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Adela wasn’t one to just take a beating. Without a beat of hesitation, she struck back.
“Spouted off about retiring decades ago, and now the dirty old peeper’s gotten worse!”
This time, Grania’s brows twitched hard.
“Hah! ‘Peeper,’ is it? Since when were you so interested in my proclivities? If you’ve got feelings for me, put them away. A runt that won’t become a woman even after centuries? Absolutely impossible.”
“D-did you just call me a runt?”
“Am I wrong? Are you gonna stand there and tell me that I’m wrong? I once read that gnomes never top one meter even at death. Seems that paper was quite accurate.”
Two of the continent’s foremost powerhouses were trading barbs, one would expect from third-rate mercenaries. Cardinal Adela and the former Archmage Grania were names that alone could make people tremble, but here they were, now engaged in nothing more or less than a childish spat between an ill-mannered brat and an old man who didn’t act his age.
Their quarrel only got nastier.
“You hit on an elf and got told you stink! Bit your tongue mid-chant and lost an arm, you cripple!”
“W-what!? How far back are you digging! And it wasn’t a smell—the Empire’s spices back then were—”
“Hm? Can’t hear you. She said you stank,...
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