With a mocking grin, Zāgh said,
“You were trying to kill two birds with one stone, but ended up getting hit by three arrows yourselves! Right? Hahaha! One for each of you!”
He burst into laughter, collapsing onto the table.
The idiots stared at him with awkward, forced smiles, clearly too embarrassed to speak.
Wiping the tears from his eyes, Zāgh chuckled,
“Seriously? You really didn’t think there might be a spy or a middleman between the two organizations? Hahaha!”
The more he laughed, the lower the sheikhs’ heads dropped, and the faker their smiles became.
Idiot Number Two finally spoke, hesitantly:
“You… could help us.”
Zāgh immediately stopped laughing.
“Me? Of course I can. But why should I? What’s in it for me?”
Idiot Number Three was about to respond when Idiot Number One quickly cut him off.
“Whatever you want. We’ll do it.”
Zāgh raised an amused eyebrow.
“Anything?”
Idiot Number One nodded eagerly.
“Yes, anything.”
Zāgh turned to the servant at the door.
“Bring me a pen and some paper.”
When the servant returned, Zāgh began writing a contract.
According to it, the three men—on behalf of all the Arab sheikhs—were bound to follow every single order Zāgh gave them. The deal was sealed.
A moment later, Zāgh lowered his voice and said calmly,
“You’re going to sign a one-year contract with the Rats. Quietly—so that neither the Snake organization nor the Eagles find out. It’s for weapon supplies. You’ll return the Eagles’ money. The rest… leave that to me. I’ll make sure the Eagles are satisfied.”
Idiot Number One asked cautiously,
“How?”
Zāgh, completely unfazed, replied,
“The Eagles have always wanted a middleman to connect with the Bears for arms deals. Well… I happen to have the perfect guy for that. And trust me—it’s best if you stay out of it from now on. Unless, of course, you’d like to get hit by a fourth arrow.”
The three sheikhs fell completely silent.
Two months later
A lavish table stood in the center of the hall. Zāgh sat at the head of it, while ten Arab sheikhs lined both sides in their ornate chairs.
Idiot Number Two leaned forward with a sycophantic smile.
“We’re truly grateful to you.”
The rest of the sheikhs quickly joined in with praise and compliments, all trying to please him.
Zāgh, however, remained silent—smiling faintly as he glanced at his watch.
When the hands struck noon, he rose from his seat and said cheerfully,
“Alright then. Everyone, outside!”
A wave of confusion swept through the sheikhs. Some fell quiet. Others began whispering nervously.
Without offering any explanation, Zāgh walked out. The area outside was a barren stretch of desert, scorched under the blazing sun. One by one, the sheikhs followed behind him, shielding their eyes from the glare.
Reaching a specific spot, Zāgh climbed onto a chair placed right in the middle of the burning sands. The heat was suffocating.
He shouted,
“Alright—time to live up to your end of the deal!”
With a motion of his hand, guards stepped forward, dragging several cages filled with locusts—about thirty in each.
The sheikhs stared at him in bewilderment, waiting for some kind of explanation.
Zāgh grinned,
“Each of you must catch at least 150 live locusts and place them in a cage. I brought 300. You’ve got until 5 p.m.”
He paused, his tone shifting just slightly—just enough to make them freeze.
“If you fail… your next conversation will be with the Eagle Organization. And we both know they’re thirsty for every drop of your blood. So—good luck. Your fate’s in your own hands.”
He looked at the sheikhs with a smile. In an instant, a wave of protest erupted among them.
Idiot Number One snapped,
“But this wasn’t part of the deal!”
Zāgh replied firmly,
“It was. You said, ‘Anything.’ Besides, the representative of the Arab Region 10 swore on it—and the contract was signed. Of course… if you’re unhappy with it, I could always give Ms. Barlian a call right now…”
The moment her name was mentioned, all the sheikhs froze in fear. Silence fell like a heavy curtain.
Moments later…
A ridiculous sight unfolded:
The Arab sheikhs, dressed in expensive robes and far too old for this kind of thing, were running around the desert—chasing locusts with their bare hands. The scorching sun burned their skin, and one by one, some collapsed from heat and exhaustion.
Zāgh stood calmly under a parasol, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, sunglasses on, casually watching the chaos below.
He shouted with a loud laugh,
“Yalla habibi! Get up! You better move faster!”
Then he burst out laughing again.
The sheikhs, now pushed to the brink of madness, began cursing his name in every language they knew.
From that day on, they swore—never again would they deal with Zāgh.With a calm expression and a faint smile, Zāgh began telling the story:
“Yeah… so that’s how I ended up being banned by the Arabs—deported and not even allowed to speak to them anymore. They’d literally run away whenever they saw me.”
He chuckled softly, then added with a hint of curiosity:
“Honestly, I’m really curious how you managed to arrange a meeting with the head of the organization.”
Then, with a sharp shift in tone, he glanced at the Princess and added mockingly,
“Though of course, as always, the Princess showed up instead.”
There was a beat of silence.
The Princess didn’t even flinch.
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