Boiling Beast Bloodline
Chapter 959 - 229 Saint Chiao’s Adventure in Danger

Chapter 959: Chapter 229 Saint Chiao’s Adventure in Danger

The barbecue rack was flung away, landing haphazardly on the ground, surrounded by footprints where crushed bamboo charcoal had been trodden on. From inside the inn, faint cries of pain could still be heard.

The Felsic Merchant Group stayed inside the inn. Although Shaman had left half of his Hippo Poets as a precaution against unexpected events, he still hadn’t anticipated that someone would actually dare to make a move on them.

All the militia drew their weapons in an instant and efficiently blocked the inn’s main entrance; Bellamy, wielding a steel club, led a large group of Mastiff Warriors to rush towards the back door.

Shaman’s face immediately became as grim as could be.

Only after charging through the inn’s main door did Shaman’s heart finally settle down. Several Halfling chefs and about twenty Hippo Poets were holding down a group of young Beamon. These Beamon youths, numbering around twenty, were dressed like actors on an opera stage, impossibly fashionable, including members of several species like Garfield, Wolf, Doug, and others. The pans in a few Halfling hands had already been smashed out of shape, amidst a chorus of wails.

A disheveled old man sat on the bar counter. His white hair was interspersed with a few golden strands, and his hairstyle resembled a henhouse raided by a weasel or as if it had been struck by a firecracker – fluffy and unkempt. He wore a ragged, grease-stained cloak, and the Magic Imprint on the shoulder area was already indistinct. He held in his hand a super-potent cocktail from Dr. Leibowitz.

"It turns out to be the master," Shaman was first stunned, then quickly put on a wide grin and approached Master Puskas, giving him a Pier-style bear hug that made the frail Mage’s bones rattle like a ramshackle hut before an earthquake.

"You little bastard." The real Saint Chiao rapped Shaman’s head hard with his knuckles, "If it wasn’t for the Yibrasimov couple not making a fuss over you, you definitely wouldn’t be this courteous to me!"

"How could that be," Shaman said, chuckling, "Thanks for gracing me with your presence, Master. It’s only now that I truly understand the weight of your status."

"Your reputation isn’t too shabby either. I found out where you’re staying just by asking around casually," Master Puskas said with a chuckle, "Thankfully, a few of your little Hippo Poets recognized this old man and treated me to some good wine and dishes. However, not to sound ungrateful after eating your food and being overly critical, but those Beamon of yours are really something! I’ve been eating food in the lands of men for so many years, and this is the first time someone’s flipped my table right in front of me, splashing me with broth."

"Bellamy!" Shaman turned to look at the Hippo Poet he had left in charge at the inn, pointed at the Beamon who were crouched with their heads in their hands and said, "What the hell is this about? You actually let someone flip Master Puskas’ table? Are you trying to embarrass me on purpose?"

"Obischillaci! Mari, you’ve truly disgraced our Haus clan!" O’Neal rolled his eyes in anger. As a Felsic militia, this was a disgrace indeed, having allowed a table to be flipped in front of a visiting Saint Chiao while he was dining.

"We had no idea a bunch of street thugs would come cause trouble; we thought they were just here to eat," Bellamy said, face red with excitement as he tried to explain himself. Bellamy was the only Hippo Poet with a neck, unlike the others who bore massive heads on their shoulders, which made him seem taller and more imposing than the rest.

"Street thugs?" Shaman was speechless, unable to believe that a bunch of petty ruffians would flip over a Saint Chiao’s table.

"Someone paid them off, but they don’t know who exactly it was," Bellamy said as he bent over and scratched his thick thigh, which bore three Chinese characters given by the Overlord. Bellamy thought that having these unintelligible characters inked onto him would make him appear more cultured, a tradition among Felsic warriors. The Giant Iverson had a large loyalty character tattooed on his arm.

"Did you find out who was behind this?" Shaman didn’t really know who was responsible; having been in Sand City for only two days, he had already offended everyone once over, leaving none unscathed. But it was basically one of a few powers, no need to guess to know.

However, Shaman was a bit perplexed; getting a bunch of punks to make trouble, wasn’t that a bit too weak?

"These little gangsters are just hooligans. They didn’t even recognize the person who gave them money, and we couldn’t get anything out of them," Bellamy said as he pulled a dagger out of his boot and handed it to Shaman, "Boss, these guys really played rough. Take a look for yourself!"

Shaman took the dagger and drew a sharp breath. This DIY weapon was clearly made with care, triangular with three sharp edges, and the tip was particularly pointed. The wooden handle was wrapped with dirty, blood-stained linen cloth.

After examining the dagger, Shaman let out a cold laugh, "Typical thug style, alright. Once this thing gets lodged inside the stomach, it’s game over. Can’t pull it out because the moment you do and air gets in, you’re done for."

A group of young Beamon street thugs encircled by the crowd were staring blankly at the Shaman of Divine Songs, seemingly puzzled as to how this noble priest was familiar with the function of such street-level weapons.

Despite Shaman’s serious façade, inside he felt a twinge of nostalgia for past misdeeds. He, too, had once made this kind of triangular scraper, and even crafted slingshots from the ribs of Dongfeng brand umbrellas, sharpened steel rods into spears, machetes from vehicle chassis steel, and homemade gauntlets using sandcasting molds. Before he joined the army, he and his brother were unruly youths who fought their way across the world. His brother was even more audacious, liking to carry two sawed-off firefighter axes on his back and biting on an unlit cigarette in his mouth.