The coffin was the exact model that was sent to Alex’s villa.

The Yowells were fuming, yet they knew that there was nothing they could do—they were immobile.

“Hey, do you guys think that punk would come?”

“He won’t chicken out, right?”

“I heard that the bastard is around twenty. He’s just a loser, having to rely on women to survive. How could such a wimp defeat an Intermediate-Mystic-ranked fighter like Scott? Can you guys believe that? Well I don’t!”

A bunch of young adults were gossiping