The man was named Nicholas, a name that sounded benevolent, yet he was as cunning as a monkey.

Sixth Hoffman always said that about him.

Nicholas had little patience for Sixth Hoffman’s storytelling. "If you don’t have any reliable information, just call our advisor and ask him."

Sixth Hoffman thought about it. "Alright, find someone to invite our advisor out."

Someone volunteered enthusiastically.

Nicholas even added a reminder, "Remember to call out to him softly when you get there, not to startle him like last time."

The man grinned sheepishly. "Got it, I know."

Having said that, he ran towards the cleanest-looking tent situated more or less in the middle.

Meanwhile, Sixth Hoffman was still drinking and eating meat on the side.

The liquor was their own brew, and the meat came from mutant beasts caught nearby.

They were picky about their food and couldn’t get used to the plain taste of nutrient supplements.

Not long after, the man who had gone to fetch the advisor shouted, "He’s coming!"

Sixth Hoffman threw a bone in his direction, "I told you to keep it down, keep it down!"

The bone hit the man squarely on the forehead, bounced softly, and flew off to the side, landing perfectly on a cyan-colored robe.

The bone slipped off, leaving an unsightly grease stain on the robe.

The man covered his mouth with his hand and coughed lightly twice, his complexion growing a shade paler.

Nicholas slapped Sixth Hoffman’s shoulder, "Be careful."

Sixth Hoffman didn’t dawdle and immediately admitted his fault, "Sorry, sorry, I wasn’t paying attention."

The man known as "the advisor" looked to be just over twenty, wearing a robe and a jade crown, with his brows lowered and his face pale as if he seldom saw the sun.

He resembled a noble young master from ancient times with his orchid-like grace and scholarly, slender elegance.

He was out of place amidst their surroundings.

Even when he spoke, it was with a gentle and soothing tone. "It’s nothing."

This made the bunch of rough men, who had just been boisterously drinking and cursing, rather embarrassed.

Sixth Hoffman put down his propped-up leg, Nicholas tossed aside the bone he was holding, and the others quickly cleared a relatively clean spot for the young master to sit down.

"Please sit here."

The young master in cyan lifted his robe to sit, maintaining a straight back throughout, possibly having caught the scent of the smoke. He apologized and then turned to the side to pull out a handkerchief embroidered with white magnolias, covering his nose and mouth before coughing again.

He coughed several times, his face as pale as frost.

Sixth Hoffman hastily kicked the person next to him, "Quickly put out the fire."

In a bit of a panic, the man grabbed a water jug nearby and poured its contents onto the flames.

Water met charcoal, and with a sizzle, the fire was extinguished, only to produce a cloud of smoke.

Even more suffocating for those nearby.

The man was at a loss.

Nicholas explained with a smile, "Without our leader, we’re a bunch of clumsy folks. Please, forgive us."

Of all their group, it was the crafty Nicholas who best mimicked such refined speech.

The young master in cyan shook his head, no displeasure visible on his face, his eyes emanating a serenity and tolerance similar to that of a practicing monk in a temple, "Just call me Sheffield."

He spoke with a measured pace, treating others with kindness and courtesy.

The biggest difference between Sheffield and Sheffield Benedict was that the former was a true gentleman, his nature clear as the moon and his air as elegant as orchids. The latter, on the other hand, was a counterfeit gentleman, outwardly cultured and scholarly, but cold and detached, never treating others with sincerity, always calculating in all his dealings.

Sixth Hoffman coughed a few times, "Alright, Sheffield it is, we’ll all listen to you."

"You" was the most "polite" word Sixth Hoffman could think of.

"The reason Nicholas and I asked you to come out was to inquire about your lord’s matters."