Chapter 12: A Trouble
"Boss, look over there. That little prick is not dead yet. Tsk," a sickly, tattooed man sneered, his voice filled with malice.
The intimidating figure beside him, a man wearing a mask, turned his gaze toward Igaris's back.
Instantly, his fingers clenched, and the clay cup of foul liquid in his hand shattered, spilling its contents onto the floor.
Then he spat coldly,
"Let's go, we need to teach that fuc*ker another lesson for ruining our fun last time."
"Yes, boss," his men responded in unison.
The gang of thuggish men, with their unruly, wild appearances, grinned viciously, their expressions twisted with cruelty.
They were the kind of scum that thrived in the filth of this lawless land, comparable to vermin lurking in the gutters.
Yet, few dared to stand against them. Their gang had the backing of a powerful individual, and that alone made them untouchable.
Meanwhile, Igaris walked toward his home, unaware of the danger lurking behind him.
His mind was clouded with thoughts of growing stronger. He was tired of living at the mercy of others.