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

"I've said it before, the Western Lands' European Union folks and their dumb American cousins have really created some heaven-defying green-skinned orcs."


Eleven cursed as he looked at the photo of the Warlord.


While it could be claimed that green-skinned orcs were bio-engineered beings meant to transform hostile environments into peaceful ones, with Green Skin Commanders, Shamans, and Magicians as mutant variants among them, the Warlord was nothing but a pure war machine.


Standing at four meters tall with a massive frame, Druids shot at it with firearms, and the bullets sank into its muscles only to be squeezed out again.


"You guys' European Union in this world and their relatives are so crazy, doesn't anyone keep them in check?"


Big Orange had no desire to even mock when looking at the four-meter-tall giant green skin in the photograph.


Chapter 170: The Solution