"Safe travels, Lord Faust."
The receptionist at the Executioner's Guild bid farewell to the black-haired youth with utmost respect, her bow remaining until the sound of his footsteps had completely vanished.
On the sofa by the reception desk, an adventurer craned his neck towards the door, finally asking the receptionist after a while, "Yor, is that Faust the real deal or a fake?"
"He could kill you with one hand," the receptionist rolled her eyes, "Does it matter if he's real or fake?"
"Of course it matters! Do you even know who Faust is?"
The adventurer exclaimed, "Let me tell you, three years ago—"
"Ah, yes, I know, I know. Three years ago, he single-handedly slaughtered dozens of powerful dragons and fought the Duke of Wyvern to a standstill... You all have repeated this countless times."
