A staggering one hundred and seventy-two billion.
That was the bid just set by Peyton Orell, who was already huffing and puffing, until Luca, hands clammy and face pale, raised his voice
"One hundred and seventy-five billion."
By now, Duke Leander could see the worsening toll on his son. Luca's body was trembling, his voice soft, and his complexion ghostly. The Duke had already been adamant about letting it go.
"It's alright to let that goatee win instead!" he barked.
His voice was so loud that even without spiritual energy, Duke Vantari's ears twitched violently at being called goatee.
"Duke Leander!" Vantari snapped, his voice sharp.
"What?! Talk to me later! It's your fault that my son is doing something like this!" Leander roared back without an ounce of shame. "If you have something philosophical to say, keep it to yourself next time!"
The crowd gasped. Who dared to shout at another Duke like that in public? Only Duke Leander, apparently.
