Chapter 15: Ouch—Why Is That Old Man So Awful?!

“You tell me—what is a young master like you doing coming to a place like this when you’ve got nothing better to do?”

Evelyn pushed Cyril’s wheelchair along the gravel road. The wheels jolted slightly, shaking the cold sweat off Cyril’s forehead.

For Cyril, this situation was undoubtedly worse than when he’d been surrounded by thugs earlier!

“Did you come to do a good deed?” Evelyn continued. “Or…”

She deftly steered around a small puddle and stopped beside a bridge. “Or did you come to follow me, planning to kill me?”

Cold sweat poured down Cyril’s back. This bridge hadn’t been built to cross a river—there were no rivers in this chaotic lower district where everything was haphazardly constructed.

This bridge existed to span the gap between buildings. Beneath it was a dizzying drop, the kind that could trigger acrophobia. Cyril could even see the figures below, no larger than ants.

A wheel of the wheelchair nudged a small stone off the edge. It took several seconds before the sound of it hitting the ground reached them.

Evelyn only needed to apply a little force to tip the wheelchair and send him plummeting, smashed to pieces!

He wouldn’t die—but the pain of being shattered into pieces would be very real.

“I…”
Cyril shrank his neck, terrified he might slip off if he shifted even slightly.

“Hahahaha…”

But behind him, Evelyn suddenly burst out laughing. “I’m just teasing you. Kill me? With your courage? Don’t make me laugh.”

She then turned the wheelchair around.

“I only helped you out because you’re my ‘performance.’ If you got exposed, someone might steal you.”

Evelyn hummed a tune Cyril had never heard before. “And I told you I’d borrow some money from you—I didn’t lie.”

Pujii fluttered its wings, circling the two of them once before landing on the back of Cyril’s wheelchair.

“Hurry up and thank me!”
The moment it landed, Pujii started boasting at Cyril. “If I hadn’t spotted you from the air, you’d already have been beaten up by those guys! Look at you—so pale and delicate. You probably would’ve—”

Before it could finish, Evelyn flicked it on the head.

“Have some manners. When adults are talking, kids don’t interrupt!”

“Oh…”
Pujii immediately drooped.

“Thank you…”
It was Cyril who stammered out a thank-you instead. He even fished out the candy the old lady at the candy shop had given him earlier, unwrapped it, and held it out to Pujii.

Pujii immediately brightened, snatching up the candy. Cyril had no idea how he could tell, but somehow he could read “beaming with joy” from a bird’s face.

This bird wasn’t just childish in voice—it seemed to have the personality of a child as well.

“We’re here.”

Evelyn suddenly spoke. Only then did Cyril realize they had arrived in front of a shop.

A crooked sign hung above the door, reading “Leonardo Firearms Workshop.” The once-white lettering had been blackened by gun smoke.

The glass windows were covered in scorch marks, soot, dust, and grease, making it impossible to see inside.

Before Cyril could get a good look, Evelyn pushed him straight through the door.

Ding-dong!

The bell hanging from the wooden door rang out. A sharp smell of gunpowder immediately assaulted Cyril’s nose, making this sheltered young master frown.

“Leona!”

Evelyn casually parked Cyril at the counter and called out into the shop.

Pujii flapped its wings and, clearly very familiar with the place, flew to a perch hanging from a beam. The small perch even had a little bowl full of bird feed.

Though it was called a firearms workshop, the layout looked more like a bar: there was a counter, booth seating, and even cabinets filled with guns and parts that looked like they’d once been wine racks.

“Coming!”

A cheerful female voice came from behind the curtain leading deeper into the shop. Just from the sound of it, one could imagine a fiery, outgoing woman.

Evelyn smoothly slipped behind the counter. Before the owner emerged, she reached into a hidden compartment in a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of liquor.

“So you were hiding a good bottle after all… Want a drink?”
She twisted off the cap and pulled out two glasses, asking Cyril.

“Never mind—you won’t drink.”

Before Cyril could even respond, she rejected it for him.

“Wow!”

As Evelyn finished pouring a glass, a blonde, mature-looking woman emerged from behind the curtain.

Her fluffy blonde hair spilled loosely over her shoulders like a lion’s mane. Beneath her tight wrap-top, her slender waist was boldly exposed. Her skin tone stood in stark contrast to the greasy, oil-stained shop. A pair of bronze-tinted goggles covered her eyes.

“You stole my booze again!”
She shouted as she pushed the goggles up onto her forehead.

“Between friends, how can that be called stealing?”
Evelyn filled the second glass and slid it across the counter. “Here, it’s on me.”

“It was clearly mine! How can a nun be this shameless?!”
The blonde woman complained, though she wasn’t actually angry as she caught the glass.

She was the owner of the firearms workshop—Leona.

“And this handsome little… young master is?”
Leona glanced at Cyril in the wheelchair and immediately started giving Evelyn pointed looks.

The meaning was obvious: There’s an outsider here—watch yourself!

“His name is Cyril. He’s my ‘performance.’ No need to hide anything from him.”

Evelyn plopped onto a barstool. “Let’s talk business—help me fix a gun.”

