With an unusually shrill scream, the gargoyle swooped down. Its iron-hook-like claws seized Sir Burnley by the shoulder and lifted his round body into the air. The industrialist had not reacted at first, flailing his arms and legs in panic as he tried to shout, but once he saw his predicament clearly, his face went pale with terror and he froze.
Everyone looked up. Though they despised him inwardly, they knew they would not have fared any better if they had been the ones taken.
Brando held his sword in one hand and stood alone before the army. Without looking back, he waved forward and shouted, "Gargoyle, Uom! (Witch Tongue: Come back!)"
Then he turned around again. As if the sea had receded, more than a hundred people took a step back under his gaze. When the Noble Private Soldiers retreated, they revealed Charles behind them, held at swordpoint by countless spears.
"Don't move. I surrender!" The young wizard's attendant raised his hands without a second thought, making it clear that he had no intention of resisting.
I say, could this guy at least show some backbone? Brando could not help sighing and shaking his head at the sight. Charles, however, acted as though he had not seen it. Instead, he winked at Brando, meaning, The rest is up to you, my lord. I've done all I could. He nearly made Brando furious enough to drop dead.
At that moment, the White Mane riders were entering the scene. They formed a semicircle behind Brando, seemingly intending to take control from the disorderly Noble Private Soldiers.
Lord Golden Fruit saw this from a distance and could not help wanting to curse aloud. On the one hand, he had lost Makalu. On the other, Burnley, who had always advised him, was now