The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness Chapter 483: Lacking Morals

“You seem to be in a good mood?”

After eting at the agreed location, the Rat King looked at Muen, whose steps were practically kicking up wind, and asked curiously.

“Of course.”

Having once again taken on the guise of Mr. Bruce, Muen turned back. Even on that deep and stern face, a smile he couldn’t quite suppress still lingered.

“Rejoice, Sam. This ti I found you one hell of a backup.”

“Backup?”

A sharp light flashed in the Rat King’s eyes.

He had originally thought that Mr. Bruce had infiltrated that manor midway for his own business, but he hadn’t expected it was to find backup?

“For soone like you to call them ‘one hell of a backup,’ that must be a truly big figure.”

The Rat King bowed with sincere gratitude.

“I imagine you must have paid quite a price to invite him.”

“Price... actually, it wasn’t much of a price.”

Muen rubbed his butt and secretly bared his teeth.

“Just that my butt hurts a little, that’s all.”

“Mm?”

The Rat King: ???

His butt hurts a little?

The Rat King stared blankly at Muen’s rear, watching how he was walking with a faint limp. In that instant, it was as if he suddenly understood sothing.

Lord Bruce had that kind of inclination?

And moreover... he was the one on the bottom?

This was really...

“You seem to be thinking sothing disrespectful.”

Muen suddenly turned his head, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Don’t overthink it. I just got kicked once by a certain dead tsundere, a very cute woman, that’s all.”

“I–is that so? Haha, that’s actually what I was guessing too.”

The Rat King gave two awkward chuckles and hastily pushed those improper thoughts out of his mind, though he still couldn’t quite stop his gaze from flicking twice over Muen’s rear.

“Have you gathered the manpower?”

Muen suddenly spoke, cutting off the Rat King’s train of thought.

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t idle while you were handling your business.”

The Rat King imdiately sobered, clapping his hands lightly.

The night alley, which had been completely silent and empty, suddenly filled with faint sounds.

Footsteps. Clothes rubbing. Layered breathing.

Muen’s brows lifted slightly as he turned to look.

One figure after another erged quietly from the depths of the alley.

So wore ragged cotton jackets, so had relatively clean single-layer clothes, so still had dirty aprons tied over their chests, and so were simply in nightclothes.

Judging by their clothes, they were not the usual blade-licking gang mbers, but more like ordinary residents of the Lower District.

They might be beggars on the streets, dockworkers on the river, small vendors by the roadside, butchers selling at. In their daily lives they were no different from ordinary people, worrying and rushing about for a living... yet now they had all gathered here, clutching blood-stained weapons, their eyes gleaming with excited ferocity.

This was a group of true rats—a group that had hidden their claws and fangs very well.

“I haven’t contacted the Rat Society internally yet, because I can’t be sure which of them may already have turned to Old Ghost. But...”

The Rat King grinned.

“In a place where betrayal and sches are as common as drinking water, I have to keep so power that really belongs only to , don’t you think?”

“Ho, that really is... very Lower District style.”

Muen swept his gaze around and found that so among them even had pretty decent strength. He couldn’t help pressing down the brim of his hat, clicking his tongue in appreciation.

“In that case, I can’t afford to be outdone.”

He picked up a sound-transmission stone and tuned it to a certain frequency.

“Send everything over.”

“Yes.”

On the other end of the stone ca a stiff reply.

But before that voice had faded into the night wind, the neighing of a strong horse suddenly split the silence of the late hour.

A pitch-black carriage appeared in everyone’s field of vision.

“This is...”

The Rat King asked in shock. From the two deep ruts the coach wheels left in the muddy ground, he could feel how heavy that carriage was.

And the faint aura of a trigger-based magical seal emanating from the black coach made his scalp prickle.

“It’s nothing.”

Muen knocked lightly on the carriage.

As one side of the carriage automatically opened, the cold gleam and killing intent that rushed out made the Rat King’s expression shift from mild surprise... to complete stupefaction.

Weapons.

This was actually a carriage full of weapons.

The Rat King reached out with trembling fingers, stroking those cold tal forms. Confirming that the cargo stuffing the entire coach really was military weapons that, in the Lower District, were usually priced by the individual part... Even his heart began to tremble.

“Calm down, Sam.”

Muen casually picked up a magitech bomb and weighed it in his hand a few tis as the Rat King’s eyelids twitched violently, then smiled.

“This is just so ‘scrap’ from the normal loss of a warehouse. Hardly worth such a fuss.”

“......”

......

......

The bird descended and looked toward Sineel in the carriage.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry. I failed.”

“Failed?”

Robin’s gaze sharpened.

“With your strength, taking care of a Lower District punk shouldn’t have been difficult.”

“What punk!”

Sineel slamd a hand on the table in front of him and snapped:

“You didn’t tell the target was a Lower District gang boss!”

“So what if he’s a gang boss?”

Robin sneered.

“At the end of the day, he’s still just a punk with more n and /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ more money. Don’t tell an elite of the Royal Mage Corps can’t even deal with a common punk.”

“I was about to succeed.”

Sineel cooled down again, but his face still showed three parts hatred, three parts regret, and ninety-four parts I was this close.

“But at the critical mont, soone rescued the target!”

“Rescued?”

Robin frowned.

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

Sineel stroked the long flute in his hand.

“I only know he was wearing a black tuxedo. As for his face... he seed like a Slav.”

“Black tuxedo... Slav...”

Robin pondered for a while, then sneered.

“I wondered who it was. Turns out a certain thief who stole sothing from soone else has finally found the guts to co back. I thought the reason I hadn’t found a trace of him for months was that he’d died in so random corner of the Lower District.”

“You know him?”

Sineel blinked and asked curiously.

“That has nothing to do with you. Just do your own job.”

Robin flapped his wings.

“You didn’t kill him, fine. But since you took our stuff, the job still has to be done. Go back to the Mage Corps. I’ll let you know when there are orders.”

“I already did what you told . And you still want to keep ordering around?”

At those words, Sineel reacted like he’d suffered a great humiliation, slamming the table again.

“It’s just a magitech device. You think I’ll keep taking your orders over that? Ridiculous!”

“Heh. You think you still have a choice?”

“Even if I don’t, after all these years of cultivation, I, Sineel, am not—”

“Take it.”

With a flick of Robin’s wing, a thick stack of papers fell into Sineel’s arms.

“Bills of exchange from the Imperial Bank. This is just the start. Do well, and the rest will at least be double.”

“......”

“Do your best, Sineel Zegon. The Inner Council is looking forward to your performance...”

Robin vanished into the night.

In the carriage, Sineel silently lowered his head and looked at that stack of large-denomination bills of exchange. He scratched his head and muttered:

“Like this... doesn’t it feel a bit too lacking in morals?”