After taking his seat, Dunro tore into chunks of beast meat with big bites, then raised his wine bowl in gesture:
"When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Come!
Let's drink a bowl!"
Dunro's gaze locked on the brown-robed figure's mask. He was dying to know who this person really was—a Psionic from Rock Sand City who had the guts to venture deep into the camp.
After all, even with their previous cooperation, both sides had been really careful, mutually wary, never entering each other's territory to prevent accidents.
"This..."
The brown-robed figure fell silent, raising the wine bowl but showing no intention of drinking.
They absolutely couldn't reveal their identity, unless this traitor leader before them had principles and would never leak information to the outside world.
But expecting traitors to have standards was like believing in fairy tales.
"Leader Dunro, our lord is already really ticked off with your experimental progress!
