Chapter 43: The Lazy Knight!

"You're a good young man. Your character truly moves us. If you ever face difficulties, you must come to us. We will do everything within our power to help."

Mrs. Ryan spoke with solemn sincerity.

"I will," Glen replied with a smile.

Just then, knocking sounded from downstairs.

"I'll see to it."

Mrs. Ryan immediately headed down. Thinking it time to leave, Glen bid farewell to the Sergeant and followed her downstairs.

Standing outside were four officers in black uniforms. They saluted respectfully upon seeing Mrs. Ryan.

"It's you all! Here to see your Sergeant? Come in, come in!"

Mrs. Ryan clearly knew them well. She stepped aside to let them enter.

As the four entered, they caught sight of Glen descending the stairs. One, a younger man with deep brown hair, exclaimed in surprise,

"Aren't you the fellow who lives out in Bayek? What are you doing here?"

The other three seemed to recognize Glen only after this prompt, their expressions shifting to ones of "Oh, it's him."

"He was selling furniture on Center Street. I saw him and asked him here to replace our broken door," Mrs. Ryan explained cheerfully to the group, then turned back to Glen. "Are you leaving already, young man? I was hoping you'd try some of Dogley's treasured wine!"

"No need, I—"

"Wait!" Before Glen could finish, the young officer interrupted. "Ma'am, you said he sells furniture? But he's a butcher! And he cured the Sergeant?!"

"Yes," Mrs. Ryan confirmed firmly. "He works as a butcher and also does carpentry on the side. As for curing Dogley... well, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed it either."

The four officers exchanged bewildered glances.

Putting aside the confusion over Glen's multiple professions, the idea that he could cure the Sergeant was almost incomprehensible. They too knew the Sergeant's condition wasn't a common injury or illness; ordinary treatments shouldn't have worked in the first place.

Could this guy use magic? Or have a magic artifact?

The thought struck them simultaneously.

"How did you do it?" the young officer couldn't help but ask Glen.

With no other recourse, Glen repeated the explanation he'd given upstairs about the Sunflower Point-Sealing Technique. The four officers listened, skepticism warring with curiosity on their faces.

He didn't feel compelled to convince them, however. Once finished, he addressed Mrs. Ryan,

"The doorframe measurements are done, Ma'am. I can bring the finished door over for installation tomorrow. Any other requests?"

"Just the style I picked from your samples will be fine. Nothing else needed."

She was referring to one of the sample doors Glen had displayed at his stall.

"Alright then. Goodbye for now, Ma'am."

"Safe travels. Good luck to you."

They watched Glen leave. A slightly pudgy officer murmured, "What a mysterious fellow..."

The others nodded in silent agreement.

After exchanging pleasantries with Mrs. Ryan, the four officers climbed the stairs to see their Sergeant. Barely had greetings been exchanged, before Sergeant Dogley cut straight to business.

"Skip the pleasantries. Anything happen at the station while I was out?"

The men exchanged looks; they knew their Sergeant's nature well enough not to be surprised.

The young man with deep brown hair spoke up, his tone grave.

"Sergeant... brace yourself. The situation at the station... it's not good."

"What? Are those squad leaders causing trouble again?" Dogley raised an eyebrow.

The young officer looked pained. "The squad leaders are managing, Sir. It's mainly the families of the victims... they're practically tearing the precinct apart. After you were hurt yesterday, the perpetrators went wild, acting with complete impunity across the town. They snatched many more children. We're stretched thin, overwhelmed..."

"What?!" Sergeant Dogley nearly choked, fury flashing in his eyes. "Those filthy bugs! They belong in the deepest pits of hell! Cough… cough…!"

"Sergeant!" The officers flinched at his violent reaction, worried he might relapse.

The pressure on the officers had been mounting steadily since the first child vanished. Dogley, bearing the brunt of it, could no longer maintain his usual stoicism. Anger poured out of him.

He cursed vehemently for a long moment before his rage subsided somewhat. His men, unused to seeing their leader so unhinged, stood silently, hesitant to speak.

"Sergeant... are you alright?" one finally ventured cautiously.

Dogley took several deep breaths, then shot him a look. "This case clearly involves paranormal forces. Has no one at the station reported it?"

"It was reported, Sir. Headquarters said they'd dispatch a Rank 2 Knight... but it'll take a few days..."

"Be specific! How many days?!"

"Approximately... ten..."

"Ten days!? Those children could be dead or worse by then, and they say ten days!? Didn't you impress upon them the sheer urgency?! That's more than twenty children's lives! Twenty families devastated! Cough! Cough!"

Another violent coughing fit seized him. His face flushed crimson, a vein throbbing on his forehead.

"We told them everything, Sergeant! But they said the knight assigned is Sir Thayer... and you know his reputation..."

"Thayer..." Sergeant Dogley closed his eyes. A wave of profound helplessness washed over him.

Thayer was notoriously lazy. No task, big or small, could spur him to efficiency. Despite numerous complaints, his chronic procrastination remained unchanged.

Dogley could vividly picture the man: ambling leisurely on horseback, likely already half-drunk.

"Go back," Dogley ordered tersely, waving a dismissive hand. "I'll be at the station shortly to take charge."

"But Sergeant, your condition..." the four voiced their concern simultaneously.

"I'm fine!" Dogley barked.

Knowing argument was futile, the officers reluctantly retreated.

...

Counting the copper and silver coins he'd earned that day, Glen drove his deer cart back towards Bayek Village in high spirits.

After a simple meal of bread at home, he headed straight for the pigsty.

The Young Master remained true to form.

The black pigs inside the sty squealed incessantly. Scattered at their hooves were various types of weeds – all leftovers they refused to eat.

Clearly, they were starving.

Meanwhile, Dolph lounged comfortably at the base of a tree, stifling a yawn, looking utterly at ease.

Spotting Glen's approach, he instantly scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sickle and making a show of cutting grass.

"It seems my words this morning fell on deaf ears," Glen stated simply, addressing Dolph's suddenly industrious back. "Don't blame me for what comes next." He proceeded to gather pigweed himself and feed the animals.

Filthy commoner's work... I'd rather die than do it... Dolph seethed inwardly, keeping his head down.

Once the clamoring pigs were quieted, Glen set to work crafting the door needed for Mrs. Ryan's house – a task completed swiftly.

He spent the remaining daylight hours working on more furniture.

Come evening,

Glen prepared a late supper but deliberately excluded Dolph. The young noble responded with equal stubbornness – no food meant no food. He stalked off to the warehouse to sleep.

Accustomed to never wanting for sustenance, the Young Master had yet to grasp the grueling reality of true hunger.