Punk desperately wanted to run.
But the sharp claws pressed against his throat had already cut his skin. A drop of blood slid across his collarbone and stained his white shirt, making even his breathing stop.
He had felt this before. Two months ago, he had set off on an adventure full of excitement, only to nearly lose his life on the third day.
Even now, he could still smell the bloody stench rising from that hatchet, assaulting his nostrils and making him want to vomit.
Compared with that, having a little girl his own height hold him by the throat actually felt somewhat more bearable. Bang!
Not anymore.
He felt that claw seize his forehead and slam the back of his head against the rough stone floor. Pain and dizziness struck together, while the little girl's rebuke rang in his ears. "And here I thought you were a guy with both good and bad in him! Turns out you're just a bad guy doing bad things in my brother's name!"
What good guy? What bad guy?
Punk had no idea what she meant. He only wanted to beg for mercy, but he felt himself being hauled up again—
"Wait, Anbi. We still have things to ask him." Wendy hurriedly stopped the little girl and pulled her up from the ground.
The little girl could only wave her fist and bare her teeth viciously at Punk.
Through his throbbing head and blurred vision, Punk felt someone sling him over a shoulder. He lost consciousness, and when he opened his eyes again, he was tied to a wooden chair.
Firelight flickered at the edges of his vision, allowing him to recognize his captors as several familiar faces from the tavern. A bard who frequently sang and played in taverns always paid