"Huh? That's funny — I have to go straight to the point with you!" Carl grinned and pressed the tip of his sword an inch into the hooker's chest, drawing a light groan from her.
Then he looked up, amused.
"Make a deal or she's going to die."
He added, looking at Roy,
"Kill him if you want. After all, he's just trash to me."
"Sorry, buddy. I'll make you a luxury grave," Carl thought to himself.
To be honest, if Roy died, Carl would barely feel anything — not even a flicker of guilt. Even though Roy might be useful later, right now he was just raw stone and useless. Because of that, Carl's face wore a crazy, vile expression; he practically didn't care if the keeper of the brothel killed Roy or not.
The keeper brothel grimaced and tightened her grip on Roy's throat while asking,
"Are you sure? You think if you kill my girl you'll be able to flee from here safely?"
Carl smirked and laughed loudly.
