Chapter 95

Daimon let out a deep sigh. "Let's eat. Your food is getting cold." He pushed their plates toward them, watching as they hesitated before picking up their utensils. For a while, the table was silent except for the occasional clinking of spoons against bowls. Then, Joxan’s sharp eyes caught something—Daimon's hand was covered in red rashes, and similar marks trailed up his neck and face. Frowning, he couldn't help but ask, "What happened to you last night? Did mosquitoes bite you like this because they don’t like you?" Daimon nearly choked on his food. He coughed, both exasperated and oddly pleased that Joxan had spoken to him at all. "Do you know how to talk properly?" Daimon asked, raising an eyebrow. Joxan simply shrugged, indifferent, and then lowered his head to drink his soup. "Hm, not bad." Daimon let out a bitter chuckle. Even this little brat could see he wasn't in the best condition, but the one person who should have noticed—Enlyan—hadn’t shown him the slightest warmth. The t