Damon had once again dug a hole for himself. Honestly, he felt like his propensity to jump into danger was ten times higher than your average suicidal maniac.
At the top of the hill, Twilight glanced at Ilukras with an inquisitive expression.
"Hey, you speak multiple languages—what did he say?"
Ilukras tilted his head. "Hmm, I'm not sure if I'm hearing him right or if my Orchis is rusty… but it kinda sounds like he just challenged the orc war chief to a hand-to-hand duel."
Twilight stared from above, wide-eyed.
"He just… threw the staff? What is he doing?"
Wimpy whispered, "He's bluffing. Right? Right?"
Saint narrowed his eyes, looking at the spectacle beneath. "I don't think so..."
On the ground, Aleph—who was weakly lying there, drained of mana—raised his hand, gasping for air.
"Serves him right… this is instant karma... damn orphan."
Dred kicked him, taking advantage of his helplessness.
"Should we just toss him to the orcs?"
