"Mercenary Maxwell," Lorenzo called softly. "Welcome."
The Count was a rather tall man. And his white blazers and milk, jewelry-coated shirt only seemed to enhance his tall figure.
The man appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, with almost faded brown hair, blurred by streaks of gray that outlined his oval face. The bangs of his brown hair fluttered over his striking blue eyes that had a calculating edge to them.
As the man walked down from the stairs with a calm smile, he made a small gesture with his hand, inviting Maxwell to take a seat on one of the sofas in the living room.
Maxwell nodded and made his way toward a sofa, sitting immediately.
"When Gislow gave me his word, I didn't exactly believe the old man would do it, but to think he actually persuaded you to accept my request… I am grateful," Lorenzo chuckled, making his way to the sofa opposite Maxwell. And he sat down, relaxing his back with a soft sigh. "Welcome to my humble abode, Mercenary Maxwell."
