Spade closed the door behind him, walking straight toward the couch by the side. And he sat down, exhaling in satisfaction as he leaned back.
"Greetings, guildmaster."
Gislow scoffed, facing forward, gaze focusing on the sparring mercenaries in the sandy arena below.
The old man licked his dried lips.
"We're alone."
"Apologies. How've you been, father?"
Hearing Spade's question, Gislow's face lit up, and he smiled warmly. He quite liked that word 'father.'
He'd loved the word ever since he adopted Spade, whose parents died untimely in a war where Gislow had been opportuned to participate when Spade was only a boy.
Now, after raising Spade with love like his own child for years, that boy had grown to become a man. Even a father.
Gislow's smile widened. When he died, Spade, who was currently the vice guildmaster, would be the one to inherit his guild.
Gislow cleared his throat, and he replied gruffly:
