don't make me wear a skirt

"Shut up!" An Tuofang cursed: "A group of idiots, if the adults are not in urgent need of puppet masters, I would risk my life to save you? Be honest!"

"Oh..." Witt watched Lytle approaching little by little.

An Tuofan said impatiently: "Oh what? Learn to crow like a rooster? Do you still want to have a dance with the rooster?"

As soon as the voice fell, he was speechless.

Lytle made intimate contact with his head with the wooden chair legs, Antoine swayed twice, and circled around with staring eyes.

Fortunately, before he completely lost consciousness, he stabilized his figure and hit Lytle on the nose in a circle.

Lytle covered his nose with two bloodstains, and immediately rolled his eyes in fright.

"Aww." Severe pain filled the entire face.

An Tuofan took a closer look with his blurred eyes, and asked uncertainly, "Puppeteer Lytle?"

Lytle didn't answer, staring at the two paws stained with nosebleeds, his head was black and crumbling, oh, he seemed a little dizzy with blood.

An Tuofan was overjoyed. He grabbed Lytle, who had lost his fighting power, and said with a smirk, "Little bastard, it's just in time! Just in time to catch you back to get the bounty!"

Before An Tuofan finished his movements, the legs of the wooden chair finally played their role. He tilted his head and passed out.

Lytle stuffed two rolls of paper into his nostrils, and finally the bleeding stopped. He took a few breaths before gradually getting better.

God, just a little bit!

Witt stared at the key already inserted into the lock cylinder, wishing he could put his arm through it and turn it himself.

"Oh, are you going to run away?" Lytle kicked An Tuofan's stomach unhappily.

This guy looks very resistant to beating, I should have known that it would take two more knocks.

Witt gritted his teeth: "Isn't this obvious?"

"That's such a pity." Lytle took the key from the doorknob, dragged Antofang's collar and walked back, talking to himself while walking: "Can I get a reward for catching this bastard? Like avoid three ass stabs? Why else would I have to suffer and get my nose to bleed?"

Seeing Lytle was about to leave his sight, Witt hurriedly called to him: "Wait!"

"What are you doing?" Lytle turned around, sniffled, and put his hands on his hips: "Are you going to start performing for me?"

Witt swallowed his saliva, and said seductively: "Count Omans has promised us that as long as we help him ascend the throne, all the puppeteers who assist him will be awarded titles!"

Lytle thought for a while, and refused immediately: "What's the use of the title? I just want my nutrient solution, and Duke Hecha wants to kneel down and beg for mercy."

Witte quickened his tone: "Earl Omans can satisfy you, as long as you..."

Lytle tilted his head: "Hmm?"

Witte showed a sly smile: "Let us out."

Lytle said strangely: "You have all been arrested, which means that you are not capable enough, and you are defeated by the bastard Hecha. Can you save Delance if you get out?"

Witt's expression remained unchanged: "The Earl has his own plans. I only know that once he ascends the throne, we will be able to enjoy the glory and wealth. Isn't it more comfortable than being a commoner in the city forever?"

Sounds like a whole lot better than staying in ass kicking in asshole Hexa's castle.

Lytle hesitated.

Witt saw that there was something going on, and continued to follow the temptation. He opened his arms and said reverently: "The great Earl Omans will prepare countless gold coins and beauties for you. You will never have to worry about your livelihood, and you can even kill civilians as much as you want!"

Lytle disgusted: "Are you a cult?"

Witt said: "Count Omans can make all the puppet masters walk on the road of prosperity."

Lytle thought about it for a while, and firmly refused: "Forget it, Omans ascended the throne, wouldn't he want to hang up the bastard Hecha?"

Witt was inexplicable: "Isn't that good? Don't you hate Duke Hecha?"

Lytle clenched his fists angrily: "Of course I hate it!"

Witt spread his hands: "Then it's over."

Lytle rolled his eyes and struggled, "Oh, I still want to defeat him with my own strength."

What's the point of relying on Omans?Not at all satisfied.

"Just you? You can't even defeat An Tuo Fang." Witt sneered, with a face full of disbelief: "If you could defeat him by yourself, would you still wait until now?"

"Why not?!" Lytle glared at him, and dragged An Tuofan away.

"Don't regret it!" Witt beat the iron door unwillingly.

Lytle was out of breath after taking a few steps with the huge monster. An Tuofan tried to wake up several times in the middle, but was knocked unconscious by his wooden chair legs.

"Whoa, whoa, why is this guy so heavy?!"

When he was leaving the dungeon, he passed by Jelim, who frantically knocked on the wall to find his presence: "God, are you finally willing to come out?"

Lytle ignored the old guy, the unique musty smell in the air made him want to get out quickly.

Jelim twisted his wrinkled face together, begging: "Lytle, I repent, I shouldn't have tricked you into stealing the nutrient solution from Duke Hecha's castle-in fact, I am also very sad that you disappeared, I It shouldn't be like this, I'm just too young, please let me out, there is no sun, no beauties here, not even wine, if I go on, I will get moldy!"

Arriving at the door, Lytle couldn't move anymore, threw the big guy, sat down on the ground, and said angrily, "Whoa, let's dream!"

Jelim almost poked his head out, turned his face and said, "Damn it, you promised me—"

Lytle bent his fingers: "Hmm?"

Jelim asked cautiously, "What are you doing?"

