From the far right, a loud crash came from the crates crashing and the choral curses of rowdy men blaring from the sudden commotion.
Nathalie snapped to the direction where the twins gazed, and it happened to be a man, who now slumped amongst the splinters and wooden debris.
He got surrounded by a group of thugs.
They wore baggy clothes with a couple of harnesses and straps wrapped around their bodies— wielding bludgeons and even spiky clubs with them.
The man, in honey-kissed skin on his face with bloodshot eyes and disheveled fringes and beard, stepped forward, and stomped on him as he snarled, "I'd give you within three more weeks, be prepared if you don't reach the mark."
He spat out a cough of blood as he winced in pain, but he was still able to mutter a few words, but considered inaudible.
