Founding Festival Preparations (3)

That night.

Even though the sun had long since set, the lights in the workshop district stayed on late into the night.

The artisans preparing for the Founding Festival worked through the night as if it were day, and hammering never stopped even past midnight.

And then there was Belkman's workshop.

Its door was firmly shut. Even the manastone lamp hanging under the signboard was dark.

Inside that building,

a faint light still leaked from the deepest part of the workshop.

“Damn it.”

Belkman ground his teeth and rummaged roughly through the workbench drawers.

He hurled the papers into the flames. The documents blackened by the fire vanished without leaving even a trace of ash...