Lytle kindly reminded: "Space bag."

Jelim's hands trembled slightly, his protruding eye sockets were covered with red threads, and he accused: "Greedy guy! Do you want to empty out all my things?!"

Lytle said as a matter of course: "Don't you want to leave here? Isn't it about to get moldy? Or do you want beautiful red wine? If you don't want it, forget it, and I will leave."

After all, he made a gesture of leaving.

With sharp eyesight, Jelim quickly grabbed his sleeves, his fingers trembling slightly as he stretched out his interspatial pocket, with a look of death at home.

"I didn't force you, you did it voluntarily."

Lytle was very dissatisfied with the way he was moaning: "Hurry up, why are you shaking into an afterimage? Are you an epileptic madman?"

Jelim handed over the interspatial bag to him tremblingly, feeling extremely heartbroken.

There are ten bottles of nutrient solution in the space generation, a brush to maintain the puppets—it can clean the dust in the crevices where the puppets’ arms and bodies are connected, and a few puppets that have been made. They are constantly turning and curiously. look outside.

Lytle greeted them kindly.

Jelim leaned against the wall weakly, and murmured, "My whole life's painstaking efforts..."

"Thick, you are sensible." Lytle put away the space bag happily, and with new eyes, he considered changing Tisa to a bright and energetic one, otherwise she would always take it for granted to look at some strange real objects to put it away. Take it as a fact.

Of course, he wanted to help Tisha change her mind.

Lytle took out the golden key and opened the iron door: "Okay, come out."

Jelim complimented him earnestly, and glanced at his hand from time to time: "As expected of the number one puppet master in the royal city, the golden key has great powers."

Lytle didn't notice the malicious gaze, and said triumphantly: "My key is omnipotent."

He took An Tuofan's leg and dragged it as he walked: "Oh, I haven't asked yet, what mistake did you make to get arrested?"

A sigh came from behind: "I met John Bar in Desert Town."

"Desert town?" Lytle opened the mural and asked casually, "What is that? A town with a lot of sand?"

Jelim put his hand into his pocket while sighing, "Because that's the headquarters of Venerton."

The tiny silver needles in his hands gleamed.

Lytle faintly felt that something was wrong, he wanted to turn his head to look, but there was a stabbing pain in his head, and then he lost consciousness.

The two pieces of blood-stained paper on the nose jumped out due to the weight, and the bones were mixed aside.

"I'm sorry Lytle." Jelim apologized with a blank expression on his face, "Do you know why you can't always become a big weapon? Because you only want small favors, and Earl Omans turned a blind eye to such generous rewards?"

He searched Lytle's whole body, brought back his own interspatial bag and his interspatial bag, looked at the golden key with satisfaction, greed flashed in his eyes, and sighed: "God's creation, today finally returns me."

He couldn't put it down, looked at it repeatedly, and then reluctantly put it into the space bag, then dragged Lytle into the iron prison, closed the door, and kicked Antuofang with his feet.

"Idiot, was beaten stupid? Still not getting up to work?!"

In the castle filled with orange blossoms, green vines climb up.

Hecha sent away the blue-faced city lords—they have been in Moyervia over the years. Although they are not as good as the nobles of Delance, they have done everything, but the Duke turned his eyes and closed his eyes. , and also greedy for a lot of things. This time, Hecha used this to threaten them to give up the newly completed manor to the common people, which was equivalent to suffering a dumb loss.

The nobles blushed, but Ireland's son made him a little concerned.

The old guy in Ireland always loves to fight him the most. After staying in his old manor for a long time, the old guy doesn't go out, and his temper becomes more and more weird.

Not only did he not show up this time, but he sent his precious son to such an important meeting. Surprisingly, he was also the first nobleman who agreed to give up the manor.

He Cha glanced lightly at the several male servants behind him, there were about six or seven of them, some were tall and strong, some were skinny, and some were enchanting women. The old servant was still dragging a large box one meter high, his eyes flickering.

Hecha raised his eyebrows and said, "Mr. Ireland really dotes on you, and has prepared all kinds of servants."

Ireland's youngest son stroked his big belly, but said nothing.

After the nobles boarded the carriage on their way back, Hecha walked along the long corridor, rubbing his chin in thought.

The big box was brought from Ireland when I came here, and there are wines from various origins in it. I use them as gifts for visiting, and it seems that there is no problem.

He called John Bar.

John Bar pushed the study away: "Your Excellency the Duke."

Hecha rubbed his eyebrows: "Little boy from the Irish family, do you have a reflection?"

John Bar showed a gratified smile, and replied respectfully: "Yes, he also gave you ten bottles of Hohu wine. It seems that Old Ireland has put aside his grudge against you."

"How many servants did he bring with him?" Hecha tapped his fingers on the table. For some unknown reason, his right eyelid kept twitching, and he felt a sense of panic in his heart. This subtle feeling was unprecedented. Even if he was unarmed and one against ten, it never happened.

John Bar frowned and recalled: "There seem to be three."

A sharp light flashed across Hecha's blue eyes, and he asked, "What kind of clothes are you wearing, how old are you, are you male or female?"

John Bar's expression was fixed, and he replied: "The three are all male servants, of medium build, about 25 or [-] years old, wearing gray patches, and dressed as ordinary servants."

Hecha pressed his eyebrows: "It's not quite right."