Damien continued to walk, unchallenged and unhurried. In one hand, he held a thick, coarse rope. The other end of that rope was tied tightly around the ankles of a noblewoman—one of the unfortunate souls who had crossed paths with him today and lived to regret it.
She stumbled every few steps, her elegant gown torn and soiled, her dignity dragged along the dust-laden road behind her.
A fitting image for the downfall of a once-proud lineage.
The three noble families of Dreamy Sky City—Williams, Whitewash, and Dreamy Sky—had ruled this region with iron fists wrapped in silk gloves for decades. The bloated man belonged to the Williams family, while the sharp-eyed one hailed from the cunning Whitewash clan. As for the disgraced woman trailing behind like discarded trash—she was the last scion of the Dreamy Sky family.
Damien's gaze flicked toward her, and a strange amusement flashed in his eyes.
Dreamy Sky City.
Dreamy Sky family.
What an arrogant naming sense.
