"You're only training five people?"
Annan and the Centurion walked out of the Dark Base.
"I'll train them first, then have each of them train five more. Those five will each train another five, and then we'll have... 125 Street Sweepers."
"156," Annan corrected him. "You forgot the first and second groups, and yourself."
"You think I don't know that? I only said it to test you!" the Centurion shouted.
Annan would turn eighteen in a few days. He was too old to argue with the Centurion over something so childish, so he climbed the Steps, planning to stop by the nearby Laboratory while he was there.
"Annan, I'm going to appoint you a Centurion," the Centurion said suddenly.
Annan had little need for an honorary title these days. "Will Olmedo get one too?" he asked casually.
"She hasn't served long enough."
"I accept!"
Leaving the Street Sweepers' base, Annan passed through several clean, odor-free alleys and arrived at the Mushroom Twin Houses.
Michael had not produced anything new in almost half a year. Annan was ready to demand an explanation for the delay.
"Michael, you've been quiet for too long. The Three Great Legions are waiting for new weapons, and I expect you to—who are you?"
When Annan pushed open the door, he found a figure who looked like a vagrant.
A Mage Apprentice beside him said cautiously, "City Lord, that is Michael..."
Michael looked utterly wretched. His brown curls had lost their shine and sat on his head like a heap of dry, tangled grass. His long hair and beard concealed his face and the scar matching Annan Potter's, leaving only a pair of exhausted, unfocused eyes visible.
Annan could not bring himself to say anything harsh.
"Um... don't work yourself too hard. I don't want Free City