Before Roland could speak, Ogre had already stepped forward.
As his massive frame moved, it carried an almost tangible pressure, born from years of accumulated authority and intimidation.
As his feet hit the ground, the men who had been subtly forming an encirclement all took an involuntary, synchronized half-step back.
Their fingers tightened subconsciously on their weapons, and a flicker of barely perceptible fear crossed their faces.
Seeing this, the subservience in Ogre's light brown eyes—the one he showed before Roland—was instantly replaced by the ferocity and violence of a Half-beastman, like an awakened beast.
The hideous scar on his face twitched slightly. He bared his yellowed fangs, his voice like grinding stones.
"Malok 'Blood Claw'... cut the act."
"This is the black market. Anyone who can afford the 'ticket' can come."
His gaze met the Tiefling's vertical pupils, which burned like embers, without backing down. His tone was filled with undisguised contempt.
