Inside the carriage, silence prevailed. The sound of wheels rolling over cobblestones was clearly audible. Outside, London's morning fog was gradually dissipating under the rising sun, and the streets began to grow lively, with newspaper boys calling out, blacksmiths hammering, and vendors shouting as they pushed carts, creating a cityscape both familiar and noisy.
Arthur looked out the window and suddenly let out a light laugh, turning his head back to look at Agares.
"You're right; the memory of London is short-lived." His tone was lighthearted, seemingly unaffected by the Devil's sneers: "But this precisely means that its forgetfulness isn't irreversible. Thank you, Agares. I was uncertain before, but seeing you like this, so upset, I'm afraid I might finally be in for some good luck."
The carriage slowly moved along the damp cobblestone road, gradually revealing the long-lost scenes of Fleet Street outside the window.
