Boiling Beast Bloodline
Chapter 889 - 204: News of the Imperial Guard_2

Chapter 889: Chapter 204: News of the Imperial Guard_2

The patched linen, propped up high by two wooden sticks, had rows of translucent bladders of Asura young beasts tied up with fine hemp ropes, all fully inflated and swollen like gourds. Without even seeing how Nedved aimed, the old, tattered black cloth with Asura beasts tied to the other end burst into pieces with a crackling sound.

The owner of this shooting game booth was a Beamon from the Wolf Tribe, and by now, his expression had stiffened like a mahjong tile.

The Wolf Tribe Weasels had always been infamous among the Beamons for being lecherous, greedy, cunning, and fond of boasting, making them generally disliked; what was even more detestable was that their character was rotten to the core. Every year on March 4th, during the Beamon God’s Birthday, the Weasels liked to swarm into Chekin lands to take advantage, not only without paying but also robustly insisting that they were simply "paying a New Year visit"—in ancient Beamon customs, all professions would not charge money on God’s Birthday, taking it as an omen of "Martial God’s Birth, Universal Harmony." Although this custom had long since evolved, the celebration persisted, but no profession would offer their services for free anymore, hence the Weasel Beamon’s behavior was understandably as stinky as their farts.

The Wolf Tribe Weasels were vassals of the Wolf Tribe; although from the name they were also "Wolf," the Wolf Tribe adamantly believed that the ill-natured Weasels were clearly weasels, not the noble Wolfs, and the skunks of the Kunk tribe, though minor and weak, were also tough and similarly refused to acknowledge the morally degraded Weasels as part of the skunk clan.

Approaching closer, Nedved had already shot all the tightly packed inflatable bladders clean, and Bellamy had scooped up the ceramic figurines meant as prizes from the ground and laughed heartily.

"Don’t stop hanging the balloons! Quick, quick, quick!" Nedved waved his bow at the Weasel Beamon owner of the shooting booth, urging him repeatedly.

"You two really have the nerve!" Liu Zhanghan was both annoyed and amused, "It’s not easy for others to make a living; why are you wrecking their business?"

Bellamy, smiling, tossed over a clay figurine, and Liu Zhanghan examined it repeatedly before he looked up, gritted his teeth, and roared at Nedved, "Damn! Pavel, get this guy sorted out so thoroughly he has to sell his body to the Feilengcui Lord to pay off his debt!"

Liu couldn’t help but get mad; the terracotta figurine was unmistakably one of the Piegel race, and although crudely made, it was crafted exquisitely and lifelike-------------------and the Feilengcui Lord was indeed a Piegel, wasn’t this Weasel Beamon just asking for a beating!

"Boss, hurry into the bar. O’Neal and Rodman, these two lunatics, are negotiating inside, and I’m afraid they might start fighting again." The Centaur archer turned to the Lord as he spoke, his hands busy with work, and in the blink of an eye, he had shot another four arrows.

"Oh?" Liu Zhanghan thought, Is there such a thing? Just having had a fight with the prince, immediately here come the Palace Guards looking for trouble; doesn’t the king have any decency?

"Oh my!" Coming face to face, a gust of hot air and a wave of noise assaulted Liu Zhanghan, who was already sweating profusely in his leather robe, resulting in beads of sweat the size of soybeans instantly forming on his forehead, which then fell to the ground in a spray.

At this point, the bar was packed, filled with people from all directions, engaged in animated discussions, and many of those present were priests, though most were seen in sky-blue robes of Wind Whisperers, with only a few red-robed soul priests scattered among them.

The Antelope Warrior Duncan, clutching a Kukri blade, lay back in his chair with his feet propped on a wooden post, matching his skills against a dartboard on the wall. Little Giant Iverson sat on an oak wine barrel, letting Xiao Cui pull out his white hairs while Fat Luo and O’Neal were sitting at a long bar table to the north, in a heated exchange with four golden-uniformed Palace Guards, with Fat Luo’s chest pinned with three goose quill pens ----------- in the Beamon Kingdom, this symbolizes scholarship, one pen for a tutor, two for a scholar, three for a sage as learned as the books, any more than that and you are just a pen vendor.

Mage Otigha, alongside his apprentice Mexi and the Elf Mage Tang Ning, sat quietly at a bar in the distance, sipping malt wine, watching the intense debate unfold.

The two Mantis Monks, Morphy and Owen, also sat at a table with Fat Luo and O’Neal, heads down, repeatedly stabbing the legs of the table with their serrated broadswords, the fine jujube wood legs punctured densely with honeycomb-like holes, revealing white wooden cores.

Seeing the Shaman of Divine Songs return, the clergy all fell silent, those still talking were pulled back by their companions, realizing their faux pas, they looked up and immediately, as if by reflex, stood up, and the entire bar suddenly fell dead silent, only the noise of chairs and tables scraping against the floor remaining.

In the bar, only the loud voices of Fat Luo and O’Neal continued to roar.

Observing the clergy’s awkward and tense expressions, Liu Zhanghan had to acknowledge that within Beamon, the veneration and adoration for priests, especially those with legendary tales, was tremendous, much like the human world’s fervent admiration for those who fearlessly challenge power, also a tradition stemming from ancient Beamon customs.