Lathel flinched when he saw the two figures. Both were dressed in black, and on their chests was an insignia of two long, razor-sharp fangs like twin daggers piercing into an eye.
"You… who are you?" Lathel shouted in feigned fear, his face etched with apparent anxiety.
"Hahaha… I'm sure the Prince already knows who we are, right?" The man in black sneered as he spoke, his index finger pointing toward the embroidered emblem on his chest.
"You… you're from the Nightfang assassin organization?" Lathel asked, his voice trembling.
"Hahaha… that's right." The male assassin grinned.
Lathel tried to stand, but collapsed back onto the seat, his expression twisted in pain, one hand clutching the wound on his chest.
"Well! Well! Well!" the assassin said with utter disdain. "Prince, you're seriously injured—don't move too much, hahaha…"
"You…" Lathel gritted his teeth, his gaze turning bloodshot in rage. "I have no grudge with you whatsoever. Why are you here for me?"
