The enraged mercenary clenched the weapon in his hand.
The distance between the two parties was now less than two steps, and with his own arm's length, as soon as he made his move, the spiked iron ball would immediately fly towards the head of that boastful fool!
The next moment, that disparager would collapse in a pool of blood, regretting his previous actions.
However, just at the moment he was about to strike, the mercenary holding the scythe hesitated again.
Although the guy in front of him wasn't doing anything, just quietly watching him, for some reason, it elicited an intense feeling of danger within him, as if he had been targeted by a fierce beast!
The mercenary holding the scythe didn't think he was truly what Jude described him as: a bully whose bark was worse than his bite.
In fact, his hands were stained with the blood of his kind, and not just a little.
It was precisely because of this that he was able to sense the looming danger!
