Warlord

Flames danced in the fireplace, roasting the pine logs and squeezing more turpentine.

The graceful tall candlestick with its flickering candle flame replaced the electric lighting and hid behind a “Mona Lisa” oil painting on the wall. The oil painting was clearly a fake, but the painting was exquisite.

A man in a silver suit and black tie stood in front of the oil painting. He had a cane in his hand, which he used to support his tall body.

There was an angel carved into the handshake of his crutch, with his wings outstretched as he tried to fly higher. However, there were burning flames below. From the flames, several chains appeared and tightly bound Angel’s legs, preventing him from escaping. Angel’s expression was full of pain and struggle, unforgettable.

This image of the Angel of Fire’s blade technique was meticulously detailed and detailed, but it felt extremely depressing. Few people would be willing to bring such repressed works with them. Clearly, the owner of the cane had a unique taste.

At this moment, the door of the room was pushed open. A white-bearded old butler walked in and respectfully said to the man: “Sir, the guest has arrived.”

“Mm, let him in.” The man said indifferently. His voice was deep and deep. Every word was filled with a strange rhythm, like the echo of an empty valley. The sound of his voice echoed in the people’s ears for a long time.

The butler retreated. A moment later, the door was pushed open again. A young man wearing a gorgeous mask and a black suit was ushered into the room by the butler. The butler left. The masked man smiled and said, “Respected Hades, I have a message with me this time. I believe your dark merchants will be interested in buying it.”

The man named Hades turned around with an “Oh.” In the candlelight was a handsome face. His golden hair was neatly combed back like sunlight, and on his perfect face, a pair of sapphire-like eyes stared intently at the masked man.