Crusher threw demon bait into yet another garden, having long since lost count of how many they had passed through.
Then she smashed a window in a nearby building and pushed the young knight inside.
“That makes three minutes.”
They would be able to catch their breath for as long as the demon bait remained effective.
Crusher kept time with her own internal clock and followed the knight into the building.
What came into view was a room that looked fairly luxurious.
“Huff, huff.”
“Want another stimulant?”
“N-No.”
“Fine.”
Surely they had not gone so far as to put poison-gas traps inside rooms too.
Following a narrow-minded but not entirely baseless line of reasoning, Crusher removed the gas mask from her face.
Her uncomfortable breathing immediately eased.
“Sniff, sniff. Good. No poison here. Take yours off too.”
“…Yes!”
At her words, the young knight removed the gas mask and gasped for breath.
The sound was much rougher and deeper than Crusher’s, echoing through the room.
“Your lung capacity is pathetic. If you make it back alive, work on it.”
“…Yes, ma’am!”
“Nice that you listen well. Or is it because you’re not from the North? Northern knights were all rude little shits, so I never liked them. You listen well. I like that.”
A slight smile appeared on the young knight’s face at Crusher’s insults.
Maybe the lack of oxygen had made the kid’s head foggy, because no matter what Crusher said, the knight could barely string together a proper response.
It was rather cute, in its own way.
Northern brats would…