A colossal, tower-like figure—a Half-beastman with a ferocious scar across his face—now stood beside the hooded man.
He didn't spare the hooded figure a glance. Instead, he lowered his head slightly, staring at the Dwarf stall owner with light brown eyes that glinted menacingly as he bared his teeth in a grin.
"Old man..."
Ogre's voice was like two stones grinding together.
"This piece of junk rock... how much did you say it was? Seven Silver Eagles?"
The mercenary smile on the Dwarf stall owner's face instantly froze. He clearly recognized Ogre, and what's more, he could feel the man's dangerous aura.
He swallowed hard, and his voice became much quieter.
"O-Ogre, sir... This, uh, this Master Mage is looking at the item. We were... we were just discussing..."
"Discussing?"
Ogre folded his brawny arms across his chest and leaned forward slightly, his Shadow almost completely engulfing the short stall owner.
