By evening, Teclos was exactly where Luther had told him to be.
On standby.
The words sounded simple, but the reality of it was far more irritating and embarrassing. He sat in a room reserved only for him, surrounded by shelves, ledgers, sealed folders, and stacks of documents. The room smelled of ink, old leather, and dust. A large desk stood near the center, with fresh parchment already waiting for him.
This was where he spent most of his time when Luther did not need him outside.
Every mission had to be written down in detail. Every location. Every target. Every corpse. Every unusual piece of mana, every resistance he faced, every useful thing he found. Once Teclos finished, one of Luther's servants would come, take the report, check it, summarize it, and deliver the important parts to his master.
There was a reason for that.
