Warriors will die if they charge.

The event gradually came to an end as the crowd celebrated and placed bets, and as Marcus threw the headless corpse into the arena and entered with his sword.

Kuran was already quite strong, and with Red Claw's help, he could easily handle Owen, a half-baked spellcaster, beast tamer, and giant wolf. The scene where Marcus smashed Lambert's head with a single bench was truly horrifying.

Kyrie Irving, who values ​​life, backed down.

However, it's simply unbelievable that Kuran could leave unscathed after provoking someone.

He twirled his longsword, flashing it with elegant flourishes. After Owen offered an apology and compensation, he shrugged and chuckled coldly for a moment, then started running forward without warning, like a comet impacting its path.

Clearly, Irving didn't have a bench that could smash a solid head in one blow, and he didn't even expect Curran to dare to attack after Irving expressed his humility. He was knocked to the ground in an instant.

Kuran pressed his knee down on the young master's shoulder, watching as the animal trainer, who was about to come to the rescue, was stopped by Marcus. He then grabbed Owen's chin, which was like a work of art, and examined the pink tongue hiding in his mouth.

"You just said that offending a nobleman means having your tongue pulled out. That's the rule of the Griffin Kingdom. My rule in Kuran is this: if you try to pull out my friend's tongue, I will pull out yours."

The militiaman turned his head and looked at the scabbard at the beast tamer's waist: "Marcus, get me that knife."

"Okay, you'll have to buy me a drink later."

Marcus Ben's sword, hanging low to the ground, pointed to the dagger at the beast tamer's waist:

"Friend, I want to go home and take a shower right now. Don't cause any more trouble. Hand over the knife. We all know you used that knife to cut open Wang Guan's stomach. If you continue to resist, Kuran might not mind giving you a stomach exam."

"I would be very honored by this, just like every slave who serves a nobleman." Kuran's cold smile sent chills down one's spine.

The spectators in the stands were cheering for Kyrie Irving, shouting that he shouldn't lose again, that the softie from the North couldn't even last one round.

"Hey, damn it, how come your pup is even worse than Red Claw? Dogs are just like people, cowards."

"Can't you be tough for even a second? Just one second!"

After much hesitation, the animal trainer decided that the employment agreement was over. The people in this godforsaken place were all crazy; instead of running away when they encountered a professional fighter, they continued to place bets.

He threw the knife at Kuran's feet and said coldly, "May I leave now?"

"Get lost, you're just a clueless lackey."

Kuran drew his knife, pushed his knee down slightly, and scanned Irving's handsome face, searching for a suitable angle to strike.

"Don't worry, kid. I know you're a pharmacist who likes to feed crowns things that paralyze the body. My incision is precise and steady. You'll only feel a cool sensation in your mouth for a moment. Just be a tough guy and endure the pain, pour some strange horse urine into your mouth, and it will be over soon."

"I am a nobleman, a nobleman of the Griffin Kingdom, spare me..."

Kuran's eyes hardened. Before Irving could plead, he grabbed Irving's chin with his left hand and shoved the dagger into his mouth. Before Irving could even scream, a blood-sucking tongue was already hanging from the blade amidst the cheers of the crowd.

He tossed the tongue-tipped blade on the ground like it was trash, wiped the blood off his hands with Owen's nice clothes, and spat into the small mouth that was wide open in pain.

"Kid, don't think I don't know the dirty tricks you've played in business in town. You've been giving people drugs and strong liquor when negotiating contracts, using sweet talk to lure girls, withholding workers' wages, and even stealing children's windmills. You're a real beast."

Kuran cursed a few times, stood up and kicked Owen in the side a few more times, making a cooing sound, and caught the flying red claw with one hand.

He looked back and saw Marcus whistling nonchalantly, completely ignoring Owen's groans on the ground. He realized that this man who used to work silently at the docks was a good friend.

They're ruthless and have a hard heart.

"Let's go, the others will handle it. Actually, the militia has been eyeing this idiot for a while now."

"Can we go home now?"

"It's so early, going home? No, no, no, my friend, you've helped me a lot. Tonight I'll treat you to some fun at Japas's tent. I heard there's a new girl there, beautiful and young, who can keep you entertained from day to night."

With his beloved fighting rooster in one arm and Marcus on the other, Kuran walked out of the ravine amidst the jeers.

