The curator's heart turned cold at that moment. Upon first hearing that something had happened to the collection, he had been beside himself with ecstasy.
He had thought it was a windfall sent from the heavens to cover up his crimes, imagining perhaps a dozen artifacts had been stolen. Instead, a god of slaughter had come knocking at his door, and his very life was now gripped in the other's hand.
Terrified of death, he hurriedly spilled everything, not daring to conceal the slightest detail out of fear. After all, he only fenced stolen artifacts; his crimes didn't warrant execution.
Chapter 333