After carefully making his way home, Clayton finally arrived without any trouble. He let out a sigh of relief.
Even though he could now defend himself against most threats—especially with his new trump card—he refused to let it go to his head. If anything, it made him more cautious. As the old saying goes: "No matter how well a squirrel jumps, it will eventually fall." The more violence and killing he got involved in, the more likely it was that one day, whether through carelessness or simple bad luck, he'd become someone else's victim.
But that anxious thought was soon pushed aside by growing curiosity.
Excited, Clayton pulled a box from his spatial pouch and took out a thin stick that looked like dry spaghetti—the incense Arowmfa had promised him. He lit it right away. The stick released a soft plume of smoke and a faint, calming aroma.