Roland looked at Remiel strangely and asked, "Take that leaf off your face."
"Why?" Remiel frowned, expressing his clear hesitation on the matter.
If they realize that he's the Prince who died 900 years ago, only God knows what they would do to him.
"We can't let unknown suspicious people roam around the city without us having proper knowledge about them," Roland explained the situation in a professional tone, his voice firm and his gaze unwavering.
On one hand, Remiel was happy that his city's police were at least competent enough, but on the other hand, he was also in peril because of the same.
Remiel hesitated for a second, weighing his options, whether he should just run away, act crazy, or just give up.
Running away was the least viable option with this weak body of his, and acting crazy would just spiral him down in this situation even further, forcing them to use other, physical methods for this.
With him having no power, strength, status, or money, he had no other choice but to comply with his demands.
'Maybe they'd just pass me as someone who looks similar to the Prince.' He didn't even bother thinking that they wouldn't know about Prince Remiel since they were not very far from his mausoleum.
Someone was bound to connect the dots.
He took a deep breath, calmed himself down, and slowly removed the leaf covering his face.
"Oh, you actually look… decent," Roland said, blinking twice. "Got any story to tell about those 'clothes' of yours?"
'Not even a little hesitation?' Remiel creased his brows, confused about this situation, but also a bit relieved.
"I have nothing for you, sir." He answered, trying to lower his interaction as much as possible.
Roland nodded as he took out the small metal box that everyone else was also using and raised it in front of his face.
A few seconds later, a sudden flash of light was emitted from the back of the box, and Roland put the box back into his pocket.
"Alright, I have your photo now, tell me your name, and you are free to leave."
Remiel had already thought of this since it was bound to happen sooner or later.
He couldn't just use his real name, as that would catch some attention, so he had to prepare something in advance to not blurt out something completely ridiculous in the heat of the moment.
"Lucien du Valtes," he answered with a flat tone, causing people around him to pause their tasks and look at him funnily.
Remiel didn't get what was so funny, which Roland instantly chimed in to explain, "That's... quite the name, Mr. Valtes. Are you sure you aren't lying?"
"I am completely sure, sir." Lucien was a name that was very dear to his heart.
He was Lucien's teacher who taught him about everything. From etiquette to combat, there was nothing that Lucien lacked.
His talent was also on par with the likes of Cyrus, which was a pretty big deal.
Despite being a mere Viscount, the contributions Lucien had made in his life were insurmountable, and if not for his untimely death on the battlefield protecting Remiel, he did not doubt that Lucien would also become a Titan before himself.
And thus, Remiel chose this name as a way to honor him.
Before anyone could say anything further, Roland suddenly heard the radio producing noise, prompting him to immediately rush to it, ignoring everything.
He picked it up, and it was an emergency summons from the department.
As the transmission went on, Roland froze, a bead of sweat sliding down his forehead.
"Uh-huh!" "Grave robbing?" "Remiel's memorial?"
The people around were confused, as they only caught a few words, but Remiel who heard this immediately knew that the officer in front of him has been somehow been informed about his situation from that weird noise-producing device.
While Roland was on the radio, the officer who had gone to ask for clothes quickly returned with a pair in his hands.
Roland put down the radio and immediately shouted, "Throw them to the guy, and everyone get in the car, we are returning to the station."
The officers around him sensed the panic in his tone and immediately followed suit.
The officer in charge of his clothes immediately threw the clothes to Remiel, shouted, "You, wear those clothes somewhere private and vacate this area as soon as possible.
"We better not catch any of you next time we are here." He shouted before getting back into the car, as they immediately drove away without wasting much time.
Remiel caught those clothes rather swiftly as he pondered, 'So those carriages are called 'cars'.'
He found it quite weird that they just found something wrong with the situation, given their level of advancement in artifice.
Last night, there weren't any guards or lamps in there either.
The whole situation reeked of conspiracies and ulterior motives, but unfortunately, Remiel felt like a mere piece in this whole situation.
As he saw others leave the vicinity, he silently entered back into the forest and changed into the clothes provided by the officer.
It was a simple, plain, white shirt, and a pair of old, worn-out jeans.
Unfortunately, he still had to use banana leaves as a replacement for underwear.
Getting out of the forest and going back into the civilization which he had no knowledge about, Remiel had a new short-term goal now.
Hunt for food.
He had no idea about the situation in the woods, and whether he could even find something edible there, but he had no plans of risking his life for this.
That would be his last resort, in case he really could not find anything in the civilization.
Roaming around in the streets, he found it quite enviable, given how convenient everything had gotten.
Comparing the speeds of the carriages with the cars was like comparing a newborn versus an Exalt.
The communication have also seemed to have gotten instantaneous, as he saw Roland talking to someone in real time.
There was no comparison at all.
The world has changed so much in 900 years.
Sigh!
'Unfortunately, I still have to learn a lot.'
Which is why he made another goal to gain as much information about the world as he could.
But all that was left after he satisfied his hunger.
And not too long after, he spotted something.
A reflection in a mirror.
'Is that… me?'