As they passed by Nelson, who was preparing to deal with Irving, the two exchanged knowing smiles and winks, realizing they had made a good profit this time.

Walking down the street, Marcus suddenly asked, "Stowe, what exactly did you do to the crown? If you drugged it, wouldn't it have been noticed?"

"I wouldn't use such underhanded tactics in cockfighting without drugging someone." Kuran paused, his gaze lingering on the open wooden door of an unremarkable two-story hut.

A fist-sized brown cloth bag, embroidered with strange vine patterns on the front, swayed slightly in the yellow wind of dusk.

It was an amulet filled with spices, dried vines, and water ghost gills. The wealthy people in town would ask Granny Kechicha for one to protect their homes from mosquitoes, plagues, and diseases.

"Grandma Keshachi?" Marcus asked.

Keshachi, an old woman with black hair, brown skin, and a flat nose, whose origins are unknown, seems to have lived in the town long before the miners were abandoned.

Some say she is the Queen of the Water Ghosts, who helps the town escape floods, mosquito diseases, and plagues, while also using mysterious witchcraft to take people's lives.

But who she really was, where she came from, no one knew the truth. Only the sorcerer Ike from out of town kept muttering that Keshaqi had filled the town with superstition and unreliable illusions.

"Yes, Stokshachi asked Granny to take away the crown's soul, which is why it acted so foolishly during the match." Kuran withdrew his gaze and smoothed the brightly colored feathers of the fighting rooster in his arms:

"As for the cost, Stowe only had enough money to buy a decent coffin."

Well, cockfighting is indeed a profound and unfathomable art, even resorting to underhanded tactics like poisoning.

However, Marcus believes that the crown's sluggishness is not entirely due to Granny Keshachi.

This became something that could not be falsified. Potions, animal taming techniques, curses... all sorts of methods were possible, but perhaps there was another possibility—that all of the above were the reason for the Crown's defeat.

The two walked along the town's main road, passed a square with a chestnut tree, and arrived at a sparsely populated tent area.

The tent of Japas, the cradle of desire.

Under the spacious canopy, Japas would use bamboo poles to prop up tents made of translucent silk and gauze. The rich light of dusk would shine on the open space in front of the canopy, and in the barely visible shadows, graceful dancers would dance in the translucent tents. People would line up, and the wealthy would pay three silver coins for the chance to have a intimate conversation with the lovely dancers.

As for those without money, they can only enjoy the free service offered by Japas, watching how this male dancer in the tent can steal your soul with a simple hook and a thrust of the hip.

The original owner had never been to Jasper's tent because he always felt that the madam with the gray eyes of a sand fox had a strange look in her eyes. Every time he passed by with anticipation, it was as if his clothes were being stripped off under Jasper's watchful gaze, and she would softly pant and twist her body, beckoning him to come closer.

While they were having a great time playing in the tent, a knife would suddenly jump out and cut off little Norfitz's hands and feet, then shackle him and send him to the great desert in the south to learn to dance, sing in a high-pitched voice, and wait for his grandfather's love with his butt sticking out.

Of course, the main reason is—no money.

The prices here are high, but the service is top-notch. The "girls" all have beautiful long black hair, captivating deep-set eyes, and healthy tanned skin. After Japas's rigorous training, they are all stunning beauties capable of driving men crazy.

But things are a bit strange at the Japas tent today.

A plump old woman with a wooden box in front of her sat by the awning, wearing an inappropriate off-white dress.

Her lace hat brim was tied with a silk ribbon, pressing down her long, snow-white hair. Her broad body made one wonder how long the wooden stool beneath her could support her.

She held a wooden frame with copper corners, which was a portrait of a beautiful woman wearing a printed dress, with a layer of powder on her face, bright red lips, a touch of rouge on her cheeks, and a faint circle of pearl powder around her eyelids. Her long flaxen hair was tied over her shoulders, making her look like an exquisite doll.

Kuran nudged Marcus in the back with his shoulder and whispered:

"The girl in the picture is the one who recently arrived. I heard she's pretty and voluptuous, but she's a bit stubborn and doesn't make a sound. But I guarantee she'll make you feel good."

"Forget it, I just came to take a look." Marcus shook his head. He didn't want to catch an STD; he just wanted to see Japas's dance moves. Since they weren't open today, he might as well go home.

"Gentlemen, who wants to go first? Five silver coins a time. My granddaughter Tira guarantees you'll be satisfied."