Chapter 23: Marching to the Mountains
"Sigh, if only our territory had someone who could prepare magical soil."
Vaerik sat behind his desk, his fingers unconsciously tapping the tabletop, his tone sounding like a casual complaint.
But his gaze occasionally swept toward Hilco, who was sitting at a small desk nearby.
Hilco was bent over, writing rapidly, calculating fishing yields and smoked fish production, the dark circles under his eyes even heavier than the previous night.
Hearing Vaerik's complaint, he suddenly stopped writing, pressed his fingers against his temples, trying hard to stay awake.
Did he hear wrong?
No, it definitely wasn't an auditory hallucination.
Because this was already the fifth time today he had heard Vaerik say this.
Even with his sleep deprivation, he wouldn't have five hallucinations, right?
Hilco's hand paused slightly, finally confirming one thing.
This was clearly a deliberate hint!