At that moment, Rolf the Wind Ghost felt as if he had returned to that unforgettable night:
With his throat ripped open, he had lain dying in a pool of blood amid the ruins.
Blood filling his mouth and throat had flowed backward into his windpipe, making him cough repeatedly and preventing him from breathing smoothly on his own.
All he could do was activate his psychic power, sending air inch by inch through the blood, through his windpipe, and into his lungs.
As if breaking through crimson shackles.
Just like now.
"Calm down, Mute."
Inside the warehouse, Gollor gripped Rolf's shoulder tightly, bringing him back from his daze.
The zombie nervously glanced around and lowered his voice, afraid someone else would notice something was wrong:
"Listen. Once the mission is over, you'll have plenty of chances to settle accounts with that female boss! But for now, calm down..."
Settle accounts?
What accounts?
The debt for his legs, the debt for his throat, or—the debt for his life?
Calm down?
Why should he calm down?
Was there a single damn person here who wasn't calm?
Rolf took a deep breath. With a shrug of his shoulder, he broke free of Gollor's grip.
He cast Gollor a cold look, then wrote a tiny line of words on the dust-covered wall:
[I, am, very, calm]
Gollor froze, then realized:
Oh, right. Hadn't Lord Marius said that this mute could read and write?
But Rolf coldly finished writing his next sentence:
[Wait, until, the, end]
"The end? What end?"
Gollor frowned, but Rolf had already stopped paying attention to him.
"Are you done spewing filth, Red Viper?" Catherine said coldly from the center of the room. "Have you prepared your coffin?"
At her words, the thugs beside Phantom Blade turned vicious, slowly pressing