Chapter 41: Just Take One Hit, You Little Punk (1)
The intent of the man sitting silently in front of Keter was blatantly obvious. The man wasn't interested in how strong he was, but rather who he was.
As if staring at me like that would suddenly give you new information.
Arbold fixed his gaze on Keter and glared, trying to intimidate him.
What a pathetic move.
Keter kicked the table leg toward him.
Thud!
Arbold took the corner of the table right in the gut and slumped forward, his head hanging low. One of his underlings, who had been standing nearby, pointed his spear at Keter.
I've become quite mature. Even with a weapon pointed at me, I’m sitting here generously not making a fuss.
“Keter?!”
Luke looked at Keter, as if he was asking why he did that.
Whose side is this kid on? Even if I threw the first punch, he should be backing me up. I thought he just looked young, but I guess he’s actually a kid. Well, that's typical of nobles, isn't it? I had some hope since he’s Gramps Jacques’ son, but... Tsk tsk. Should’ve known better than to expect anything; it only leads to bigger disappointments. He’s not good enough for my attention.