Chapter 1524 (2/2)

Even worse, DiOrtho could feel that Helen’s words brought everyone elses’ gazes to him; they knew that Overseer Helen was making an example of him. His face flushed and his ram horns throbbed. They always had to fucking target him…

There was nothing DiOrtho hated more than being stared at.

With a heavy heart, he suppressed his urge to rip a weapon out of his body and sever a few limbs to really give these worthless losers something to look at. But he managed to wrangle his emotions and looked up at the list Squads.

Of the ten squads listed, DiOrtho Vant was not one of the large names listed at the top of any, as a squad captain. He began to chew on the inside of his left cheek to keep his face expressionless.

When he noticed that he was in the Squad underneath the bastard Raymund Ballast, the Vulpine whose image was comically feeble and ineffective, DiOrtho Vant began to grind his cheek into a gory pulp. Over the past five days, Ballast’s standing in the ranks had taken a nosedive. His improvement was practically nonexistent.

But with Overseer Helen right there, seemingly gloating at being able to find new ways of torturing him, he wouldn’t let himself appear weak. Not with all of these pathetic wastes of space watching the whole interaction. So despite the blood in his mouth, DiOrtho just shrugged and said, “How exciting.”

Then he turned around and walked away, widely furious at how little control he felt like he had over his own life. Finally, he managed to pry his jaws open and release the unlucky bit of his cheeks that he had been mashing for a little over thirty seconds. That’s just the way it is. People with power abuse that power. People without power can only blame themselves for being weak…

His skin began to itch; his image naturally wanted to erupt with different weapons through his muscles and skin so he could make this place a field of blood. But as soon as that impulse arrived, it fizzled and died. What it left in its place was a dull and frustrated ache. Even at the speed he was improving, it wasn’t enough. Currently, he was simply too weak.

DiOrtho’s feet naturally carried him East, heading for his shelter and garden. But that choice of destination struck DiOrtho as unsatisfying. Unlike his gradual acceptance of the bamboo forest, he was continually bewildered by the requirement that the recruits garden during their free time. When only a few ugly brown leaves had popped out of his garden plot, DiOrtho had completely given up.

After all, failing in this area would bring in into the Ghosthound’s sphere of attention. And then…

Well, DiOrtho didn’t know.

Rather than going back to his own area, DiOrtho simply began to wander through the spacious residential area. The residences were generally twenty to thirty meters from each other, so DiOrtho could easily avoid encountering anyone. In addition, the thin mist that was a constant presence in the residential area further added to this sense of isolation. It was easy to feel like he was the only person in the surrounding-

“Ah… Mister Vant. I believe it is best we come to an understanding.”

DiOrtho’s teeth once more snapped shut around that bit of torn flesh in his cheek. He wheeled around, finding himself face to face with Raymund Ballast. Immediately, he was angry that this fuck had followed him, that DiOrtho had been so distracted he hadn’t noticed, and that this weak piece of shit was taller than him. His skin once again itched, and this time DiOrtho completely planned on teaching his ‘squad leader’ a lesson.

A lesson he would carve into the fox’s body with the sharp end of a blade.

“Ar….arrooooo…!”

But just as he was about to attack, a strange noise from a nearby residence stalled DiOrtho’s momentum. The very small part of his brain that could control his emotions reined in the radiating aggression that he was releasing. Instead, DiOrtho glared sideways toward a rather sizable dwelling some distance from their current position, where the noise originated.

DiOrtho’s eye twitched. And why the hell does it have to be such a nice looking house?!?!

After casting another sizzling dagger of a look toward Ballast, DiOrtho walked stealthily forward across the soft ground toward the house. He hesitated at first, but Raymund Ballast eventually followed. The two moved through the grass until they had a better view of the dwelling, which continued to infuriate DiOrtho with its obvious workmanship.

There were three tall pillars along a veranda, with a swinging door leading to a rather spacious interior. Somehow, the bamboo of the exterior seemed to have a strange shine, like the owner had spent time polishing it.

Yet when he saw the easily recognizable form of Vizzeret napping outside of the dwelling, DiOrtho felt a vein in his temple throb. How the hell did this fuckign mutt build this house with its paws?!?

“...stupid dog…” Ballast muttered with obvious distaste.

DiOrtho’s lips twitched. Some of his earlier antagonism gradually receded, watching the sleeping dog’s leg twitch. “I bet it’s dreaming of a fucking bone.”

“I bet it’s dreaming of having real hands,” Ballast countered, raising his own limbs in mockery of the grey dog's inferior form.

At least for now, DiOrtho decided not to kill his squad leader. It would, after all, be too easy for the crime to be traced back to him. Especially so hot off of the announcement of the squads.