"Not one of the Four Great Kings?" Rigerif froze slightly and repeated it instinctively.
Amon's lips curved into an indistinct arc, as if he had smiled—or perhaps it was merely an illusion caused by the light and shadows.
"Fenrir and I are not blood brothers." His voice was calm, yet it carried an invisible boundary. "As for matters concerning me—you'll naturally learn them when the time comes. Some things, if you insist on getting to the bottom of them, become rather impolite to ask about—"
Rigerif's heart tightened, and she forcibly suppressed the curiosity surging within her.
She looked at Fenrir again, and this time, her gaze happened to meet those enormous Golden Eyes. There was none of a Monarch's grim majesty in them, nor the chill of a predator. Instead, they revealed a kind of "clear wisdom"—like a large dog studying something with focused yet innocent attention.
All at once, she felt that the terror brought by that suffocatingly massive body had been greatly diminished by those eyes.
With that level of intelligence, could he have been talked stupid by Amon? Rigerif grumbled inwardly.
At that moment, Amon added, "Oh, right. From now on, remember to call me He Xiaomeng. That's the name on my ID."
Rigerif nodded silently.
Then Fenrir awkwardly and cautiously shifted his body, rolling something out from the shadows behind him—a mobile computer desk fitted with caster wheels, clearly modified in size.
He then extended a claw capable of smashing concrete with ease and, with astonishing dexterity, pressed the power button.
The screen lit up with a cold glow, reflecting across his face covered in stone-like scales.
He turned the screen toward Amon as though presenting a treasure. "Big brother, look! During this time, I even won a StarCraft match!"
"With the prize money—I bought