"All of us Demigods have met that Miquella's Knight," Rykard said with a smile.
Patches sweated even harder, the sweat pouring onto the floor like a waterfall.
He had even soaked the thick carpet.
Sweating that much could easily leave someone exhausted.
Besides, Patches had been somewhat shaken all along, so neither his body nor his mind was in particularly good shape.
With this happening on top of everything else, he felt he needed another change of trousers.
When a man was unlucky, nowhere was any good.
Who could have imagined that Miquella's Knight was famous? Every Demigod had met him, and even the Elden Lord Radagon knew him.
Where was the justice in that?
It really wasn't that Patches had failed to plan enough. How much information about Zhao Si could he gather just by asking around in the Mountaintops of the Giants?
How many stories could those simple villagers in the Mountaintops of the Giants possibly know?
Zhao Si's complicated, ridiculous experiences were enough to fill several books.
How could word of mouth alone possibly explain it all?
Patches had lied based on the information he possessed, hoping to make Rykard and the others think he was useful and thus spare his life.
There wasn't much wrong with that line of thinking.
Patches swallowed with difficulty, his throat tight, not knowing what to say.
"Although that man isn't a brave warrior, he doesn't seem like someone who would commit a massacre," Radahn said in a deep voice. "Especially with Godwyn and Miquella still around. How could they allow something like that?"
Miquella had a reputation for benevolence, while Godwyn was the hope of the Lands Between.
Would massacring refugees benefit them? No.
No one did anything without a benefit. That was how Demigods were.
"Our information is indeed