In a camp by the bloody pool.
Bradley, sitting in the chief's seat, listened to his subordinate's report with a grim expression. "You're saying that Robert has fallen into Charles's hands?"
"Yes, boss, I saw it with my own eyes just a few days ago, absolutely certain!" the bandit assured, pounding his chest.
Bang!
Upon hearing this, Bradley slammed his hand down on the armrest, leaving a deep imprint.
Sly had paid him ten gold coins and had repeatedly urged him to ensure Robert's safety. Bradley knew that in his line of work, especially when dealing with stolen artifacts, he needed the Taylor family's support to turn his loot into money.
But now, Robert had gotten into trouble right under his nose. How was he supposed to explain this to Sly?
The deep furrows in Bradley's brow betrayed his foul mood, and the atmosphere in the tent became tense and oppressive. No one dared to speak, and a heavy silence filled the air.
Creation is hard, cheer me up!
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