"How dare he! How dare he touch my things!" A delicate glass was hurled to the floor without warning, its crimson wine splattering against the wall, resembling human blood.
With a gloomy expression, Gis glared at the messenger who had brought the news and bellowed, "Does he think that without evidence, I can't do anything to him? Does he believe that because he's about to die, he can do whatever he pleases?"
The messenger had to bow his head even lower, for the message he carried was not good news at all.
The convoy from the Shireck Consortium that started from the Northern Ridge iron mines had been raided on a road nearly devoid of bandits, and not even a single survivor returned.
The perpetrator remained unknown, but those invaluable goods, the steel that was extraordinarily costly during wartime, had vanished into thin air.
