The Little Girl in the Studio

"Hey, brat 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 a knowing expression. "Are you with Bellamy's gang again? Just a bunch of brats—what can you possibly do?"

Aeneas's eyes widened.

He hadn't misheard, had he?

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

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

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

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

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

"You'd better say less of that. We're all in this business. Besides, when Bellamy's gang is involved, you can't treat them like brats. Back then, Bellamy directly destroyed a warship and a pirate crew with a bounty of twenty million Beli!"

"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 plagued by them." The big-nosed man with broken glasses continued.

"I see."

But for Aeneas, this was far from pleasant—if he had guessed correctly, he had somehow gotten caught in the crossfire.

What exactly did this Bellamy do? Why does everything have to involve me? Aeneas was somewhat annoyed. Still, at least I've learned that Bellamy is here. Maybe I can get another chance at a lottery draw early. Bellamy isn't a spy—between him and Vergo, whose reputation is greater?

The axe blade that could cleave through anything tore through the air toward him.

Aeneas did not stand still. With a light leap, he tapped the axe's haft with the tip of his foot, then borrowed the force to jump again. He pulled 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 grab it.

Aeneas was stunned. Orton had been wielding that massive axe with both hands just now—he could still free up one hand?

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 match him head-on.

Do I have to activate Pit Grit already? Aeneas did not want to do that. It consumes too much stamina, and I don't know if there are others hiding in the shadows in Tinos. It's too dangerous!

Aeneas's gaze swiftly swept over the surrounding houses, searching for a route to escape.

"There!" Aeneas cried out. He pulled back his Iron Sword and slung it over his back, then leaped again. He stepped on Orton's head and sprang onto the rooftop before immediately jumping down, his figure quickly vanishing 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!" Aeneas glanced back at Orton from the rooftop.

"What are you looking at? Chase him!" Orton flew into a rage from embarrassment. "These damn brats are driving me crazy! Next time I catch you, I'll smash you to death!"

Orton rubbed his bald head and immediately felt utterly humiliated.

He swung his huge axe wildly, smashing the surrounding buildings.

The other underlings all retreated, hurrying across the street to search for Aeneas.

"Run! The boss is losing it again!"

"Move, move! Be careful not to get caught in it!"

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

"Find him! He can't have gone far. Search every house!" Several men formed teams and quickly swept through a few houses.

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

But the house was pitch-black, and he could not see anything.

The bearded man walked in and stepped onto the black floor. At that moment, a companion outside called out.

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

"Find your mother! I'm done searching! This is driving me insane!" The bearded man suddenly flew into a rage, stormed out after slamming the door, and left his companions staring at one another, completely confused.

These people soon finished searching and left.

In that house just now, a young little girl emerged from a room and shut the door.

"Click!"

When the light came on, the room immediately brightened.

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

Aeneas had hidden in this pitch-black house. When he saw someone come in to catch him, he had thought he would be exposed. Yet for some reason, his mind had gone blank. He did not want to go anywhere and instead wanted to sit down and meditate for a while, properly resting.

"What's going on?" Aeneas finally saw the furnishings inside the house. The walls were covered in colorful graffiti, with no discernible images. 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 touched 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 door had been completely black.

Aeneas suddenly remembered something.

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

"Oh, right. Hello, thank you for saving me." Aeneas turned around and got a clear look at the little girl's face, but then a voice suddenly rang out in his mind, and he froze again.

The little girl looked at Aeneas's strange behavior.

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

"My name is Aeneas..."

Aeneas had not yet recovered. Looking at everything before him and recalling the system's prompt from just now, he watched Marianne sit down beside an easel and continue painting as if nothing had happened.

"Miss Goldenweek!"