As she spoke, she pulled out the silenced pistol with the damaged barrel from her thigh holster and tossed it onto the counter.

“Damn, that bad?”
Leona shifted her attention fully to the horrifyingly wrecked barrel. “To damage a barrel made of Dram alloy like this—what kind of monster did you run into?”

“I broke it myself.”
Evelyn took a sip of her drink. “Try using another silencer—see if it can be fixed.”

Dram alloy, also known as Hell Alloy, was a special metal formed when deep-layer minerals melted together in lava-hot temperatures comparable to hell itself. It possessed extremely high material strength.

No wonder Leona was shocked. In her understanding, aside from the weapon itself, only demons—ones even the Church struggled to deal with—had the destructive power to do this.

“I’ll take a closer look.”

Leona didn’t even bother finishing her drink. Cradling the damaged pistol like it was wounded, she disappeared behind the curtain into the workshop’s core area—the true heart where weapons were forged.

No one else was allowed in. Not even Evelyn.

“Curious about this place?”
Evelyn took another sip, smiling mischievously at the wide-eyed Cyril.

“A little…”
Cyril scratched his cheek.

“This shop’s called Leonardo Firearms Workshop, but the owner’s name is Leona.”
Evelyn crossed her legs, the slit in her nun’s habit revealing a pair of pale, intertwined thighs.

Perhaps it was the alcohol. Even months later, still not fully accustomed to her female body, she usually paid great attention to her behavior and never revealed even an inch of skin. Yet now, unconsciously, she was giving Cyril an eyeful.

“Leonardo was her father’s name,” Evelyn continued. “He used to customize firearms for nobles in the upper city. Those old aristocrats loved carving meaningless floral patterns onto killing tools.”

“She inherited that style—insisted on engraving blue roses on my gun, saying they matched my eyes.”

“But after her father died, relatives seized the workshop that should’ve been hers…”

Evelyn set her now-empty glass down on the counter, her finger unconsciously tracing circles along the rim. “So she brought the inherited name here to the Hundred-Eyed Palace, barely making a living selling guns to gangs.”

“Don’t let the mess fool you—her craftsmanship is the best in all of Ingrey City.”

“Compared to those greedy relatives, she’s the one who truly inherited Leonardo’s skills.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?!”

Leona stormed out from behind the curtain. “Can’t fix it! You ruined my work like this—I’m never making guns for you again!”

“Come on, don’t be mad! Can’t you make an exception?”
Evelyn immediately put on a flattering expression and leaned in.

“Absolutely not!”
Leona yanked off her goggles and slapped them on the counter. “Do you have any idea how expensive Dram alloy is right now?”

“Nianhog Industrial is opening a new factory and buying it up like crazy! Market prices have shot through the roof!”

She drained her glass in one gulp, wiped her mouth, and added, “Even if I waive the labor fee out of friendship, the material alone costs this much.”

She held up two fingers.

“Two hundred?”
Evelyn blinked, then reconsidered. “Two thousand?”

“Two hundred thousand!”

“Even if you sold me, you wouldn’t get that much money!”
Evelyn wanted to slam the table, but stopped herself—breaking it would mean compensation. “Ouch—why is that old man so awful?!”

Two hundred thousand—enough to buy a big house!

Of course, in reality, even without selling Evelyn herself, just putting the name Nianhog on the table could rake in astronomical wealth.

The problem was, she had no intention of telling anyone she was the recently runaway eldest daughter of the Nianhog family.

Only people within the Church—and Cyril—knew her true identity. Even Leona had no idea that, in theory, Evelyn was the wealthiest twenty-year-old in all of Ingrey City.

“Two hundred thousand. Can you come up with it?”
Evelyn turned to Cyril. “You’re a young master of the Grian family—this should be nothing to you, right?”

“I—”

Cyril was about to say why should I pay for you, but when he saw Evelyn raise her left hand with ill intent—the six command seals on her ring finger gleaming under the lights—he immediately shut his mouth.

He had no desire to experience that pain again. Compared to last night, even being shot in the head ten times wouldn’t be as bad.

“M-my family’s money is managed by Serra…”
Cyril shrank back. “I could ask her, but if she starts asking questions…”

Evelyn could only lower her hand, frustrated.

If Serra, the head maid, got involved, things would get messy.

Just from last night’s verbal sparring, it was clear that woman was no simple character. From Cyril suddenly requesting a huge sum of money, she’d likely infer a lot—

Including that Evelyn already knew Cyril’s identity, or even that they’d formed a blood contract.

With her unwavering loyalty, that maid would definitely come out to cause trouble.

Fixing the gun was important, but this was a critical period for Evelyn’s promotion into the choir. She wouldn’t allow anyone to stir up trouble at a time like this.

“Guess I’ll have to find another way…”

Evelyn rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on.

But where could she find a solution?

Go home? Back to the Nianhog estate to get money?

What a joke.

Suddenly, Evelyn’s eyes lit up. The letter she’d retrieved from under her door that morning flashed through her mind.

Matilda!

As a member of the Seventh Hall who often traveled between different districts to handle demonic traces, she must know all sorts of shady characters.

That girl might just know some way to make fast, effortless money!