Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

The next day, a large flock of Peckla called Hulk arrived, carrying axes. They had just chopped down a dozen trees when the Druid arrived.


At that time, Durin was sitting on a rocking chair transformed from a tree spirit, and he waved at him.


"Little kid, get out of the way!" The Druid hadn't even had a good look when he yelled over.


Then, the nearby Rock Mountain stood up, pulled a tree from the side, and with a swing, knocked the Druid to the ground.


"Keep chopping! What are you looking at!" Durin roared.


After chopping a dozen more trees, this time the Druid arrived riding a dragon.


He hadn't even dismounted before the White Dragon under him tossed him to the ground; then the dragon ran over to Durin and started licking his feet like a dog.


Foresty Land was in the South; Durin wore slippers and laughed as the enormous dog licked his feet incessantly.


Chapter 223: The Taste on the Tip of the Tongue