"Hey, Klaus, my boy, where did you go?" Marcel was like a hospitable master, smiling as he looked at Klaus' unrestrained killing intent.

Elijah watched them from the second floor. Although it was rude, they were not just hypocritical.

Marcel seemed to just notice that something was wrong with Klaus' expression, and his tone became a little dissatisfied, "Looks like someone has made you angry, what can I do for you? "My friends .."

Klaus was his friend, and he had treated Marcel with kindness in the past, so he was no longer happy in his territory. Naturally, Marcel would not ignore such a matter.

Klaus glanced at his hat and saw that he was in such a high and tiresome mood that he tried to remain calm. "All you can do is tell me what happened to you and those damned witches."

Klaus hated wars, especially wars of scum he was forced to join without his right to know.

Marcel made a pose with two fingers and let out a loud whistle. He tossed his hat to the black girl who was dancing. His figure, smoky eyes, and sexy waist made him look like a water snake.

Klaus saw that his eyes were bright, as if he did not care for him at all, and that the short hair of his disciple, pure ink black, shone in the light, bright and piercing.

Marcel was always excited, he just wanted Klaus to be angry, he always hated Klaus's constant contempt.

To despise everything, to despise him.

"My friend," Marcel said helplessly to Klaus, "you know that you gave me everything I had, but I'm afraid we have nothing to discuss."

Klaus watched as he made a gesture of pointing both hands at himself, "This is my business, the witch's business is under my control. Now, I control the wizards in this city, that's all."

He quickly came to a conclusion.

"Your city?" Klaus added.

"You're right."

"Interesting. When I left a hundred years ago," Klaus finally reached out and grabbed his scarf, but they were only a fist apart, "you were still just a pitiful little boxer, shivering under the whips of those who oppressed you .. Now that I look at you, you are the owner of your territory. "

The mocking voice, the unkind intent, the tight atmosphere, and the indistinct murderous intent.

The scene immediately became silent. Marcel's men seemed to be ready to move, especially Marcel's personal guards, who were quickly approaching.

"..." Prince of the City, I really want to know how you did it. " Klaus's voice was scornful and contemptuous.

Diego didn't care that his ancestor was a ball. Seeing his boss being threatened, he instinctively showed his fangs and ruthlessness. He grinned at Klaus, but unfortunately, he was not noticed at all.

Marcel seemed to be continuing with the party, calm and collected, as if the person whose life had been threatened by the Founder was not himself. "Why? Are you jealous? "

Klaus' pupils shrank. Jealousy, jealousy of Marcel, what was he talking about?

Elijah noticed that his brother was beginning to get angry. This was a bad development, and Elijah was racking his brains about how much time it would take for Klaus to kill them all.

Marcel, on the other hand, seemed to have found something fun to do. Breaking free from Klaus' shackles, he lazily arranged his appearance, "I get it, buddy... "Three hundred years ago, you built this penniless exile into a city. Yes, it was you who took the lead. After that, you left.

Klaus saw Marcel standing on the stage of the spotlight, scolding him, his mouth full of laughter and pride.

"To be more accurate, you escaped." Marcel waved his hand to signal the crowd to move away. His personal guards retreated, "I've held on. Look around, it's the vampires that rule this city." "I took care of the werewolf. I even managed to get rid of the shaman."