In the dim, damp alleyways of the city outskirts, the group of robbers huddled together under the flickering glow of a lone streetlamp.
Their breath misted in the cold air as they whispered in harsh, trembling tones.
The night had been nothing short of disastrous for them, and all eyes turned to the tax collector—the very man whose greed had dragged them into Vonjo's path.
"This is all your fault," hissed the tall man with a jagged scar across his cheek, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles went white. "If you hadn't told us that the 'target guy' was some spoiled rich brat with more money than brains, we wouldn't be in this mess!"
The tax collector, a rotund man with a nervous twitch in his left eye, raised his hands defensively. "H-how was I supposed to know he's a monster in disguise?! He looked normal! Rich! Arrogant! He even had a pet frog, for crying out loud! Who brings a frog around if they're dangerous?"
