Chapter 587 - 513: "Viper" Grom’s Sincerity

Chapter 587: Chapter 513: "Viper" Grom’s Sincerity

In the very next instant, a short, ghostly shadow appeared, by means unknown.

Perhaps it was a form of short-range Shadow Shifting, or a combination of a clever illusion and extreme speed.

It materialized in an instant beside Malok, who lay collapsed on the ground, groaning in agony.

The figure crouched, extending a withered but exceptionally steady finger. It quickly and expertly examined the wound on Malok’s arm before glancing at his face, which was contorted with agony and frustration.

A shrill huff sounded, filled with undisguised annoyance and disappointment.

"Idiot! Are you blind? You dare to pick a fight without even sizing up your opponent? Serves you right!"

Though the voice was kept low, it carried clearly to the ears of the few people nearby.

Upon hearing this, Malok fought through the searing pain and humiliation. He struggled to prop himself up with his uninjured arm and bowed his head toward the small figure, his voice hoarse.

"S-Sorry, Mr. Viper... It was... it was my fault... I was reckless..."

"I’m not the one you should be apologizing to."

The small figure known as "Viper" cut him off coldly. He slowly stood up straight, turned toward Roland, and raised his voice just enough to ensure everyone within earshot could hear.

"It was your stupidity and impulsiveness that offended this ’guest’ from afar and disturbed the peace of the marketplace."

He paused, his tone becoming indifferent and distant.

"As for you... starting today, you’re relieved of your duties guarding the entrance to the abandoned mines and ’clearing the way.’ Go report to ’the Pit.’ You’ll be under ’Shatterbone’ processing slag and ’waste material.’"

"We’ll talk again when you’ve finally learned to use your eyes and your brain."

"The Pit."

"Shatterbone."

Processing slag and "waste material."

The moment those words were spoken, the faces of some nearby black market regulars who knew what they meant changed almost imperceptibly, a flicker of dread in their eyes.

Clearly, these terms signified a fate far more dangerous, filthy, and thankless than guarding the entrance—a punishment detail that likely involved handling extremely hazardous or vile "discards."

This was almost a form of exile.

Malok’s face turned even paler in an instant. He shot his head up, desperate to plead his case.

"Mr. Viper! I... I did it for you! That bastard Ogre has been blocking our Crystal Stone business from entering Lin Ye Town. He even intercepted two of our shipments last time, which messed up the trade route with the Hyena crew! I was just trying to put him in his place for you, to show him—"

"Shut up."

The two cold words, like a pair of poisoned Ice Cones, pierced through all of Malok’s unspoken protests.

Viper didn’t even turn to look at him, but the indisputable chill in his voice made the rest of Malok’s words die in his throat. All that remained was a faint tremor born of Fear and despair.

By now, the small figure had stepped completely out of the cluttered Shadow, revealing himself fully in the flickering light from the mine tunnel walls. He stood clearly before Roland.

He was a goblin.

He barely reached the height of an average human’s thigh. His skin was a dull, greenish color, covered in fine wrinkles and spots.

He wore a short, dark-purple velvet robe, clearly well-tailored from high-quality material. Its edges were embroidered with intricate, twisting patterns in silver thread, and a wide leather belt, studded with a few lackluster gems, was cinched at his waist.

Unlike the slovenly, filthy goblins of popular imagination, his attire, though peculiar in style, was clean and tidy to a fault. It exuded a deliberate, almost pathological, sense of refinement.

His head was enormous and his forehead broad. His beady, round eyes were a murky yellow with pupils as small as pinpricks, currently gleaming with a mixture of mercenary cunning, calm assessment, and a barely perceptible, chilling light.

His long, pointed ears twitched faintly. His nose was large and red, and the corners of his mouth were habitually downturned, giving him a perpetual look of dissatisfaction and calculation.

But what drew the most attention were his hands.

His fingers were gaunt and long, his nails impeccably trimmed, even sporting a well-cared-for sheen.

Right now, those hands were folded placidly over his slightly protruding paunch in a posture that seemed almost pretentiously elegant.

His appearance was comical, and his refinement seemed utterly out of place in this coarse environment.

But the light in those small, yellow eyes—as hard and sharp as polished flint—ensured no one would ever mistake him for being harmless.

"Greetings, esteemed sir."

"I am Grom Shadow Scale. My associates are kind enough to call me ’Viper,’ and I suppose you could say I’m one of the people who has a say in things around this abandoned mine."

The goblin gave a slight bow. The gesture had a practiced, almost stiff formality that, combined with his peculiar velvet robe, created a strangely contradictory impression.

His small, yellow eyes stared unblinkingly at Roland, attempting to read more from that placid, unreadable face.

"My subordinate was rude just now. He disturbed you, and he broke the rules of this place. On his behalf, I, Grom, apologize."

His voice was shrill, but he spoke unhurriedly, enunciating each word clearly.

"Rules are rules. Break them, and you pay the price. Malok has received his due punishment. I hope this brings you some small measure of satisfaction."

"Of course, I am aware that this alone cannot compensate for your troubles, so..."

He paused, his gaunt fingers making a subtle gesture.