The Hell in Hydral’s Eyes - I
"In my opinion... Young lord," Lawrence, perched on Ansel's shoulder, scratched its head. "If you're looking for a sheep-selling shop, why not ask me?"
"I didn't come to the black market specifically for this."
Ansel, slicing the fruit on his plate, spoke calmly, "It's just a whim."
"...A whim, huh."
The plump rat climbed down from Ansel's shoulder, obediently lying at the edge of the table, not saying much else.
Three years ago, my young lord, wielding Gleipnir, cut from one end of the street to the other, seemingly on a "whim" as well. Does this mean another grand spectacle is about to unfold?
— That would be splendid!
Of course, while Lawrence enjoys interesting events, it doesn't mean he's deliberately hoping for Ansel to provide entertainment.
The rat, wagging its tail on the table, lifted its tiny head to look at the ever-perfect young lord, sighing inwardly.