******The moment Glenn’s eyes opened, a vast, spacious hall unfolded before his eyes.It was massive and intimidating, and not too brightly lit.The most noticeable thing was the group of thugs encircling him. It was not just a dozen or twenty of them, but at least a solid hundred.It was a menacing display of shaved heads, scarred faces, inked skin, flashy gold chains, and cold, bloodshot eyes.The air was thick with the stench of cigarette smoke, sweat, and something even fouler… heavy enough to choke on. The atmosphere throbbed with hostility, so dense it stuck to the skin like grease.They all glared at him, as if he were a rabid dog who had just chewed off their collective pride. Their eyes screamed for retribution, that if looks could kill, Glenn would’ve disintegrated on the spot.Glenn stood alone at the center of that furious crowd, appearing as if he had just casually strolled into a den of a hundred wild animals and requested a place to rest.Still… he remained unf

******All eyes shifted to Glenn. But he remained where he was, right in the heart of their outrage, even casually rubbing the back of his neck like someone sheepish over an awkward slip, mixing up someone’s name at a dinner partyThen he gave a tiny shrug, as though trying to say: “I said what I said.”“Dragons are mighty, celestial creatures,” he said casually, his voice light and reasonable. “Sons and daughters of dragons are supposed to be earth-shakers, right? Bearers of divine blood, and masters of sky and flame.”He paused, his lips quirking slightly.“But that Indian Peafowl I met yesterday doesn’t quite give off that… dragon’s son energy.” He tilted his head toward Dalton, tone still maddeningly casual. “So I helped him out. Corrected the error. I mean… It makes more sense for his father to be a Fish, right? It is way more believable lineage.”You could hear a pin drop.The air thickened again… now electric, trembling with the threat of violence.Then…Crack!The so

******One heartbeat, the mob of gangsters was mid-charge. But in the next, they were statues… frozen mid-step, their fists suspended, and mouths still open from their last scream.Their faces twisted… not in confusion, but in the unmistakable mask of dread.Because they had just remembered… Dalton, their Supreme Lord.In their blind fury just a moment ago, they had charged ahead at Glenn without his permission… allowing rage to trample over reason.The realization hit them like ice water, causing their hearts to stutter in their chests.Although technically, they were fighting on behalf of Dalton, that wasn’t how things worked in the underworld. You must not act outside your leader’s order. The consequence is death.Slowly and fearfully, the gangsters’ gazes, almost in unison, slid toward Dalton.But then… Dalton was smiling.It wasn’t the warm smile of a furious person, no.This was the smirk of a man who had just found something so comical and funny.He showed no anger a

******For a long, hanging moment after Dalton’s decree landed, the entire hall world seemed to stop breathing.No one breathed, no one blinked. Not even the slightest shift in stance.Everyone just stood there rooted in place, their eyes locked on Dalton and their expressions slack, as if their minds had been unplugged.This lasted for what felt like an eternity before, finally, as though the sound they just heard had only just registered, Dalton’s words echoed in every skull like a great iron bell:‘Hundred strokes of spiked canes across the back.'The sentence hung in the air, not like a whisper but like a great iron bell ringing inside their skulls… deep, resonant, and inescapable.The words echoed, bounced, and reverberated until they carved themselves into everyone’s minds.Just moments ago, they had all believed that Dalton was about to let Glenn go scot-free, perhaps even with his bizarre streak of fortune intact. But no… Dalton wasn’t.Instead, he had turned the tabl

******Normally, Glenn sensed people approaching long before they even breached his personal space… his awareness was sharp enough to feel the change in the air itself. But right now? His mind was so wrapped in disbelief that he hadn’t even noticed the presence approach him.A menacing gangster stood before him, his skin a mural of ugly tattoos that looked like they had been drawn by someone who hated both art and people.In his hand was a thick, braided rope, the fibers rough. He grinned viciously, licking his lips in a slow, revolting motion, as though Glenn was a rare cut of meat and he had the privilege of preparing it.Before Glenn could even react, another thug… the second sidled up with an eager glint in his eyes. The rope-holder jerked his chin toward Glenn.“Take that backpack off him. I don’t want it messing with the punishment,” he ordered, his voice a gravelly rasp that carried a hunger for cruelty.Beside them, the third thug was holding what could only be described