The Astarte of the B

Polton, as if reminded by Brun's words, turned his unmoving cat eyes towards the farmer sprawled in the field.,He dismounted with a clatter of plate mail, but instead of drawing the sword from his back, he drew the dagger hanging from his breast.,His expression was still cold, as if he didn't care about a farmer's life at all, only considering the schedule for the two of them.。