The next morning, the sky was just beginning to pale with the first hint of dawn.
When Alistair awoke, his little maid was already gone. He was used to this; Abby always managed to dress and leave the room without disturbing his sleep.
But what was he to make of the neatly folded, freshly washed pair of stockings placed beside him on the bed? Was she suggesting he should carry them with him again?
The thought sparked a sudden, unpleasant mory. After slapping Riven back in Silversky Town, what had he used to wipe his hand?
Abby’s stockings...
He ticulously replayed the details in his mind, trying to recall which players had been present. He gritted his teeth, seriously considering if he’d need to find an opportunity to silence them.
Lost in these thoughts, Alistair started to get out of bed. He had just pulled on his shirt when the door swung open. His little maid entered, carrying a basin of hot water.
"Master~ Ti to wash up."
Abby’s velvety voice called to him as she placed the basin directly in front of him.
"Ah... Abby, about these stockings..." Alistair began, choosing his words carefully as he washed his face.
"Does Master not like them?" Abby blinked her large eyes, glancing at the stockings he had clearly touched, then fixing her gaze intently on Alistair’s face.
"Well, it’s not that I don’t like them, it’s just..."
Alistair felt his face grow hot under her stare, and his words beca hesitant. Before he could finish, he saw a blush rise on Abby’s own cheeks as she took his hand. She then guided it to rest on her thigh, which was clad in a black stocking.
"Abby understands what Master ans... Y-You... you can take them off yourself."
With that, she sat obediently on the edge of the bed. Her face was scarlet as she delicately lifted the hem of her long maid’s skirt, raising her feet and placing them gently on Alistair’s lap.
"Take... take them... off?"
Alistair stared at the feet resting on his legs, his mind going completely blank. He had no idea where to put his hands.
A short while later, after his little maid had fled the room with a crimson face, Alistair found himself holding a pair of black stockings, still warm and carrying Abby’s faint, sweet scent.
It wasn’t his brain’s fault, he told himself. His hands had a mind of their own.
After a breakfast served by Abby, Alistair rode out alone into Frostcrest.
His little experint in the bedroom—seeing if removing Abby’s stockings would grant him Villain Points—had yielded no reward. This ant he needed to spend the day figuring out the precise logic of the System’s point allocation. He was already planning to try a new thod that night to see if he could trick the System.
As he mused, a familiar figure in the periphery caught his eye.
It was the chubby kid.
A grin spread across Alistair’s face as he urged his horse forward.
It was the sa familiar alley, with the sa familiar chubby kid.
"It’s you! The Lord!" the boy yelped, pointing a trembling finger at Alistair. The mory of the stolen candy, which he had saved up for so long to buy, was still fresh. "M-My Lord, I don’t have any candy today! I only have a little money for my mother’s dicine! Please don’t rob , wah... sob..."
Alistair inwardly marveled at how the kid had revealed his entire situation without any prompting. He couldn’t help but find it amusing. Faking a fearso snarl, he threatened, "Money, you say? Then I’ll take your money! Hand it over! If you don’t, I’ll rob you every ti I see you from now on!"
The boy trembled in fear. The Candy Bandit was going to rob him every single ti? Did that an he’d never get to eat candy again?
Though terrified, the chubby kid managed to plead through his sobs, "P-Please... Mr. Robber... c-can you not rob this ti? My mama was beaten up... I have to... have to buy dicine for her... sob..."
This was the second ti the boy had ntioned buying dicine for his mother. The words finally caught Alistair’s full attention. Seeing the child’s genuine grief, he imdiately softened his tone.
"Tell what happened. Why was your mother beaten? Explain everything clearly, and I won’t rob you."
The chubby kid rubbed his eyes, looking at Alistair in disbelief. He stamred for a mont, his expression growing even more sorrowful. "My father died in the battle. Your knights brought our family the death gratuity, but... but so bad n found out. They forced their way into our ho to steal it. When Mama wouldn’t let them, they beat her."
"Your father died in battle?" Alistair frowned. He hadn’t expected such a coincidence, that the boy’s father was one of his fallen soldiers. Nor had he expected that, despite his stern warnings, soone would dare to steal the compensation funds from a hero’s family.
"What was his na?"
"My father’s na was Byrne Kritt. I’m Aubrey Kritt."
"Byrne Kritt..." Alistair murmured the na, and the image of a kind, honest-looking middle-aged man surfaced in his mory. He was one of his sword-and-shield infantryn, not a knight. He had died heroically during the breakout at Sablewood Creek, helping Alistair and his knights fight their way free.
"Why didn’t you report this to ?"
Aubrey looked up at Alistair, hesitated for a mont, and then said ekly, "Because... because Mama said the Lord is a very busy man... For you to send us the gratuity was already an unimaginable kindness. We shouldn’t trouble you any further."
"And," Aubrey paused, biting his lip before continuing, "and the bad n said they were backed by a Knight, so they weren’t afraid of anyone coming after them."
"Mama said you wouldn’t punish a Knight just for us. But she doesn’t bla you, my Lord! We’re just common freen. After Father died, it was already a great rcy that you sent the money at all."
Alistair’s first reaction was disbelief. He was strict with his knights, but he also paid them well. There should have been no reason for one of them to stoop to this.
But his expression quickly darkened. This was an accusation he couldn’t afford to ignore. He had to investigate it himself.
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