Fantasy Writers 1860

Several tall figures slowly emerged from the darkness, forming a human wall that blocked Dorian's path.

They all seemed to be holding sticks or similar objects, which were not clearly visible in the darkness, but they appeared to gleam with a cold, hard luster.

Dorian looked back and found that the path he had come from was also blocked by a wall of people whose faces he couldn't make out.

What's going on here? Is this a highway robbery?

He suddenly realized that he was now in Britannia, and that the nighttime security in this era was probably not very good.

I shouldn't have gone out at night; I should have stayed at that tavern and gone back the next morning.

I still haven't been able to escape the experiences from my past life...

Dorian sighed, gaining a deeper understanding of the world.

But what can we do now that things have come to this?

"Mr. Dorian, do you remember that you still owe us a full six gold pounds?" A man emerged from the wall of people in front of him, took a few steps toward Dorian, and spoke in a very rough voice.

We owe them 6 gold pounds?

How come I didn't know?

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I don't remember owing, uh..." Dorian instinctively wanted to deny it, but a memory quickly surfaced, preventing him from finishing his sentence.

It seems I do indeed owe someone 6 gold pounds!

Not long ago, after her mother passed away, the original owner had borrowed a lot of money from gangsters on the black market at high interest rates to pay for a decent funeral for her parents.

Because the original owner committed suicide later, it's estimated that he didn't intend to repay the money, so he did his best to swindle a large sum of money and held a very respectable funeral.

Thinking of this, Dorian was speechless, his face frozen in a helpless smile that was even more painful than crying.

He's quite filial.

He looked at the man who had spoken; the man wore a faded short-sleeved shirt and had a scar on his face. At the same time, several other people slowly surrounded Dorian, encircling him.

"I remember now, there was such a thing... Could you give me a few more days? I will definitely find a way to pay it back as soon as possible." He tried his best to appear calm.

He was fully confident that he could repay the 6 gold pounds in a few days.

This was a huge sum of money for Dorian in the past, but for him now, it's just a small amount he can earn quickly.

Even if I have to ask Editor-in-Chief Clancy for an advance on my future royalties tomorrow, and then write articles to pay off my debts, that would be fine.

It's better to owe money to a newspaper editor than to owe money to a gang.

The scarred man sneered, stepped forward, and grabbed Dorian by the collar: "Grace period? How long have we been giving you grace? Looks like we've been too lenient lately, making you forget we're from the Blue Blood Gang, haven't we!"

He heard the footsteps of several people getting closer and closer, and the stick-like object in their hands began to swing in the air, making a whistling sound.

"Tomorrow, just tomorrow! I promise I'll return the money to you by tomorrow night! Six gold pounds, not a single gul! Tell me a place, and I'll come find you with the money tomorrow night!"

"Seven gold pounds! I'll give you seven gold pounds tomorrow, the extra is for your trouble!" Seeing that these people were not letting him off the hook, Dorian tried to raise the price further.

Money isn't an issue now; it would be ridiculous if they actually beat us to death here.

While raising the price of his therapy, he was also looking for an opportunity to break through the wall of people surrounding him.

"Don't worry, we won't kill you. We'll just teach you a little lesson... You should thank our boss Kirk. If it weren't for his orders, we would have chopped your hand off long ago!" the scarred man in the lead said coldly.

"Brothers, give them a good beating!"

Several people around immediately rushed forward, brandishing sticks and attacking Dorian.

Just then, a sudden burst of bright light swept into everyone's field of vision.

The intense light lasted only a short time before slowly fading, and Dorian saw the source of the light—

A piece of paper floating above my head...

And...it looks quite familiar.

"Read the above text aloud."

A neutral voice, its gender difficult to discern, came from above, calm yet cold.

At the same time, the manuscript paper fell in front of Dorian.

This is clearly the original manuscript he left with Clancy yesterday.

Immediately afterwards, a dark figure leaped down from the roof of a nearby building, landing lightly on the ground like a dragonfly skimming the water, without even making a sound.

This sudden turn of events stunned the debt collectors. They didn't know what was going on and instinctively took a few steps back, but they weren't about to collapse.

That cold, stern voice rang out again, this time not from the air, but from the dark figure that had just leaped down: "Read the contents above."

"Huh? Okay, okay..." Dorian, who was stunned, hurriedly grabbed the manuscript paper floating in the air. The texture was no different from before.

Then, temporarily setting aside the awkwardness, he began to recite aloud: "A foreign journalist interviewed a Britannian citizen..."

He had only finished reading the first joke when the dark figure drew closer and closer, its voice growing louder: "That's enough."

As the voice drew closer, Dorian finally saw that it was a person dressed in a neat suit, whose gender was indistinguishable.

She possessed both a feminine, graceful figure and a masculine, strong aura, along with a pair of pupils that shone like gold, eyes like those of a ferocious beast.

Most peculiarly, she had a pair of fluffy, silver-white wolf ears standing on her head, and a similarly silver-white tail sweeping behind her.

"Werewolf!"

Before Dorian could react, the debt collectors started shouting:

"It's a werewolf!"

"A demon, a cursed monster, something unclean has appeared!"

"Impossible! This is Lentinion! How could there be any damned werewolves here?!"

These so-called gang members at the bottom are just officially registered thugs. They are only ruthless and brave when bullying men and women. But as soon as they encounter a tough opponent, they immediately show a completely different face.

For example, right now, facing a real werewolf, the crowd that had been surrounding Dorian with such ferocity just moments before was now trembling uncontrollably, and many of them couldn't even hold onto their clubs, which crashed to the ground with a thud.

Only the scarred man seemed to be of higher quality; he quickly pulled out a pistol from his waist and fired a shot at the werewolf without hesitation.

clang--

With a muffled thud, the bullet struck a steel plate.

Seeing this, the scarred man gave up resisting and prepared to turn and run:

"So, you've been colluding with werewolves and using evil powers! You wait, I'm calling the police! I'm going to report you to the church!"

Dorian: "..."

As someone involved in organized crime, it seems a bit inappropriate for you to say things like "I'm going to call the police, I'm going to report you."

Upon hearing this, the other scoundrels felt as if they had been granted a pardon and began to follow their leader's example, turning around and running away.

However, none of them managed to move a single step.

A cool evening breeze swept by, causing the werewolf's long, messy, silvery-white hair to dance in the wind. His golden eyes gleamed with a cold light, shining brightly in the moonlight.

Her face held a hint of danger, yet also a touch of playful amusement:

"Do you see that? This is precisely the insignificant power that your draft of the fantasy novel possesses."