"Yes." The Steward nodded and walked back into The Myriad Pill Tower.
"Mr. Ronan, may I handle them?" Shaun Faulkner glanced at Quentin Faulkner lying in a pool of blood, his expression complex, before walking up to Ronan to ask.
"That's easy enough," Ronan said, his smile vanishing. He gestured toward The Myriad Pill Tower with a troubled expression. "But the damages... all the things that were smashed in my Tower?"
'It's not like The Nether-prison is short on cash,' he thought, 'but what's owed is owed. They have to pay for everything, down to the last coin. A few of those items they just smashed were valuable vases, you know. It's breaking my heart.'
The corner of Shaun Faulkner's mouth twitched. "We will take full responsibility, of course."
'Even though Quentin Faulkner is dead, he must have hoarded a considerable amount of wealth over the years. It's the perfect fund to compensate The Myriad Pill Tower.'
