"He doesn't care about that little bit of money."
Roland took a sip of calming herbal tea, decidedly rejecting Fafnir's assumption.
"What he's concerned about is, after the revolution has been suppressed, how to bring Alfheim to the surface and make its system acceptable to others."
"Are you joking?"
Fafnir raised her voice and asked in return.
To have a bunch of feudal reactionaries, who had tasted the pain brought by the revolutionary plague and had gone to great lengths to suppress it, accept another separatist government established by aliens and, at least nominally, a republic? The Roland who made such a suggestion clearly needed a doctor.
"I am quite serious, and in perfect health, both mentally and physically."
Roland took three apples out of the fruit basket nearby and placed them on the table: one was rotten, one was worm-eaten, and the other was somewhat shriveled.
"Which one would you choose?"
Without a moment of hesitation, Fafnir picked up the shriveled apple.
