Before long, Oliver's carriage arrived at its destination and halted. Stepping down from the vehicle, Oliver strode forward, his back straightened and his chin raised. He squinted against the sunlight and tilted his head, peeping at the base's roof.

     Oliver stands before his designated base, gazing up at the towering structure. The base is a sprawling complex of red brick buildings surrounded by a high wall encircling the entire perimeter. Oliver can see the tops of the towers poking up above the walls with soldiers holding muskets and bayonets.

     Oliver ascends a short staircase with four long steps, followed closely by his fellow guards. As they pass through the doorway, Oliver veers left and walks down a narrow corridor, his boots thudding on the stone floor. He then pushes a wooden door open and steps into the briefing room.

"Sir Oliver!" one of Oliver's comrades called out urgently, causing the others in the room to jump to attention.

"It's Sir Podeshire!" another guard reminded them, his voice raised. "Get up, you fool!"

"Quick, quick, quick!"

     As Oliver enters the briefing room, he cannot help but notice that many of his fellow guards seem to be slacking off. Some are lounging on sofas, others are sleeping in their chairs, and a few are barely paying attention at their desks. However, as soon as Oliver appears by the doorway, the guards quickly spring to their feet and rush to claim their chairs around the central table, jostling one another.

     Disappointment wrote itself across Oliver's face. His eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown, and his lips tightened into a thin line. He watched as the guards scrambled to arrange themselves, his eyes half-closed in frustration.

     Oliver took a deep breath to steady his nerves before approaching his comrades. He silently made his way to the end of the long, narrow table and took his seat. Then, Oliver rested his eyes and cleared his throat, putting a fist before his mouth.

"I... I am proud of your progress, juniors," Oliver stated firmly, his fist coming down on the table with a thud. "...Today's performance was much better than last time. But let me clarify: don't let me catch one of you sleeping again..."

The junior guards nodded in agreement, some murmuring their assent. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, as we read in the newspaper this morning, another person has gone missing," Oliver continued, his expression serious. "Can anyone tell me the last time the subject was seen?"

"...The last sighting was on the roadside of Central Leprenian Park, sir," a man sitting near Oliver replied politely, raising his hand.

"That area is not well-guarded, which means we need to move all of our troops there immediately," Oliver said decisively. "But first, let's stick to our daily routine. Francis, remind the group what we do."

"...Oh! Uh..." Francis hesitated, unsure of the answer.

Oliver rolled his eyes in disappointment before taking a deep breath. "At sixty-thirty in the morning, we pray. Then, we'll get permission from a Lieutenant to begin our daily routine, who will inform the Commander on our behalf. Next, we'll walk to the City Hall and march around it counterclockwise, led by me, your senior guard. Finally, we'll head to the assigned area and begin our patrol."

     After concluding his explanation, Oliver and his troops went through their daily routines. Now, they stand in formation on a sidewalk, each holding a musket in their right hand. They remain motionless, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble as the scorching sun rises into the centre of the blue sky.

     While the sun rose higher in the sky, the chilly morning air gave way to intense heat. The city slowly came to life as people woke up and began their day. Smoke billowed from chimneys and rooftops as buildings bustled with men. Carriages clattered down the streets, mingling with strolling pedestrians, wandering merchants, and playing children.

     Finally, after what seems like an eternity, lunchtime arrives. Oliver and his troops retreat to their base, finding themselves in the cafeteria. They sit at their tables, gobbling down their meals as sweat drips down their faces.

"Ugh, today was brutal!" one of the younger guards complained as he downed a glass of beer.

"I hear you. Last week, it was a storm, and now we're dealing with this heat," a blonde guard replied from across the dining table.

"Well, at least we get to enjoy the outdoors," a brunette guard joked, slightly laughing.

"The outdoors is more unbearable than the underworld itself," the blonde guard retorted sarcastically. Turning to Oliver, he asked, "Wouldn't you agree, Sir Podeshire?"

Oliver, slowly chewing his food, closed his eyes and wiggled his brows.

The blonde guard nodded before turning to his fellow guards. "So, how are your wives, boys?"

"Fine," one replied.

"Good," said another.

"Pregnant," a third chimed in, grinning.

"Amazing," the blonde guard smirked. He then leaned in towards Oliver, lowering his voice. "Sir Podeshire, if you don't mind me asking, do you have any children?"

     Oliver's breath caught in his throat as the question hit him like lightning, causing him to stop chewing. His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth tightened to the corner of his face. The silence stretched on as his troops stared at him. Oliver then cleared his throat and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"...I am only twenty years old, sir. How dare you."