He wanted to ask Ryan many questions about the plan, about what he used to get these guys to support him, and, above all, how he knew exactly what was going to happen.

But for now, he had to wait. Besides, too much doubt among the members was not good.

No one who had not been approved by one of the previous members could enter his Fallen Tree Mirror, especially if one of them had approved him before their death. It was almost a requirement for them, a law, that anyone approved by a member before their death had to be invited and accepted into the group.

Therefore, if Arnold approved him, then everyone had to accept him.

Returning to the main topic, Martin shook his head to clear his mind of so many thoughts and nodded to Roger.

"Lord Roger, it's a pleasure to see you again. I'm sorry I can't stay..."

"Don't apologize," Lord Roger interrupted him. "This time, we caught several traitors thanks to Prince Ryan, so go and heal him. At dawn, I will support you before the castle," he assured him with certainty.

"Very well, sir. Thank you very much. I hope to see you soon then," Martin replied, and under the watchful gaze of Lord Roger and his allies, he left with Ryan's entire army.

Lord Roger watched them until they disappeared into the darkness of the night.

The onlookers had already disappeared, so he walked towards where the explosion had occurred.

'He's a little guy with guts,' he thought.

Even saying that seemed like an insult to the amount of guts this "little guy" had. An entire plan that almost led to his death was orchestrated solely to obtain irrefutable evidence against the traitor and the traitors.

During this last hour, he read a couple of documents and learned about the contempt Ryan suffered at the castle, to such an extent that the king himself tried to hide the news that he had almost been killed inside the castle.

'He knows that if he doesn't do something as big as this, everyone will assume that he did nothing and that it was the work of Miss Cecily or his army,' he thought.

He considered him a rather cunning guy, but several times crazier. Roger didn't think it was worth risking his life like that, just for that, but apparently Ryan did think it was worth it.

'Only he will understand his reasons.'

He decided to return to his mansion.

"Sir, is it okay to trust that prince like that? He..."

"He's not that good, right?" Roger finished his words.

"Yes." The speaker smiled sheepishly.

"I thought so too until a few hours ago. Now I'm convinced this guy is more impressive than the rumors say. In terms of guts, he's already beaten all his brothers, despite being the youngest."

"Even the eighth prince?"

Roger's footsteps briefly stopped at the mention of that prince, but he continued walking normally after that.

"Good question. I wonder that myself." He replied casually, an inconclusive answer.

--

"Are you telling me that all of this was this little guy's plan?" While Roy healed Ryan with spirituality, Martin, Samuel, Cecily Alan, and the others sat around the office, talking to him about what had happened.

"Completely his doing." Martin replied confidently.

"Didn't they say he was useless?" He shook his head and looked at Cecily and Samuel. "And you two really managed to fool me. I worried so much about nothing. Tsk, bastards," he said and took a sip of alcohol from the jug beside him.

"Haha, excuse us, Old Roy." Samuel apologized, and Cecily got up and went over to Roy.

"How about that? We did well, right?" she asked.

The only one she didn't ignore and always respected in the organization was this white-haired old man.

While the rest looked at a Cecily completely unknown to them, Roy complained again.

"Tsk, tsk. Bastards, you young people really want to kill this bunch of bones with a heart attack."

Once again, he took a sip of alcohol.

And Cecily took his response as an affirmative, so she puffed out her chest proudly, but as she did so, she let out a sound of pain.

"Ah..."

Roy looked at her. "Hm? What the hell are you doing moving around when your wounds haven't closed? Get back to your place!" He shouted, splashing her with alcohol.

Cecily grimaced. "Can you stop drinking alcohol for once in your life, Old Roy?" She complained, wiping herself down.

"Hahahaha..." Roy started laughing. "Stop drinking? You're crazy, girl. Get back to your place." He shouted, taking another big swig.

That was him.

A professional alcohol drinker. And of the strongest kind.

No one in the organization could keep up with him.

No, in fact, no one in the whole city could.

And likewise, no one knew if he was drunk or intoxicated, because he was always the same. Who knows what his natural state was.

After a few minutes of silence, during which everyone looked at each other with nothing to say because the other two groups were still stunned and processing the situation, Roy broke the silence.

"If you like looking at each other's faces so much, why don't you do something useful and start writing the report we're going to give? Do you really think we'll get to the Castle and they'll validate our mission just by saying something?"

His words frightened several of them, who immediately got down to work.

Cecily just went to eat fruit, but the rest had work to do; they couldn't afford such a luxury.

The hours passed until dawn.

The spirituality capsule in which Ryan was enclosed worked with strangely pure water that could be breathed because when it entered the body, it transformed into pure spirituality.

It is one of the greatest innovations of recent years, as someone could transform spirituality into water, although its only function was to heal. Many attempts were made to give it other effects, such as strengthening, but they failed miserably.

This is because all that spirituality inside the capsule cannot be "bought" or obtained from the environment; it comes from the person handling it, in this case, Roy.

He must be strong enough to have enough spirituality to activate it. Once activated, he must inject spirituality, which is not lost. The purest part enters the affected person's body and heals them; the rest returns to its original owner, who must simply replenish the rest through training.

For people as powerful as Roy or Martin, doing this is child's play.

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