Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

Hack still dragged his family to the cinema today just to catch a glimpse of Durin's new movie.


Looking at the bustling cinema before the movie had started, His Majesty felt a bit of regret—that regret was because he had already seen the trailer. The short two-minute preview had completely captivated him; cars that could fly through the sky without wheels were something Hack had never imagined possible before viewing the trailer.


It truly deserved to be called a masterpiece that could change modern people's view of the Old Era, just as the former director of the arts center had said.


Perhaps it was just as Durin had portrayed in his movie, those piles of scrap metal that once could fly in the distant past.


Those ruined walls, those underground spaces filled with Specters and corpses, were once huge marketplaces, selling vast amounts of food, clothing, and tools.


Chapter 131: A Great Scholar of Our Own