Chapter 18.6

A man was running like hell itself was chasing him.

Deep in the alleyways of adobe buildings, dashing around every corner he could to try and get the thing chasing him off his tail. Lungs burned and his breath was heavy as he went as fast as his legs could carry him.

A Dynor of Rubiconian origin. The man was dressed all too finely for this though. His clothes not those of someone who took an active lifestyle, a coat strained by a belly telling of a life spent in too much comfort. Rivers of sweat ran down his bronze, the man’s dark hair matted against his head as his sprinting began to turn into stumbling.

“How… dare they?!” Through his heaving he began to curse aloud. “Bastards… one… and all! With the festival so close… our deal should have…”

“Should have been solid, right~?”