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He scowled. The more he thought about it, the more his chest bristled with rage.

He shut his eyes and controlled his breath. He had to remain calm. Rage’s only purpose was as a motivator, and he did not require more motivation right now.

The Foreigner was never going to do that to him again. Royo would not allow it. The one thing that he had always been able to trust was himself, his own mind. It was the only difference between him and all of the other wretches in the dirt. Sorcery or not, there was no excuse for befalling such base trickery.

As much as he did not want to accept it, there was no sense in ignoring the truth of the matter. A man of genuine fortitude and guile could never be manipulated. His mind had simply not been strong enough to resist the Foreigner.

But it would be. No matter what it took, it would be.

Because he aimed to rule the Higher West Layer--and rule it well. The rest of the world just hadn’t accepted it yet.

Nothing in all of creation would prevent Royo Raju’s ambition. Certainly not these militiamen.

They didn’t seem to like it when he stared at them through the vertical bars. One of them was even bothered enough to open his cell and gut-punch him until he stopped. That one’s name was Dorgot.

Dorgot was going to be the first to die.

Royo knew that he had to be patient, though. If he didn’t wait until the train was sufficiently far enough from Babbadelo, then everything would be for naught.

Oddly enough, despite his current circumstances, Royo had hardly been able to believe his luck when he’d heard that he was being transferred to Capaporo. And the fool guards should certainly have not told him that he might be eaten alive by a worm along the way. But then again, they couldn’t have known that they were practically sealing their own death warrants.