Maybe I’m Allowed To Fertilize That Tree

Mornings in the Wind Forest were foggy.

In a luxurious palace, a middle-aged elf looked at Borg sadly, and said, "Lord Borg, when Irina and some other guys killed all the mercenaries who escorted the slaves, we lost more than 100 slaves. And yesterday, Alex destroyed a mercenary group led by a level eight demon in Chaos City. I'm afraid it will be very difficult for us to get more slaves."

Borg was sitting in an opulent chair with a dark face. He crushed the cup in his hand. "Alex is such a pain in the a*ss. Although he has died once, he is just as obnoxious as he used to be." He paused for a moment, and then continued, "Raise the bounty and warn those guys not to even think about selling slaves elsewhere. Otherwise, they will pay a heavy price! Elves can only be sold to the Wind Forest! If they forget, have people remind them."

"Yes, Lord Borg," the man replied before bowing and taking his leave.