Under the pitch-black night sky.
Brysen strode swiftly, carrying Devlin, and arrived in a forest one kilometer away from the base.
"We had an agreement, either I get the answers I want, or see the Divine Dragon Tripod, or I'll crush your neck," Brysen warned, dumping the sickly Devlin into the passenger seat and starting the car.
"Relax, I'm a man who always repays his debts," Devlin shakily took out the cigarette that Brysen Beaumont had given him and placed one in his mouth.
"Damn! The saint leader really knows how to strike at one's heart!"
Click!
Devlin lit the cigarette, putting it to the flame and taking a gentle drag.
A look of satisfaction spread across his face.
It seemed as if with the smoke entering his body, the pain in his body eased somewhat.
"Your father is the Medicine King; now you tell me, what kind of poison is this?"
He reached out his hand, leaning back in the seat.
Limp and weak.
The night wind was cool, like a soothing massage to the face.
