Mysterious: The Innate Sacred Body of Destiny

Chapter 392 The Selection of the Butler

"Audacious?" Belin repeated, somewhat puzzled.

While it's reasonable for an employer to want their butler to be brave and able to handle emergencies, it still felt a bit strange to hear this request from Lorne, the "Hero of the East" who had just experienced the "Duke's Assassination" incident.

"I've become quite famous lately, which has attracted a lot of attention. It's inevitable that I'll be targeted by some people with ill intentions, so—"

"When encountering special situations, I hope my housekeeper can remain calm and have enough judgment and courage to handle them, rather than easily panicking."

Lorne explained his request tactfully, a wry smile appearing on his face at the opportune moment.

"Okay, I understand." Belin understood what Lorne meant, and at the same time, she sighed inwardly, "Being a celebrity is really tough."

"We do have the type of people who meet your requirements. They are all well-informed and composed gentlemen, but correspondingly, their salary requirements will be relatively high, with an annual salary of at least £100."

That's a bit pricey—over £100 means a weekly wage close to £2 or even more. I heard from Ted that a decent butler's annual salary is around £65.

Moreover, the butler has virtually no personal expenses; his food, clothing, and daily necessities are all provided by his master. This 100-plus pounds is pure income—Lorne quickly calculated the price in his mind.

Forget it, as long as someone is capable enough to manage the villa and protect me from trouble, this expense is nothing.

After a two-second silence, Lorne gave a hearty smile.

"No problem, as long as it's a qualified butler, all of this is negotiable."

"Please wait a moment, would you like coffee or black tea?" Belin asked warmly, her attitude even more attentive than before.

"A cup of coffee, please."

A little while later, a steaming cup of fragrant coffee was brought over.

Lorne picked up the exquisite porcelain cup and took a small sip.

It's alright. While it can't compare to top-tier hand-drip coffee, it's still above average. Lorne isn't really good at appreciating these things; to him, unless you add sugar and milk, all coffee tastes pretty much the same.

He looked up and gave Belin a gentle smile.

Belin blushed and lowered her head in a fluster. After a while, she came over with a stack of neatly organized documents, sat down on the single sofa next to her, and began to introduce herself: "After screening, here are three butlers who meet your requirements. Let me give you a brief introduction."

"The first one is Mr. Robert Elvis, 48 ​​years old." Belin pulled out a file. "He once served a baron who, during the previous financial crisis, invested most of his fortune in stocks and bonds in several overseas colonies. As a result—you know, that storm swept through many similar investments. The baron suffered heavy losses, was on the verge of bankruptcy, and had to dismiss most of his servants, including his butler, sell his mansion in the city, and move back to his ancestral property in the countryside."

Mr. Elvis resigned as a result. He was a calm and experienced man who requested an annual salary of £115.

"The second one is Mr. Asnia, 55 years old. He once served the Viscount Yorkville and is a very experienced butler."

Later, due to the viscount's failed investment in mineral exploration, the family's finances faced a severe crisis, forcing them to sell land and estates and lay off a large number of servants, at which point he regretfully left. During those ten years, he was employed by two wealthy men, making outstanding contributions to the management of their families.

"Why did he leave both of these wealthy men one after the other?" Lorne keenly grasped the key point.

"The first wealthy man moved his entire family to Byron for business reasons, while Mr. Asnia did not want to leave Backlund and therefore resigned voluntarily. The second was due to issues of family handover; the new head of the family who took over the business had a steward he trusted more."

"I see—" Lorne nodded slightly.

"The third one is Mr. Walter, 52 years old. His former employer was a baron who was keen on risky investments. That baron invested in a company in a gold mine in the South Continent, but it turned out to be a business scam. The baron was swindled out of most of his fortune and could no longer maintain a decent life. He is asking for an annual salary of £120."

After the introductions, Belle handed over the stack of documents: "Mr. Scott, are you interested in any of these three? Or which one would you like to choose?"

Lorne took the documents and glanced through them briefly, but did not make a decision immediately.

"Can I speak with them in person?"

After all, you're hiring a housekeeper for yourself, so first impressions and feelings are also important.

"That requires some arrangements; they're not currently with the association," Belle replied.

"Uh—" Lorne thought about his recent schedule.

"How about 9 a.m. this weekend? At the association."

"Sure," Belin nodded. "We can provide you with a quiet meeting room."

"Thanks."

Lorne then took out three pounds in cash from his wallet and placed it on the table as a deposit and consultation fee.

Before leaving, he seemed to suddenly remember something, stopped, turned around, and showed a slightly apologetic expression.

"I suddenly realized I had done something very rude."

"We've been chatting for so long, and I still haven't asked you your name, miss?"

"Uh ah————" Belin was stunned for a moment, then her face flushed red, and even her ears felt hot.

She nervously clutched the hem of her dress: "Be-Belin, just call me Belin."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Belin."

With that, Lorne gave a slight bow, a standard gentlemanly gesture, and then took his leave.

Belin escorted him all the way to the front door, watching his tall figure disappear into the bustling crowd, her gaze lingering there for a long time.

What a charming and approachable hero—no wonder he's so famous and so many girls like him—Belin thought to herself.

Inside Hugh and Fors' rented apartment.

"well----"

Fors, dressed in her signature slightly wrinkled loungewear, was sprawled on the sofa, her chestnut hair loosely draped over her shoulders. She stared blankly at the ceiling and let out a sigh as bland as salted fish.

"Fors, have you finished your manuscript?" Hugh stood with his hands on his hips, watching his friend who was slacking off like a supervisor.

"I'm writing, I'm writing—" Fors gave a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"But I see that on your manuscript, there are only three more sentences added from yesterday until now, and two of them are crossed out." Hugh mercilessly exposed her, walked to the desk, picked up the poor manuscript, and shook it.

"Stop!" Fors cried out, covering her face with a pillow. "You're killing the creative soul of a great writer! I need time to build up, I need the right atmosphere, I need—a little release of pressure!"

As she spoke, her eyes darted around, and she abruptly changed the subject: "Honestly, why didn't Scott wake me up when he came to visit the other day? I have so many questions for him; maybe I could get some inspiration from him—"

"You were sleeping then," Hugh stated the fact expressionlessly.

"You could have woken me up! It's not like I can't wake up!"

"Didn't you say yourself that you were too tired from staying up late last night and needed to catch up on sleep, and that you weren't allowed to answer anyone who called you?" Hugh said irritably.

Because of Lorne's instructions, Hugh hasn't gone to the factory to help these past two days. And because she provided the masked man with some "secret" information about Scott and received a considerable reward, she now has some free time.

So she decided to use this time to give her friend a good dressing down.

"To pay off the money you owe Scott as soon as possible, Fors, you really can't keep slacking off. Your inbox is overflowing with requests for your manuscript from your editors."

"Hugh—you can go take on other jobs, there's no need to keep watching me here—" Fors said resentfully, peeking out from behind a cushion, "like helping some lady find her lost pet cat, or mediating a family dispute in the next block." "No, things are special lately, Scott told me to keep a low profile, and this is also to teach you a lesson about your procrastination habit," Hugh said firmly.

Fors collapsed back in despair.

Seeing his friend's expression, Hugh thought for a moment and changed the subject: "However, speaking of commissions, I recently heard through some channels that someone is offering a high reward for clues about 'The Fool' —"

Before Hugh could finish speaking, Fors, who had been slumped over like a rag doll, suddenly sprang to his feet.

"I think I should just keep writing! I suddenly feel like I'm bursting with inspiration!"

"Hugh, you should stay home and keep me company."