He's been working here tirelessly for quite some time; in the end, he can't let someone else reap the rewards, can he?
Sir Arthur is not the kind of person who blindly goes in circles, completely indifferent to his personal gains and losses.
The white roses in Kensington Garden are in full bloom, the wind passes through the trellises, yet the fragrance blowing on Arthur's face always makes him feel as if someone is slapping him.
Arthur remains seated, his cane resting on his knees, appearing calm, seemingly lost in thought, but in truth, every footstep resonates clearly in his ears.
He hears the glass door of the garden gently open, and then, as he anticipated, the steady sound of leather boots stepping onto the gravel path.
"Sir Arthur Hastings?" The greeting sounds deep and magnetic, with a hint of a German accent.
Arthur looks up, indeed, standing before the garden is the legendary Baron Stockmar.
