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.

made one fall into

frowned. "What's

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

a stack with his chubby hand. The cash was

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

your buddy?" The man smirked.

eyes dimmed, and he smiled

"He hasn't made enough money for me, so how would I bear to let him die? Do you think a case of

voice was cold, "There are fighters everywhere, but you won't find the opportunity

man had a cold bearing, and his skin was

However, he was a gunpowder barrel

man was different. He was like a millennial corpse, a cursed mummy. People would get

Fat Jim loved money

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