Chapter 1963 - 534: And the King Is Stabbing the Dagger into His Own Chest

The capital city of the Ryan Kingdom, Roland City, Lower City District.

In the cafe named copper pot, the air was as stagnant as a pool of dead water.

The smoke from burning low-quality tobacco swirled under the low ceiling, mixed with the smell of over-brewed coffee grounds, causing people to wrinkle their noses.

This should have been a place for citizens to relax and unwind, but the atmosphere was unbearably oppressive at the moment.

Around sat a few citizens dressed somewhat decently.

And the reason Newcastle judged them as "decent people" was because there was still a cup of over-brewed coffee on their tables.

Newcastle sat beside a wobbly table in the corner, took out his pocket watch for the third time, then looked around again.

"Saint Sis above... can't these guys be a bit more punctual?" he complained in his heart, but then felt relieved thinking that perhaps there wasn't a clock in their shed.

"Boss, I really need a raise."

A deliberately lowered yet undisguised anxious voice came from the bar.

Newcastle turned his head slightly, seeing the young waiter holding a dirty rag, looking resentfully at the manager who was calculating accounts.

"Do you know how much a loaf of black bread costs now? A full twenty copper coins! Saint Sis above, after working hard for an hour, I can't even afford a piece of bread, let alone a cup of coffee I make myself!"

"Then get back to work!"

The plump manager didn't even look up, his chubby fingers swiftly writing in the account book.

"If you think it's too little money you can leave, there are plenty of vagrants outside eager for this job. If you work hard enough, serve the guests well, they'll naturally give you a tip. Don't complain to me here, the purchase price of my coffee beans has gone up too!"

The waiter opened his mouth but finally suppressed his discontent and furiously wiped the counter that was already worn white, as if it were the greasy head of the manager.

Newcastle withdrew his gaze, no longer looking there. However, even if he intended to look away, he couldn't avoid the irksome voice coming his way.

"Our national treasury is like a wine barrel with a hole in it..."

The hushed voice from the next table suddenly drilled into Newcastle's ear.

It was three men in worn woolen coats, looking like fallen minor civil servants or teachers.

One of the men with a face full of stubble lowered his voice, his face clearly showing discontent.

"Every drop of tax goes in without a sound, but three drops of debt come out from the bottom."

"That's a miracle as well."

Another man nudged his glasses up his nose, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"After all, our great Baron Wickton invented a machine that can keep running forever. As long as our baron increases the production of their copper coins, our kingdom can keep running indefinitely."

This sounded like self-mocking humor.

However, the third comrade's emotional intelligence was really low, like Miss Marie, who was "naturally empathetic" yet lacking in tact, his sudden question brought the topic to a halt.

"Then what's the fuel?"

The air was quiet for a while.

The three of them exchanged glances in silence, then the first to speak shrugged, speaking uncertainly.

"Perhaps... us?"

Newcastle, who was eavesdropping earnestly, almost couldn't hold back his laughter; the Ryan people were seriously joking, though the joke was somewhat of a trip to Hell.

Fortunately, the three comrades also laughed themselves, not noticing the anomaly on the face of another gentleman nearby.

But presumably, even if they noticed, they probably wouldn't care.

As he judged, the entire Roland City had become a powder keg locked by shackles, and the shackles had been heated red hot.

Everyone was waiting for the fuse to burn to the end, urging the spark at the corners of the streets and alleys.

At this moment, the waiter who was scolded earlier walked over with a dark expression, placing a pot of coffee refills on the table heavily, splashing liquid onto the surface.

His actions were evidently tinged with grievances of life, even if he himself didn't realize it.

If it were in the past, Newcastle might tell a joke to make him laugh. Like "Hey, buddy, why is the black coffee I ordered on your face?"

But now, he said nothing, instead uttered a soft "Thank you" in the gentlest voice, even though the waiter, who was already turning away, didn't hear it.

Just at this moment, the wooden door of the cafe with a bell hanging on it was pushed open, and a gust of wind carrying the scent of lime powder blew in.

The stone mason Bar, covered in dust, walked in, wearing an ill-fitted overcoat and a low-pressed cap.

Seeing this man who clearly couldn't afford it, the owner behind the bar frowned, staring intently at him until he sat across from a decent gentleman, then turned back to his account book, continuing to calculate the endless accounts.

"You're finally here..." Newcastle glanced at his clothes, lowered his voice, and said, "Next time let's meet at a pub instead."

"Sorry for causing you trouble." Bar said quietly, with a look of constraint on his face.

"It's alright."

Newcastle shook his head, putting down the coffee cup in his hand.

Since those two reckless guys broke into his apartment last time, he had decisively changed the meeting point to here for safety.

Yet now it seemed, these people not only lacked time consciousness, they didn't even have a slightly decent piece of clothing.