"I’ll be willing to pay as much as two hundred million." Johan’s bold declaration made Isolde’s eyes widen.
If she were honest, a Titled god’s core was worth that amount at the least.
’Twenty percent of whatever his guild gains from every raid will be more lucrative. It would give us a chance against Michael’s financial stranglehold of the Blacks, but it’s Godfrey’s call. Should I go?’
She pursed her lips.
’No. It’s his offer.’
"I’ll speak with him. No promises, though." Isolde responded. "I’ll give you a call when I have his response."
Johan agreed and left the island shortly after. Pendragon Island was a dungeon in Staten Island. On the ferry, returning to Manhattan, Johan looked at the dark sky.
Although the sky had been dark for a while now, the lights of the skyscrapers, street lamps, and cars lit up the island.
’He’s the only person that I can think of. Charles, Lotus, and even Falco all recomnded him. Let’s hope what we find in there won’t be bigger than what we can handle because that would an death for all of us.’
***
On the other hand, Godfrey, the man Johan thought about, leaned against a doorfra, gazing at the orphans seated on the ground around Dirge, who was on her knees.
She sang. There were no words, just flowing through different tunes, like a hymn. Her voice was sothing else; it captivated the soul.
He had no idea when his Black-Out deactivated, revealing his ocean-blue eyes shimring with awe as he gazed at the white phantoms floating about, chorusing.
So were around Dirge; others were more interested in the children, caressing their chins and patting their heads, although their hands just dissolved into white mist.
Their presence made the room ethereal.
Dirge, clad in her golden armour, looked nothing like the Banshee; it made him reflect.
Spending more ti with Dirge before naming her would have made him choose a more fitting na, but the castle wouldn’t allow it.
From now on, he would already start thinking about good nas that embodied his knights, even those he had not acquired yet.
Her voice brought wonder to these innocent children, washing away all their pain from losing one of their own.
There was much more to his noble knights than what was defined on their monunts or tablets. They were actual beings.
At this mont, Godfrey saw the side of humanoid summoners the world refused to see. What humanoid summoners had were intelligent beings with a past, with regrets, with depth, just like them.
They weren’t beasts.
To think all he’s been doing all this while was just using them to fight. Fighting couldn’t be neglected in the slightest, but doing a little more couldn’t hurt.
Dirge liked cooking; earth’s cuisines interested her. He could start from there.
Mountain loved helping helpless children. Maybe he could visit orphanages with Mountain occasionally.
Now they were here, though; he had to make the best of it.
Unknown to him, a little, genuine smile filled with warmth appeared on his face as his lips curled up.
"Joy... is most tis better felt after pain. How can it be that happiness is more cherished because there’s sothing like pain?" The old man ca from behind.
"I can understand it, yet I can’t, even after a century," he added.
Godfrey folded his arms, pondering for a while. "I’m afraid you’re right," he replied, then turned his head toward the old man.
"I’ve been aning to ask. What is your na?"
The old man’s eyes flashed with surprise. "It’s been a while. Most people just call an old man or caretaker. My actual na is... Cain."
That na landed like a hamr. The mont Godfrey heard it, his face froze, then his teeth clenched, his eyes widening as he switched back to Black-Out State, barely stopping himself from taking off the old man’s head when a thought flashed past his mind.
’It’s just a na.’
Maybe it was, but most notable people whom he had grown to like were all true Cains with different nas.
"Bad na, huh? I didn’t like it either," the old man chuckled weakly. "Apparently, I had a better na, just like my twin, but I heard that when we were two years old, I pushed him off the bed. He fell and died. My parents branded with a na they said suited and dumped with my grandmother. They had other children, apparently, but I never got to live with my parents, and my own siblings were terrified of every ti they ca to visit on Christmas Eve."
The old man smiled. "But you know what? My grandmother gave a different na, one I answered with pride. She took , her first grandchild without a proper na, and gave a better one."
His smile widened. "Adam."
"What?!" Godfrey was dumbfounded. He was certain this old man was just a low tier, yet he was here with the nas of two of the most iconic figures in the world.
"So..." the old man chuckled. Godfrey felt uneasy and unconsciously tensed up.
"You said you’ll repair the orphanage." He laughed softly. "I have the feeling your promise is bigger than your wallet. You’re broke, aren’t you?"
’Every Cain figure I’ve t has one thing in common: they’ve never been weak, and this man is too old to be a clone. Even if the old man was one and was lying, he wasn’t going to reveal anything about Isolde’s true identity.’
"I have a rich wife."
The old man coughed desperately and eventually cleared his throat. ’Young n these days.’
"You’re strong, yet broke. There are things money can get you that strength can’t. They work together; to be whole, you must have both. It’s like money and influence."
"But I don’t really have a use for money," Godfrey replied.
The old man looked at him. "Well... you do now. A promise is a promise. Don’t tell your word isn’t also reliable?"
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