"Is this the place?"
Charloss asked indifferently, but his foot delivered another hard kick to the slave beneath him. Already utterly exhausted, the slave finally gave out under that kick.
Charloss's kick was the last straw. The slave collapsed, sending Charloss tumbling unceremoniously to the ground. After the lackey beside him helped him up, he glared resentfully at the dying slave who had made him fall and drew the golden pistol that symbolized his status.
"You useless piece of trash! You move as slowly as a turtle, and now you've actually made someone as noble as me fall to the ground! You no longer deserve to live!"
The slave on the ground struggled to open his eyes. Looking at the black barrel pointed at him in Charloss's hand, he smiled.
"Die!"
Bang!
Flame spat from the black barrel, and a bullet struck the fallen slave squarely in the chest. Blood gushed from the wound, and he lay in the spreading pool with a smile of release on his face, closing his eyes.
Even after killing him, Charloss seemed unsatisfied. He repeatedly kicked the unresponsive slave, shouting all the while.
"You piece of trash! Useless scum!"
His lackey watched calmly beside him, both hands held properly in front of him, without making a move. Perhaps years of serving the Celestial Dragons had made such things commonplace. Only when Charloss finally finished venting and drew back his blood-soaked foot, panting, did the man speak respectfully.
"Saint Charlos, I'll have someone send you another 'mount' right away."
Having vented his anger, Charloss nodded in satisfaction at his lackey's words, then added something.
"Have them send a new pair of shoes, too. These are dirty. I can't wear them anymore."
The lackey beside him merely nodded calmly at his words, then replied respectfully.
"Understood,