The steward of the third infantry brought him to his new workstation--a warehouse full of stored weaponry and tools. More than half of them would need repairing, and from how the steward addressed him, it appeared his task to do so.
Warden couldn't help but let out a sigh. "I cannot work in here."
The steward, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline, frowned. "What do you mean you cannot work here?" he said. "I thought you were in the front lines for about a couple of weeks, you should know the penalty of disobedience."
Warden clicked his tongue. "I mean I cannot work in this dark and gloomy warehouse."
"There's light contrast in place," the steward said, and even activating one to give a better view of the wide warehouse. Warden didn't think it was only the goods of the third infantry stored here.
