"I've chosen this one," Igula shook the pen in his hand. "No matter what's written with it, it will firmly catch the reader's attention."
"Really?" Ash blinked.
"Why do you look so surprised?"
"I thought you wanted the pen that 'makes whatever you write come true' or 'makes people believe whatever you write'..."
Igula waggled a finger, "For a sociologist like me, it's not about distorting reality or gaining trust, but rather about attention—as long as I can take away your attention, I can control your fate."
Ash looked towards Harvey, the necromancer who took out a sewing kit similar to those for mending clothes—Heaven knows why the Kingdom of Gospel would have such a thing; given their productivity levels, shouldn't the common people be wearing a new set of clothes every day, never needing to wash them?
"I've chosen—"
"Stop, I didn't ask you," Ash, crossing his arms, signaled a refusal. "I don't want to hear about special uses for a sewing needle."
