Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 662

Chapter 662: The Lunch Proper
Thalus adjusted his glasses, his sharp eyes glinting with an air of superiority as he leaned slightly forward from his place behind the Seer. The corners of his mouth curled into a sneer, and his voice, calm but laced with mockery, carried across the table.

“I do hope you’ve prepared pork meat for the Seer’s meal,” he said, his tone light but dripping with insult. “After all, nothing complements such a barren, wasteland ambiance quite like a taste of the local culture.”

The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Barak’s smile remained fixed, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation.

Beside him, Lorath’s hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, and a faint metallic whisper filled the air as the blade unsheathed itself by a fraction. His spiritual energy flared subtly, a sharp and cutting presence that caused the air to grow heavy. The soldiers behind him stiffened, their gazes darting toward the confrontation brewing at the table.

Barak, however, raised a single hand, his smile broadening as he addressed Lorath without looking at him. “Stand down, Lorath,” he said, his voice smooth but commanding. “We’re here for a meal, not a spectacle.”

Lorath hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowing at Thalus, who casually adjusted his glasses again as if unimpressed by the display. Finally, Lorath stepped back, the blade sliding back into its sheath with a soft *click*. The spiritual pressure receded, but his irritation was palpable.

Thalus, seemingly unfazed, ran his fingers along the edge of his sleeve to smooth out an invisible crease. His sharp gaze swept over the table before settling on Lorath once more. “A commendable restraint, for a man whose talents are better suited to the battlefield than a place of decorum,” he said, his voice a calm dagger. “I suppose discipline is harder to master than a swing of the sword.”

Lorath’s eyes flashed with cold fury. He let out a low chuckle, his tone measured but biting. “Discipline? Coming from a man who finds the scent of war more offensive than its cause?” He gestured subtly to Thalus’s constant adjustments of his glasses and clothing. “I wonder, is it the blood on the battlefield or the imperfection of your surroundings that makes you twitch, Thalus?”

The faintest smile tugged at the corners of Barak’s lips as he watched the exchange. Across the table, the Seer sipped her tea with grace, her veil fluttering lightly in the breeze. She appeared completely detached from the growing tension, yet her faint smile suggested amusement, as though she were enjoying a private joke.

Thalus adjusted his glasses yet again, his knuckles briefly whitening on the frame. “Imperfection is the enemy of progress,” he said coolly. “And yet here you stand, Lorath, the very embodiment of chaos given form. One wonders if you were brought here to negotiate or to further tarnish the reputation of your already beleaguered Zodiac family.”

Lorath’s spiritual energy flared again, sharper this time, like a blade being unsheathed not for warning but for battle. “Tarnished?” he repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “The only tarnish here is the Seer’s willingness to share a table with a man ‘YOU’, so blinded by his own arrogance that he believes order lies in nitpicking rather than strength.”

The energy between the two crackled, creating an almost visible distortion in the air. The soldiers on both sides bristled, their hands inching toward their weapons.

But before the atmosphere could fully descend into chaos, Barak let out a low chuckle, breaking the tension. “Let’s not turn a meal into a battleground,” he said, his voice cutting through the hostility with ease. He gestured to the table, his smile unwavering. “After all, we wouldn’t want to ruin such fine preparations. Even the flowers are blooming in the shadow of death.”

Thalus, with a final adjustment of his glasses, took a step back, his spiritual energy receding like a tide. “Of course,” he said, his tone polite but sharp as a dagger. “It would be a shame to let such effort go to waste.”

Lorath, though visibly irked, allowed his energy to dissipate as well, though his gaze remained locked on Thalus. “Effort indeed,” he murmured, his voice low enough to be heard only by those at the table. “Perhaps next time, that effort could include keeping your tongue in check.”

And so the jabs, subtle but barbed, a duel of words and egos that threatened to escalate at any moment. Yet Barak and the Seer remained composed, their faint smiles belying the tension that simmered beneath the surface. It was as if the true war was not between armies, but between these two retainers, their pride and power clashing in a battle of wit and restraint.

Barak reached for a piece of bread, broke it and began his meal. He was incredibly cultured in his eating and mannerism. “I calle dfor this lunch break for a reason that concerns both our… Parties. You see, or shamans have received prophecy that is anything but kind. A fall of our world in a river of blood. And as far as I am concerned, my instincts tell me that it might concern a certain family member of yours.”

The seer raised a brow at him, “…are you suggesting that a member of My holy church dedicated to ways of the Goddess of fate is a subject of your… barbaric proclamations from a glass ball!”

The shamans, their tools and ways were not just tradition, but a life line of the Boar zodiac family. In fact, it was the same thing for all of the zodiac families. It was for this reason that the evidence of Barak’s take over of the other families was the Crystal balls seized. it was akin to taking their will and direction in life.

Barak pretended not to hear the insult in her tone or words, and continued, “I am speaking about your BLOOD Sister. You know… The Demon mother. Guardian to the nether realm. After all, from what I gather she still holds a grudge for what happened ten thousand years ago. Also, I heard…”