Now that only the saint and the hero remained in the room, the hero truly made himself comfortable. He leaned his chair back slightly and put his feet up on the table.
"You shouldn't be so eager to show your true colors, boy."
"Who cares?" the hero retorted.
"You're the only one who still talks to me like that. If I were the Drug Hero, I might have caressed your cervical spine between the fifth and sixth vertebrae just to give you a herniated disc."
"I don't know who this Drug Hero you're referring to is, but he certainly sounds like a nervous wreck. And let's not forget that it's not my fault you're incapable of doing it."
The hero sniffed. That was precisely why he disliked this woman. She had privileges—and the wit to match.
"Let's cut to the chase. Hand over the sacred sword."
