Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel

Chapter 662: The Lunch Proper

Thalus adjusted his glasses, his sharp eyes glinting with an air of superiority as he leaned slightly forward from his place behind the Seer. The corners of his mouth curled into a sneer, and his voice, calm but laced with mockery, carried across the table.

"I do hope you’ve prepared pork meat for the Seer’s meal," he said, his tone light but dripping with insult. "After all, nothing complements such a barren, wasteland ambiance quite like a taste of the local culture."

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Barak’s smile remained fixed, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation.

Beside him, Lorath’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, and a faint metallic whisper filled the air as the blade unsheathed itself by a fraction. His spiritual energy flared subtly, a sharp and cutting presence that caused the air to grow heavy. The soldiers behind him stiffened, their gazes darting toward the confrontation brewing at the table.

Barak, however, raised a single hand, his smile broadening as he addressed Lorath without looking at him. "Stand down, Lorath," he said, his voice smooth but commanding. "We’re here for a meal, not a spectacle."

Lorath hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing at Thalus, who casually adjusted his glasses again as if unimpressed by the display. Finally, Lorath stepped back, the blade sliding back into its sheath with a soft *click*. The spiritual pressure receded, but his irritation was palpable.

Thalus, with a final adjustment of his glasses, took a step back, his spiritual energy receding like a tide. "Of course," he said, his tone polite but sharp as a dagger. "It would be a shame to let such effort go to waste."

Lorath, though visibly irked, allowed his energy to dissipate as well, though his gaze remained locked on Thalus. "Effort indeed," he murmured, his voice low enough to be heard only by those at the table. "Perhaps next time, that effort could include keeping your tongue in check."

And so the jabs, subtle but barbed, a duel of words and egos that threatened to escalate at any moment. Yet Barak and the Seer remained composed, their faint smiles belying the tension that simmered beneath the surface. It was as if the true war was not between armies, but between these two retainers, their pride and power clashing in a battle of wit and restraint.

Barak reached for a piece of bread, broke it and began his meal. He was incredibly cultured in his eating and mannerism. "I calle dfor this lunch break for a reason that concerns both our... Parties. You see, or shamans have received prophecy that is anything but kind. A fall of our world in a river of blood. And as far as I am concerned, my instincts tell me that it might concern a certain family member of yours."

The seer raised a brow at him, "...are you suggesting that a member of My holy church dedicated to ways of the Goddess of fate is a subject of your... barbaric proclamations from a glass ball!"

The shamans, their tools and ways were not just tradition, but a life line of the Boar zodiac family. In fact, it was the same thing for all of the zodiac families. It was for this reason that the evidence of Barak’s take over of the other families was the Crystal balls seized. it was akin to taking their will and direction in life.

Barak pretended not to hear the insult in her tone or words, and continued, "I am speaking about your BLOOD Sister. You know... The Demon mother. Guardian to the nether realm. After all, from what I gather she still holds a grudge for what happened ten thousand years ago. Also, I heard..."