Colin was slightly taken aback when he heard the name Heatherway.
It took him a moment to remember that Tiberium Heatherway was the name of the current City Lord.
The traditional nobleman hadn't accomplished much during his tenure, nor had he made any major mistakes. He'd had a stable, unremarkable reign for several decades.
As a result, he had little presence in the eyes of the average citizen. Some Wandering Poets even gave him the nickname "White Bread."
"Did something happen?" Colin asked. "Also, I thought there was supposed to be a period of mourning in the city for the next couple of days. But the Gate of the Undercity tavern still seemed pretty lively."
"It's nothing serious. Mr. Heatherway was over eighty," Edwin said. "He had a heart of gold. As for the mourning, this is normal too. 'I'd rather my death not prevent the people of the city from having a drink'—those were his exact words."
"Alright. We might go see the funeral then," Colin nodded.
