Phaethon gently patted Cyrene’s hand in return, giving her a reassuring look. The corner of his mouth even quirked up in a hint of playful amusent. "Don’t worry, Cyrene. I’m not that impulsive."
Just as Aglaea’s golden eyes narrowed, preparing to suppress this farce with an even more forceful stance, Phaethon had already stepped forward, placing himself in front of the group.
His face wore an expression of exaggerated surprise and curiosity as he looked Caenis up and down. His voice bood, instantly drawing the attention of the growing crowd of onlookers attracted by the commotion:
"Well! This... uh, elderly lady who looks withered and halfway into the grave?"
"Which rotting part of your brain led you to believe that a fossil like you—with hair the color of three-day-old chimney soot—"
"has any right to stand here and dictate who can enter the Heroes’ Bath, spouting such nonsense?"
"Pfft..." Phainon couldn’t hold back a snort, quickly covering his mouth. A wave of suppressed stirring and muffled laughter ca from the surrounding crowd.
Caenis trembled with rage, her finger shaking as she pointed at Phaethon. "You... you country bumpkin! You..."
"You what *you*?" And what’s this ’Council of Elders’ you keep yapping about? What even is the Council of Elders? Oh—I get it now!"
"Is it the departnt that collects haggard old won like you, who ran out to embarrass themselves before their parents’ coffins were even properly sealed, completely ignoring their filial duties, and then assigns them to guard the bathhouses?!"
"Insolent brat! I warn you..." Caenis’s face turned a purplish-red, her voice cracking.
"Warn? Warn of what?" Phaethon suddenly wore a look of "dawning comprehension," smacking his palm sharply. His voice rose dramatically, filled with mock "admiration."
"Oh—! I see! My apologies, my apologies! So you, esteed elder, are specially tasked with... cleaning the bath for the noble Golden Descendants?!"
He deliberately emphasized the words "cleaning the bath," his gaze sweeping over the surrounding crowd as if sharing a major news scoop.
"Look at you! You’ve been in this line of work so long, your hair’s turned to ash and you still can’t bear to let go!"
Phaethon’s expression beca one of utmost "reverence." "Surely this sacred duty of personally scrubbing the baths for the Golden Descendant lords must fill you with imnse honor and pride?!"
"Oh dear, oh dear! My apologies! For my earlier ignorance and offense, I offer my most sincere apologies to you, the ’Guardian of the Baths,’ the ’Vanguard Serving the Golden Descendants’!"
"I should never have doubted the sincerity of your heart dedicated to serving the Golden Descendants! This spirit of loving your post and dutifully guarding the bathhouse for decades is truly moving heaven and earth! It’s sothing us outsiders should learn from!"
Caenis, enraged by this series of twisted accusations, saw stars. Her blood pressure spiked, and her feet slipped violently.
She actually stumbled sideways toward a nearby decorative hot spring pool, and would have perford an impromptu "falling-in-the-water" act if a nearby watching attendant hadn’t instinctively caught her.
"Oh my! Granny! You really must stand steady!" Phaethon imdiately exclaid with "concern," though his face wore a thoroughly mocking expression.
"If you fall and get hurt, who will carry out the precious work you’re so proud of—cleaning the baths for the Golden Descendants, a thought that surely fills you with pride even when you wake in the dead of night—and your lofty duty of ensuring no idle persons disturb the Golden Descendants during their baths?"
"The Sanctuary simply cannot do without you, the ’Guardian Deity of the Golden Descendants’!"
"You... You... What a sharp-tongued, disrespectful little brat!" After being steadied, Caenis trembled as if sieving flour. Hearing the now-unrestrainable roars of laughter and the pointing and discussing from the crowd, her face flushed and paled in turns, more colorful than a painter’s palette.
Unable to bear the sha any longer, she shot a venomous glare at Phaethon and Aglaea and, supported by her attendant, practically fled in disgrace.
Aglaea: Magnificent. Truly magnificent. Must add 1 1 1 to humanity.
Watching Caenis’s retreating figure, the "concern" instantly vanished from Phaethon’s face, replaced by his usual slightly lazy deanor.
He wasn’t even in a hurry to leave. Instead, as if nothing had happened, he sidled up to a few local residents who were still watching and had been stifling their laughter, wearing a look of "bewildered ignorance" as he began to "humbly seek advice":
"Hey, bro, I’m new to the Sanctuary, I am new to everything." He pointed in the direction Kennis disappeared, lowered his voice, and put on an expression of utmost "sincerity."
"Seeing that old granny just now, looking so self-important while inspecting who’s qualified to enter the Heroes’ Bath!"
"Surely it’s because she feels imnsely proud and honored, deep in her heart, to have this job serving the Golden Descendants, right?"
"Huh? What are you laughing at? Of course I’m not a Golden Descendant! I’m just an ordinary guy from the countryside, what do I know about your noble Sanctuary rules... It’s just that, an old granny who can bring such a sense of mission to guarding a bathhouse is really quite rare..."
Cyrene couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head in amusent. Phainon’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Trianne blinked her big eyes; though she didn’t fully understand, she thought Little Little Whitey just now was especially "impressive."
Aglaea: This kid must stay. I decree it!
The lingering ripples of commotion from Caenis’s disgraceful retreat had not yet fully settled.
Aglaea’s eternally calm eyes turned to the group. Extrely subtly, the perfect line of her lips seed to quirk upward into a nearly imperceptible curve.
"Everyone," her voice seed to carry a hint of an indescribable... lightness? "Now that the irrelevant party has departed, we may proceed upwards."
However, Phaethon fell silent for a mont. His gaze swept over the solemn entrance to the bath, and he finally shook his head. "Forget it, Lady Aglaea. I am not a Golden Descendant, after all. This Heroes’ Bath... I’d better not enter."
"Little Whitey..." Cyrene looked at him with so concern, wanting to persuade him.
"Cyrene," Phaethon interrupted her gently but firmly, jerking his chin in the direction Caenis had left. "You heard it too. That esteed elder from the Council of Elders kept going on about the rules, insisting this is a sacred ground for ’Golden Blood’."
"Why should an outsider ’impostor’ like go in and cause displeasure, needlessly sullying the heroes’ peace?"
Aglaea’s erald pupils flickered slightly. After a mont, she gave a slight nod, her voice carrying a trace of barely detectable apology. "My apologies, Lord Phaethon. I was thoughtless and failed to foresee the trouble this would cause."
She paused, seeming to consider an appropriate compensatory offer, before finally speaking: "As an apology, when you have so free ti, would you be willing to visit the Sanctuary’s ’Goldweaver’ workshop? I will personally oversee your asurents and have a set of garnts tailored for you from the finest cloth."
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