There was a dimly lit office on the other side of the underground arena. It belonged to Fat Jim, who loved the dark.

At that moment, he held a cigar while shaking his legs on the table. The vinyl player was broken, but that did not stop him from smiling.

The case of cash in front of him was the source of his happiness. He didn't calculate how much money there was, but he knew it was the amount that made him happy. He didn't care who the person trading with him was. All he knew was that it didn't matter if Morpheus died—his profit was endless.

-

Earlier.

"Kill Morpheus."

That was the first thing the mysterious man said as soon as he came in.

Fat Jim was stunned at first, thinking that the man had come to the wrong place. Just when he was about to get his men to chase him out, the man placed the case agilely on the table.

the case made one fall

frowned. "What's

shots for who lives and dies." The man chuckled. "I'll give you

his chubby hand. The cash was new—there was a smell of ink, a smell that

me, sir." Fat Jim tossed the cash back into the

consider Morpheus your buddy?" The man smirked. "Don't go blowing your

dimmed,

him die? Do you think a case of

"There are fighters everywhere, but you won't find the opportunity to

a cold bearing, and

as intimidating. However, he was a gunpowder barrel beneath the snow mountain that could explode at

corpse, a cursed mummy. People would get a fortune for getting close,

Fat Jim

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