The Lord Demon King is Unfathomable!

Just as he was trying to suppress his goosebumps, Miss Marie felt her heart skip a beat, and the folding fan along her lips trembled slightly.

The air inside the carriage became thick and sultry, with an ambiguous atmosphere fermenting in the candlelight.

"Are we… talking about the play?"

"Of course, I hope the bell sound of the Saint Roland Grand Theatre won't disappoint us. But I think that might be difficult, considering you just came back from Miss Kaylee's theater."

Newcastle retreated gracefully, not intending to make more advances here; after all, he wasn't after a night's pleasure.

His goal was clear—

The title of knight!

As the warmth gradually receded and just when Marie was about to say something to retain this intoxicating tenderness, the moving carriage suddenly jolted hard.

The large inertia nearly threw Newcastle into Miss Marie's arms, the horse's neighs, and the coachman's exclamation shattered the car's romantic atmosphere.

"What's going on?" Newcastle drew back the curtain, glaring at the coachman in front and scolded, "You rough guy, you scared our lady!"

"Sir! It's not my fault, the road ahead is blocked!" the coachman explained nervously, preparing to turn the reins around.

"Block the road? Here?"

"It seems to be… the Royal Guard."

Royal Guard?

Newcastle's heart skipped a beat; weren't they his good friend Sir Skidgin's men? Why were they law enforcing here?

Thinking it was his people, he felt relieved and then gave the bewildered Miss Marie a reassuring glance, providing both a sense of security and emotional value.

"Leave it to me, I'll handle it."

Leaving these words behind, Newcastle jumped off the carriage.

His boots stepped on the damp cobblestone road, elegantly tidied his collar, and under the coachman's admiring gaze, walked towards the blocked theatre.

The entrance of the Saint Roland Grand Theatre remained brightly lit, but there was a group of soldiers who shouldn't have been there.

They wore crimson uniforms, guarding the castle like lobsters, the glint of bayonets in their rifle muzzles deterred those discontented citizens.

Sir Skidgin was standing at the front.

Under the light of the torch, Newcastle immediately recognized that familiar face.

And in an instant, his gentlemanly demeanor, full of heartfelt affection, dissipated like mist blown away by the wind, quickly turning into a slick and worldly manner.

He wrapped his coat tightly, his steps quickened until Sir Skidgin also noticed him.

Without saying anything, he skillfully slipped a high-grade cigar from his sleeve, discreetly tucking it into Sir Skidgin's leather glove.

"Hey, old friend, what's the act today?"

Sir Skidgin glanced down at the high-quality cigar, seeing it was his favorite type, and naturally slid it into his palm.

However, although he accepted the gift, his expression remained icy as the cold wind.

"As you see, I'm on duty."

"Duty? Why suddenly on duty today..." Newcastle was a little anxious, giving him a pleading look for leniency, "Please, brother, I've bought the tickets, all to accompany an important lady, can you not show some respect and allow us some convenience?"

"Respect? Newcastle, this isn't about respect."

Sir Skidgin said teasingly, then gestured towards the tightly shut door with a business-like attitude with his raised whip.

"The 'bell sound' from Thunder City allegedly attacked our castle, our Majesty doesn't like it, and Lord Bishop dislikes it even more. We suspect there's also Chaos's corruption in it, so a 'theological investigation' must be conducted immediately, please return."

What the hell?

The King watched it too?

Who performed for him?

Newcastle panicked.

He didn't care what the play was about; even if it was a monkey doing somersaults on stage, it didn't matter. What mattered was Miss Marie sitting in the carriage.

He had painstakingly made this connection, and if he got turned away at the entrance, all his efforts to build up his image in front of the lady would be ruined!

"Don't be like this, Skidgin."

Newcastle's tone carried a hint of anxious pleading, even invoking past camaraderie.

"We've slept on the same drinking table, even if there's no performance, just let us in to sit a while, have a cup of tea, I can explain to her that all the group members fell ill today, and we can curse the theater's boss together for being blind. That lady is nobly connected, I can't let her turn back in the cold wind, can I?"

Seeing this Campbell person still being relentless, Sir Skidgin's business-like demeanor finally turned into annoyance.

I'm on duty in the cold, and you're flirting with a girl from Roland City, huh? What does sleeping at the same drinking table mean? Just because you bought me drinks, now I'm your buddy?

Look at the clothes on yourself.

"Nobly connected?"

Sir Skidgin sneered, his whip gently tapping Newcastle's shoulder, as if shooing away an ignoble fly.

"Newcastle, don't take yourself so seriously; let me tell you—you are just a merchant that sells sprinklers!"

"Even if you snuck into the Third Level Conference, don't really think you can sit on equal terms with us. My advice is, don't get involved in this mess, roll away as far as you can, I don't want to visit your house in this uniform next time!"

This sentence contained seven parts disdain and three parts sentiment. If not for having drunk together before, the gun butt would already have been swung.

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