The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 370

Chapter 370 A Price on His le

Chapter 370 A Price on His Life

“I heard he used to be a Filing machine out on the frontier. And now? Even a dray

“Serves him right for acting all high and mighty. Didn’t he come here to sell his wife for money już be everyz

Laughter echoed through the cramped waiting room.

The man on the ground gave no reaction to the harsh mockery, his chest rising faintly just enough to prove he was

After a long while, he seemed to catch a breath. Struggling, he pushed himself up with frembling arms, then staggered to his feet Blood kept pouring from the wound on his forehead and running into his eyes, turning his vision into a hazy red blur

He wiped at it roughly with the back of his hand, then stumbled forward, one step at a time, toward the innermost room marked “Manager’s Office.”

He pushed the door open, and inside, smoke hung thick in the air.

Manager Angelo Whitaker lounged in a wide leather chair with his legs crossed, lazily blowing smoke rings while a glowing screen in front of him displayed the night’s betting flow.

Seeing the man enter, Angelo raised an eyebrow and put on a practiced, insincere smile. “Well, well, our hero finally made it. Took quite a beating, didn’t you? Come on, have a seat.”

His tone was careless.

The man didn’t sit. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, breathing heavily. As he spoke, his voice was hoarse like a broken bellows. “Money… the money we agreed on.”

“Money?” Angelo feigned surprise, then chuckled. “Relax, it’s already been transferred. Five hundred thousand credits, not a cent short. Check your account.”

With effort, the man brought up his battered device–the screen cracked and flickering–on his wrist and glanced at it.

The balance had indeed increased by five hundred thousand.

He closed his eyes briefly, suppressing the dizziness, then spoke again, slowly, each word deliberate and sobborn, “We agreed on one million per match. And if I throw the fight… I’ll get another million.”

The smile on Angelo’s face faded slightly. He flicked ash into the tray and spoke at an unhurried pace. “Things change, my friend. Back when you first came, you were in peak condition, and your combat rating was at A+. And now? Take a look at yourself. You’d be lucky to scrape a B–minus. And Willard? He’s at the top of A–rank. Against you as you are now, he doesn’t need you to hold back. He’d beat you easily either way. Giving you five hundred thousand is already generous. Just consider it as taking care of an old client. Don’t be greedy and learn to be satisfied.”

The man seemed not to hear the latter half. He simply repeated, stubbornly, his voice weak and broken, but unmistakably clear. “We agreed on two million.”

and his expression darkened. “I said five hundred thousand. Angelo’s patience snapped. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtra Take it and get out. Go patch yourself up, you’ve got another tough match in three days. Or…” He raised his voice sharply.

“Guards!”

1/2

10:10 am PP-

Chapter 370 A Price on His II[e

Two Durly security guards immediately stepped in from outside, their expressions hostile.

+5 Free Coins

“Escort this ungrateful bastard out. Let him coot his head,” Angelo waved dismissively, lighting another cigarette without sparing the man another glance.

The guards moved forward to grab the man by both arms and then dragged him toward the door.

Already weak, he had no strength to resist.

He was hauled away like a dead dog.

And then…

Bang!

The office door was kicked open from the outside, the heavy alloy panel slamming into the wall with a thunderous crash.

Three men in sharp silver–gray uniforms of the First Military strode in like drawn blades.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify