"You're the one who has the blood, yet you know nothing about it?" Falcoln asked, pretending to look surprised. "How pitiful."
Cyrus's expression instantly turned darker.
"What are you talking about?" Roxanna demanded coldly.
Falcoln only laughed softly. "You really married him without knowing anything?" he mocked. "How brave… or maybe just foolish."
"Stop speaking in riddles," Cyrus snapped sharply. "Explain yourself."
Unfortunately, Falcoln was never the type of person who liked explaining things to his slaves. So instead of answering, he suddenly let out a loud whistle, giving a signal for his people to attack the Vixeria Tribe.
"Show them no mercy!" Falcoln shouted across the battlefield. "They killed one of our people and even injured your leader! The only punishment they deserve is death!"
He then glanced toward Cyrus and slowly licked his lower lip. "And as for you…" he said coldly, "I will drain every drop of blood from your body until you can no longer heal yourself."
