Chapter 1093: Chapter 766: Hanging Up a Sheep’s Head [08]_2
?
Can it be like this?
"Besides, there’s that kid named William White." Oliver Scott furrowed his brows, "He’s incredibly skilled. We saw him take down five people single-handedly. He acts very mature and doesn’t behave like a child. But judging by his appearance and height, he’s really just an eleven or twelve-year-old boy."
"Could he be a dwarf?"
April Thomason had a wild imagination.
Fátima gave her a sideways glance, and just as she was about to close her mouth, she casually added, "It could also be that he’s short and looks young."
"..."
That’s one broad imagination.
Marcus Shaw and Oliver Scott exchanged a glance but didn’t comment.
"What about your ’Wave Riding Steps’?" April was fixated on this point.
"William White taught us." Oliver Scott chuckled, raising his eyebrows slightly, "He said it’s very useful for escaping."
Even if it was just this tidbit, Oliver Scott felt quite satisfied.
Nora Scott chimed in, "He taught the movement and the leg technique."
"Right."
Marcus Shaw nodded, giving Nora Scott a deep look, thinking that her self-claimed "descendant of a master" might have some truth to it.
"Train well, it might come in handy someday." Nora Scott advised.
"Okay."
Oliver Scott nodded.
Marcus Shaw said nothing, but clearly took Nora Scott’s words to heart.
*
Six people "conspired" in the tent for a while.
In the end, Nora Scott took Marcus Shaw to the third camp; Pedro Langley and Oliver Scott stayed at the second camp; and as for Fátima and April Thomason, they returned to the first camp.
Each returns to their own homes, to their own mothers... no, to their own business.
"Have they all returned?"
While walking to the third camp, Nora Scott suddenly asked Marcus Shaw, clearly making conversation.
"Yes."
Marcus Shaw replied succinctly.
Although they rode horses back, gathering the horses took some time. That group of "external aid team," even if they crawled, should have crawled back to the camp.
Sure enough—
As soon as they got close to the third camp, they heard someone shouting angrily.
"Didn’t you see our people got hurt?! What are you doing, letting two kids play with so many horses, and look what happened! Just because they have someone backing them doesn’t mean they can do whatever they want! I’m telling you, if we don’t get an explanation for this, we won’t let it go..."
The person kept ranting.
Nora Scott and Marcus Shaw walked towards the voice at a leisurely pace.
Rounding a tent, what they saw was a middle-aged man, standing with one hand akimbo, unrelenting.
He had a receding hairline and wore an ill-fitting white shirt, his belly more obvious than a pregnant Nora Scott’s. His expression was fierce and didn’t show any semblance of a "scholar’s" demeanor.
Yet, his manner of speaking was arrogant, as if only by status was he superior to others.
—He wasn’t even a full professor.
—According to Fátima, he had some achievements in his early years, impressive results, but after thirty, nothing substantial, just muddling through in school. This time he got in through various connections, hoping to get some accolades, and go back to vie for a professor title.
As he became more excited, saliva sprayed everywhere, and he seemed ready to confront the guards. Marcus Shaw’s gaze turned cold, and he walked over there.
Nora Scott reached out to stop Marcus Shaw.
Marcus Shaw paused and looked back at her, seeing that Nora Scott had somehow pulled out a whistle.
—The same type as Fátima’s.
"..."
Marcus Shaw instinctively stepped aside.
And wanted to cover his ears.
"Beep—"
With the whistle in her mouth, Nora Scott suddenly blew it, the piercing sound evoking the fear of being dominated by a sandstorm, and the sound of the Mediterranean man abruptly stopped.
Even the guard instinctively turned left, wanting to salute in this direction. However, upon seeing Nora Scott and Marcus Shaw, he suddenly froze.
"..."
Captain Morton’s whistle, and she dares to take it, truly worthy of being the Hall Master of Biel Hall.
"With that voice, you’d think it was a shrew yelling on the street." Nora Scott, holding the whistle, strolled forward, her gaze dismissively surveying the Mediterranean man. Her every move indicated no respect for the older generation, she raised an eyebrow, "How exactly do you not plan to let it go?"
"..."
She came straight at him, giving him no face at all, making the Mediterranean stunned for a few seconds.
But quickly, he glanced at the nurse entering a certain tent, instantly regaining his confidence.
"What, your two brothers injured someone, and still feel justified?!" Mediterranean raised his chin, realizing he had to look up at Nora Scott, suddenly feeling his aura weakened a bit.
Comments