeneas.

"Run! The boss is losing it again!"

"Move, move! Don't get caught in the crossfire!"

The big-nosed man with shattered glasses narrowed his eyes and stared at the rooftop where Aeneas had disappeared, seemingly deep in thought. But when he noticed Orton going berserk again, he too quickly vanished into the streets and alleys, though he left in another direction.

"Search faster! He can't have gone far! Check every house!" Several men formed a group and quickly swept through a few houses.

"Did anyone come in here?" A bearded man violently shoved open the front door of a house and shouted.

But the house was pitch-black, and nothing could be seen.

The bearded man stepped inside onto the black floor. Just then, a companion outside called out.

"How is it? Did you find him in there?"

"Find your mother! I'm done searching! This is pissing me off!" The bearded man suddenly became furious, storming out after slamming the door, leaving his companions staring at one another in confusion.

Those men soon finished searching and left.

Inside that house, a young little girl walked out of a room and closed the door.

Click!

As soon as the light came on, the room brightened at once.

"You can come out now. They're gone." The little girl wore an orange peaked hat and looked less than a meter tall, yet her childish face carried an indifferent expression.

Aeneas had hidden in this dark house. When he saw someone enter to catch him, he had thought he was about to be exposed. Yet for some reason, he had not wanted to go anywhere at all. Instead, he had even felt like sitting down to meditate and rest properly.

"What happened?" Aeneas finally saw the furnishings inside the house. The walls were covered in graffiti of every color, though he could not make out what they depicted. Several easels stood around the room, while paintbrushes and pigments lay scattered across the floor.

"Is this an art studio?" Aeneas suddenly wanted to admire the works on the easels, but after taking one step, he froze.

"Huh?" Aeneas rubbed his head. "What was wrong with me just now?"

Looking down, Aeneas discovered that he had stepped in a puddle of green paint.

And the area by the doorway was completely black.

Aeneas suddenly remembered something.

"Hey, can't you hear me?" The little girl's voice interrupted Aeneas's thoughts.

"Oh, hello. Thank you for saving me." Aeneas turned to look clearly at the little girl's face, but then a voice suddenly rang out in his mind, and he froze again.

The little girl watched Aeneas acting strangely.

"My name is Marianne. What's yours?" Marianne looked only six or seven years old, but her gaze was extremely mature. She held a paintbrush tipped with black paint; she had just painted the floor by the doorway black.

"My name is Aeneas..."

Aeneas had yet to recover. As he looked at everything before him, the system's earlier notification reminded him of something. He watched Marianne sit down beside an easel and continue painting as though nothing had happened.

"Miss Goldenweek!"