At the side of an inn, two men sat quietly with glasses of drinks before them. The air was calm, but the talk between them was not.
"I'm still wondering why you gave away the dungeon," Baron Bragot said, his tone annoyed.
Baron Fenwick took a sip and replied calmly. "I don't think it matters anymore.Does it really make a difference anymore?"
Bragot clicked his tongue, staring at him.
Fenwick let out a tired breath. "I already lost it. It fell into his hands. Now it's his."
"Hmph! Don't play those tricks with me, old man Fenwick," Bragot said with a sharp look. "I know you too well, you foxy bastard."
Fenwick smiled faintly. "Oh? Then what about you,Bragot?"
Bragot raised his eyes and sighed. "The Slate Mine can last long. Thank God I changed the bet from the metal mine to the Slate one, or I would've been ruined by now."
Fenwick's eyes glimmered.
