Blood covered the floor of the cabin.
People lay sprawled everywhere. Some were motionless, their lives hanging in the balance, while others groaned in pain.
Only two were still standing, and one was the three-meter-tall brute.
Bruises covered his body.
Facing him stood the Fish-Man, drenched in blood.
Notably, his handcuffs had been unlocked, though he had not had time to remove his collar.
His opponents had outnumbered him, and the three-meter brute hardly looked like a pushover.
Yet once the Fish-Man's hands were free, they had failed to gain any advantage and had instead been beaten into a scattered heap.
That was the scene Randall found when he returned to the cabin.
"What are you doing? Didn't I give you the key?"
Randall asked, though he already knew the answer.
At Randall's arrival, the Fish-Man's expression darkened, while the three-meter brute brightened.
The brute hurriedly said:
"Sir!
You're our savior! Words can't express how grateful I am!
But... but this Fish-Man showed no gratitude at all!
He attacked us as soon as you left!
And he even stole the key you specifically left for us!
He might as well have trampled your dignity into the dirt!
I just couldn't stomach it!"
The brute delivered his speech with heartfelt emotion, hanging his head and stamping his feet.
It almost seemed genuine.
Randall really had not expected this apparent musclehead to have such a talent for acting.
After watching his performance, Randall turned to the Fish-Man and asked:
"Is what he said true?"
The Fish-Man's face remained grim.
In truth, his heart had already sunk the moment Randall entered.
"Does it make any difference whether it's true?
Dying at your hands would still be better than dying as a slave."
He spoke with a measure of acceptance.
"Come on!"
At that