Happy Life
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Since when do foreigners decide who is an enemy of Asuguh and what actions are in Asuguh's interest? Genza thought, then shook his head. - Maybe they don't decide; perhaps they are simply acting on the king's orders, rather than pursuing their own ambitions or those of some shadowy global puppet masters. After all, they have existed for several hundred years, and nothing has happened, have they? They have become integrated with the parent state and are even officially recognized as one of the main branches of the craft for young people. There is nothing to worry about; it is unlikely that anything could go wrong at this stage of the kingdom's life, and even less likely that something like this could be predicted.
Respect for the hierarchy was nothing new, neither in his life as a banderlog nor under the Anuzian sun and moon - it was simply a fact of life, dating back to ancient times, and nothing more.
Perhaps, if he were more persistent and cunning, he would certainly have asked a question in the style of "which of the rules has higher priority? 🤓" - implying that there may be cases where the well-being of Asuguh conflicts with the personal interests of the head of this organization, and would receive the answer "we will call you back 🤙"; in this situation, as the clan leader, he would simply be tired of such a banal nitpicking of centuries-old laws, with which no one had any problems before the arrival of this vague smart guy, and now suddenly a loophole has been found - what would we do without your brilliant input.
Genza glanced at the guild members again, briefly passing by the androgyn and lingering a little longer on the girl - serious faces, strange clothes, and impeccable posture, but still quite normal people, without demonic horns or strange mutations on their foreheads. The old woman, however, was not particularly to his taste, but in principle, if you focus on certain features, ignoring some others... - he interrupted this little mental exercise without showing it.
His gaze swept over the "slave trader" who had brought them here like cattle - despite how he was dressed and what he had done with his hair, he looked more or less like a regular working man. Or was that the point, to maintain the disguise?
Finally, his gaze met and lingered on the old thief. Although he was old and gray-haired, this may have spoken more of good than bad in his craft; although the unfamiliar shape of his eyes evoked mixed feelings in Genza's heart, at least it was perfectly clear that he was not a fool, that he held his place by right, and that he gave the impression of a person who could be followed.
Closing his eyes for a moment, the son of Abbas takes a deep breath and says:
- Here I was born - here I found my purpose. I am ready.
Respect for the hierarchy was nothing new, neither in his life as a banderlog nor under the Anuzian sun and moon - it was simply a fact of life, dating back to ancient times, and nothing more.
Perhaps, if he were more persistent and cunning, he would certainly have asked a question in the style of "which of the rules has higher priority? 🤓" - implying that there may be cases where the well-being of Asuguh conflicts with the personal interests of the head of this organization, and would receive the answer "we will call you back 🤙"; in this situation, as the clan leader, he would simply be tired of such a banal nitpicking of centuries-old laws, with which no one had any problems before the arrival of this vague smart guy, and now suddenly a loophole has been found - what would we do without your brilliant input.
Genza glanced at the guild members again, briefly passing by the androgyn and lingering a little longer on the girl - serious faces, strange clothes, and impeccable posture, but still quite normal people, without demonic horns or strange mutations on their foreheads. The old woman, however, was not particularly to his taste, but in principle, if you focus on certain features, ignoring some others... - he interrupted this little mental exercise without showing it.
His gaze swept over the "slave trader" who had brought them here like cattle - despite how he was dressed and what he had done with his hair, he looked more or less like a regular working man. Or was that the point, to maintain the disguise?
Finally, his gaze met and lingered on the old thief. Although he was old and gray-haired, this may have spoken more of good than bad in his craft; although the unfamiliar shape of his eyes evoked mixed feelings in Genza's heart, at least it was perfectly clear that he was not a fool, that he held his place by right, and that he gave the impression of a person who could be followed.
Closing his eyes for a moment, the son of Abbas takes a deep breath and says:
- Here I was born - here I found my purpose. I am ready.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
