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... ng a drink with two fingers. Dealers stopped passing cards, and the drummer nearly missed a beat before regaining his rhythm. Everyone was watching, wondering if the boss would snap this loser’s neck and leave him for the scavengers. They understood the score—Everen didn’t.

"Can I help you?" Brexton asked.

Everen clicked his tongue and used Purify on his cocktail-stained shoes in disgust. Then he grabbed the drink and turned to Brexton. "What’s this about the flight being delayed ...

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The scum Medicine God was banished to a savage other world, forced to undergo reformation!

The soul of Yan Mo, who had thoroughly offended the heavens, passed through to another world, not waking for long before realizing the cruel circumstances he was in.

He was hit unconscious by another person and carried back as winter food reserves.

The tribe that he was at was a super-Spartan type of primitive tribe.

The people here only cared about two things: Fighting strength! Fighting strength!

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Checking illness? Chinese medical doctor? Drinking bitter dregs? What sort of toy is that? Are you conspiring to murder my tribe’s young warriors? Kill!

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Teaching women how to make clothes and cook? Making soap and perfume for them? ****, unexpectedly seducing the tribe’s women! Kill!

You say you’re god’s messenger? Come to guide us in the direction of a more beautiful life? Very good, give you one day’s period, go and subdue all of our enemies and turn them all into slaves to bring back. Impossible? Kill!

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