"Donald, I heard—Matris—you died there," He Youji'er adjusted the collar of his trench coat—an item he had snatched from a passing noble, his wrinkled face full of regret as he said, "What a pity, false news, that's one."
"Last reminder, my name is Conrad." The mercenary group leader wasn't in the mood to correct the other party's bizarre use of the Kruz grammar, only nodding briefly for the lizard not to deliberately pronounce his name with a rolled tongue.
"It's all the same." He Youji'er glanced at the Dark Priest behind him, his face full of self-satisfaction as he asked, "I thought—you wouldn't come—you all."
Conrad snorted coldly: "You used the excuse of investigating the Silver Elf King's Grave, but in fact, you seem very content being a bandit here." He looked around: "The things you snatched, worth quite a lot of money, I guess?"
Lizardman He Youji'er's face wrinkled even deeper, he shook his head, enduring it: "No, no. Serious business—I am doing."
