An indescribable joy welled up in Potteriman's heart.
Just as his old friend had surmised, His Highness the Saint possessed outstanding talent, but still retained a young man's innocence.
That was the best angle to approach him from!
With that thought, Potteriman softly recited-
"Death follows us like a shadow. Death is everywhere.
Your Highness, welcome home."
As he spoke, Potteriman dropped to one knee and bowed again.
This time, however, the Death Poetry Society's Left Cantor did not immediately rise. Instead, he tilted his head up slightly and gazed at Arthur expectantly.
The young Medium obligingly sighed.
Then he rose and helped him up.
"Thank you, Your Highness.
Your radiance is like death itself, eternal and undying."
Potteriman spoke almost instinctively.
There was no flattery.
Only sincerity.
The Death Poetry Society's Left Cantor firmly believed Arthur could lead the Society out of its predicament. And precisely because of that sincerity, his words surpassed any hollow flattery.
The Death Poetry Society is in even worse shape than I imagined!
Otherwise, its leaders wouldn't be clinging to some so-called Child of Prophecy like a lifeline.
Arthur thought silently.
Under normal circumstances, when an organization was at its height, the appearance of any Child of Prophecy was merely icing on the cake-a sort of mascot.
Only when an organization was in decline and on the verge of disappearing did it need a Child of Prophecy to lift its spirits, placing boundless trust in him.
Because they had no choice but to trust him.
Wait!
This prophecy about the so-called Child of Prophecy...
Could it be fake?
Arthur's heart tightened, and he inwardly frowned.
But he did not stop speaking-
"Could you tell me about the Death Poetry Society's current situation?"
"Of course, Your Highness."
Potteriman was overjoyed by Arthur's question.
The Death