Outside the window, a magic pen with a bright black metallic hue rustled across the paper, and a hazy, somewhat transparent middle-aged white man sat in a chair and scribbled, glancing at the notes on the table next to him.

Charles stood behind him with his chest crossed, quietly looking at the slightly scribbled lines of English letters, and occasionally offering his own opinions.

"Be subtle, don't be too strong in the taste of artistic processing."

……

"It's not good, you write like this completely doesn't match the style of the article here, others can see it at a glance, it's awkward."

……

"It is better to highlight the selfless dedication of the monk under the leadership of the Church, rather than the original character of the monk, of course, the monk is also kind, I mean that under the leadership of the Church he becomes more amiable."

……

Time passed quietly, and in his state of being a layman guiding an insider, the manuscript was finally sketched and painted several times.

After barely intact, Fu was copied by the former newspaper reporter who was born in Kentucky, USA, and finally fell into the hands of Charles.

"That's it, thank you." Glancing at it, the young man nodded not so satisfied. I feel that this manuscript is still a little bit worse.

Of course, he can't really say what the difference is.

However, this did not affect Mr. Reporter's movements. At the end of Charles's words, the middle-aged white man with a hazy body breathed a sigh of relief, and then couldn't wait to get up and leave the place. As a result, a suction force suddenly came from behind him.

Under the silent and desperate wail, the middle-aged white man involuntarily turned into a gray streamer and was sucked away. At the same time, the last rather infuriating words were heard "in the ears".

"I'll look for you next time I have something like this."

……

The capitalist is to exert the highest enthusiasm of the workers at the lowest cost, and during this period, if necessary, he will not hesitate to praise and pour chicken soup vigorously.

And in this unreasonable place where strength is supreme, there is no need to bother so much. You have to do it, you have to do it if you don't do it, it's more slavery than slavery.

However, Charles felt that rescuing the senior reporter from the nursing home from his irrational state of resentment could be regarded as saving his life, and "living" in his wings was not in danger of gradually losing his mind.

In that case, he was not embarrassed.

Deathwing is a unique ability. Suck the soul, release the soul, maintain the soul immortal, and that's the way it is now.

Normally, humans cannot see or even communicate with souls. Necromancers also need to do this through spells.

However, the souls that emerge from the Charr Deathwing do not have such restrictions.

Of course, only he can see it.

……

Siegel of the Ministry of Evangelism set a deadline for the manuscript to be delivered at noon today, and Charles was too busy to "revise the manuscript" carefully.

He regretted it, but he didn't pay much attention to it. After copying it in his own notes and local script, he took the manuscript and hurried out of the manor in a carriage in the direction of the church.

The carriage drove alongside the area where the manor was located and came to the main road of the royal city of Porso.

It's just that what you see, it seems to be a little different from his impression some time ago.

Through the glass windows, you can clearly see that most of the pedestrians on both sides of the street are in a hurry. The neatly dressed gentlemen did not have the casual and elegant feeling they once had, and the cane and top hat were not so rigorous, and the ladies were not seen few.

The workers and beggars remained the same, but their expressions were mostly numb and implicitly indignant.

Indignant what?

He followed the gaze of the group and could see in the distance a patrol in white uniforms staring wide-eyed around them, rushing forward to question them at the slightest mistake.

Clearly, the aftermath of that march is not over yet. Or rather, for some reason, it's getting more intense.

Charles remembered that his cheap father had always looked heavy all this time, as if he had encountered some kind of problem.

However, Charles felt that this had nothing to do with him, and although he was more sympathetic to the workers, it was limited to sympathy.

When many tragedies have not happened in front of him, he has always treated them as if they did not exist.

……

The carriage drove smoothly towards the church of San Cassel, passing street after street. Because the Cranston family crest was engraved on the carriage, the waves of scrutinists on the streets did not embarrass him. But those rented carriages did not have this kind of treatment, and they were often blocked, causing people to complain.

"It's really a lot of small things." Miller, a young man who had just finished a wave of interrogations, angrily returned to the carriage he had hired and slammed the door shut.

The driver comforted him, but to no avail. Apparently, the dark-haired, black-eyed chauvinist felt insulted in a foreign land.

So the coachman put out the persuasive thoughts, tapped the horse's rope, and began to move on.

Unfortunately, however, he didn't take a few steps before he scraped with a passing carriage. The violent shaking caused Miller in the carriage to scream.

"Damn, what's going on again!?"

"Sir, be quiet, this is the car of the nobles of the royal city."

"What's wrong with the nobles? The nobles of Durin are all fools! Bumpkin! Yokel! ”

Miller, who was already angry because of the cross-examination, scolded even more, and his voice was not disguised at all.

Then he was even more angry when he looked through the window and saw the flamboyant aura and "contempt" gaze of the young man in the carriage opposite.

"Look at what, golden redneck!"

He shouted loudly, his eyes wide, as if he was ready to roll up his sleeves and fight without saying a word. Fortunately, the driver didn't want to do much, and apologized while rushing away.

This couldn't help but make Charles, who was innocently lying on the side, want to roll his eyes a little.

"Young master, do you want someone to teach him a lesson?"

The Cranston coachman knew that the man in the carriage was not good-natured, so he turned his head and proposed.

"The Rust Gang in the outer city has been currying up with our butlers lately, and if you say it, they won't refuse at all."

"Forget it." Charles waved his hand. Too lazy to bother with such boring little things.

……

Then, without any surprise, he made it to the church of San Caso, where he met the leader of the church, who had two sleek mustaches and a neat white shirt with a horse jacket.

Then he was questioned suspiciously.

"Your hair ......"

"When I woke up, it was like this, maybe it had something to do with the bloodline."

Charles replied, and he asked again, and hurriedly handed the manuscript in his hand to the other party.

Children of the gods are always different from normal people. Siegel didn't ask much when he heard this, and after taking the manuscript and reading it carefully, he commented pertinently: "Your point of view is very novel, but the article is too fancy." I suggest you revise it again. Of course, the general framework is good. ”

"No problem." Charles nodded happily without the slightest hesitation. Anyway, it's not him who changed it.

"The revisions must be done by tomorrow."

Siegel added, "Leave it to me tomorrow morning when you come to report; The church headquarters has sent you a companion who will accompany you on a mission, and by the way, I need to introduce you to you. Also, I've got you on a mission tomorrow afternoon, not far from the city of Porso, to get you some time with your new companions. ”

Charles nodded again and said nothing.

"That's right."

Siegel suddenly thought of something, and began to rummage through the drawer: "There's a letter from Pita City, written to you by a girl named Anne. ”