Night.
In Florence City, at the very end of Rotten Pine Alley, stood a dimly lit courtyard.
Inside the main house, several candles burned, illuminating the papers that the immobilized Lawrence, seated in a wheelchair, was examining at his desk.
Occasionally, Lawrence lifted his head to glance around the chilly room, sighing involuntarily before returning to his papers.
Just then, the candle flames on the table flickered erratically as if a breeze had passed through.
"Hmm?" Lawrence looked up warily, glanced at the tightly shut doors and windows, furrowed his brows, and quickly scanned the room:
Wooden racks creaked mysteriously, there was a rustling from the corner, and in unseen places, there was a grating sound of something heavy being dragged.
This!
Lawrence's brow furrowed deeply, and in the next moment, he took a deep breath and called out, "Since you've come, why skulk around? Do you, wizards with your extraordinary powers, truly fear an old man who cannot even stand?"
