Lachlan's hollow eyes stared, as empty as The Abyss. A jarring streak of crimson blood snaked down from his brow, yet his handsome, pale face remained a stoic mask, as if he felt no pain.
His thin lips parted, his voice so faint it sounded as if it would dissipate in the wind. "Do you have all the herbs?"
Evangeline watched Lachlan quietly. The surrounding chatter was incessant, the insults still ringing in her ears.
Her gaze turned icy. She suddenly grabbed Lachlan's hand and held it high, forcing the crowd of Beastmen to witness her touch the rotting tribal totem on the back of his hand. Pus and blood oozed out between her slender fingers.
"I am a Witch," she stated, her voice dispassionate and cold. "And I have a way to deal with the Frost-plain Tribe's plague."
"The Beast God shows mercy to all, not so you can freely bully and trample on others."
"From now on, the Frost-plain Tribe is under my protection. I don't want to hear such insults ever again."
