"Pleasing? You must be joking!"
A spoilt brat, disheveled and accompanied by an enchanting woman, with an unusual flush on his face, was apparently under the influence of some special drugs.
Frightened before he even had time to draw his weapon, he was already infuriated, and roared:
"Where are the Alliance and the Special Section? We pay our taxes, so where are they when we are under attack? A bunch of waste, get them to slaughter these guys from the Cult of Evil God!"
Used to his high and mighty position, now suddenly confronted with someone telling him he needs to play the fool and please the other to survive?
Who could endure such humiliation?
Saying this, he took out his mobile phone to call the Special Section, while others tried other means of communication.
Gary Smith, in the guise of the archbishop, looked down at their struggle without rushing to take action. His gaze was calm, tinged with a trace of pity.
Like a shepherd leading his flock for God!
