Crunch!
The sound of shattering porcelain echoed in the council chamber.
Owen gripped the broken cup, ignoring how the shards cut into his skin, blood flowing profusely as his bloodshot eyes stared intently at the middle-aged man sitting across from him. In a hoarse voice, he asked:
"Did the Marquis really say that?"
The middle-aged man was dressed impeccably, sporting a small mustache and displaying the airs of a pampered nobleman.
After hearing Owen's words, he took a sip of tea before leisurely replying.
"The Marquis is currently busy dealing with matters in Storm Territory and doesn't have time to attend to your issues."
"Moreover, the Marquis has already helped you considerably before, even going so far as to contact the Starfire Sect assassins for you. He's done more than enough, yet how have you repaid him?"
"You've let two greenhorns push you into this predicament. Do you have any idea how many nobles are mocking you outside now?"
