Ⅶ
A man brimming with mature charm stepped out of the shadows.
His casually grown brown beard did not make him look the least bit unkempt. On the contrary, it made him seem even more mature.
Of course, what stood out most was his bearing.
Even without the White Cloak.
Even with the dull, gray Deathly Aura in his eyes suppressed.
That sense of deathly stillness remained with him.
The instant Sean and Bont saw him, they thought they were looking at a living corpse.
Almost immediately, their hair stood on end.
Like cats with their fur bristling.
The two members of Cat Cave instinctively adopted defensive stances.
The Old Lion's youngest son reacted even more dramatically.
Not only did he leap to his feet, but his eyes widened so much that the Contact Lenses concealing their color fell out. Cries of shock kept spilling from his mouth.
After one cry of "It's you!" came-
"Impossible! Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
Potteriman?
How could it be?
As the Left Cantor of the Death Poetry Society, how could you have any connection to Arthur Credos?!
An illusion?
It must be an illusion!"
The Old Lion's youngest son recognized the man before him.
Although they were not well acquainted, the Old Lion's youngest son knew the name Potteriman.
He also knew that this Left Cantor of the Death Poetry Society had been treated with courtesy by both his father and his elder brother.
No!
He had been accorded the highest honors!
But that only made the Old Lion's youngest son all the more shocked, all the more incredulous.
The man should clearly have been on his father's and brother's side, so why had he appeared beside Arthur?
Even if the man had pledged allegiance directly to his elder brother, the Old Lion's youngest son