Help, I'm in Another World and All the Men Are Are So Dangerous! [BL]-Chapter 204: The Hyena Arrives

He even tried to backtrack in a panic.

But for some reason, Ares’ already red face only grew more furious.

"Pfft—hahaha, oi, you should stop now—bwahaha!"

"Rocco, you shouldn’t kick a man when he’s down. Overkill should be kept in moderation."

"Huh? Wait, I wasn’t trying to make him mad—I swear...!"

As Mahmoud and Sylas chuckled beside him, Rocco desperately shook his head, beads of cold sweat forming.

But the more he panicked, the more it just seemed to amuse them.

Meanwhile, Ares’ anger meter had apparently maxed out.

His gaze snapped toward Ragar, and he bellowed—

"CUT OFF HIS LEFT ARM!"

The situation turned from comedic to dire in an instant.

Panic surged through Rocco as he squirmed free from Sylas’s grasp.

Ragar gripped the knife lodged in his left shoulder, preparing to drive it in deeper.

Rocco opened his mouth to scream for him to stop—

But before he could, something crashed through the wall.

And then, in a blur, someone delivered a powerful dropkick to the back of Ragar’s head, knocking him unconscious

.

Wait.

What... just happened?!

"Whew, made it just in time! Losing both arms would’ve ruined the aesthetic—visually speaking, of course."

Rocco’s eyes sparkled as he turned to the newcomer, despite the slightly off-kilter remark.

"Georgio!!"

"Ah! Master! Haha, heroes always show up late, right? Classic!"

Georgio smiled widely while striking a pose like a hero from a novel.

Despite the dramatic entrance, Rocco couldn’t help but inwardly sigh.

Seriously, what kind of hero shows up this late?

Still, overjoyed by the reunion, he ran straight toward Georgio, the tears of relief welling in his eyes.

Georgio, effortlessly carrying the unconscious Ragar under one arm and quickly approached him.

Without hesitation, he lifted Rocco up with his free arm as if he weighed nothing.

Despite his lean frame, Georgio was incredibly strong.

Perhaps that was part of why people in the slums called him a monster.

However, to Rocco, Georgio’s inhuman strength was nothing short of admirable.

As Georgio held him, Rocco reached out his hand and lightly slapped Ragar’s unconscious face.

No response.

Yep, he was out cold.

If they woke him up now, he might start rampaging again, so it was best to leave him as he was.

"My lord, that man is the infamous Georgio the Hyena. We should consider retreating for now."

The hushed voice of an enemy soldier caught Rocco’s attention, making him glance over.

The wary expressions on their faces made him chuckle.

Georgio was feared even by the mastermind behind this whole ordeal?

Of course, Rocco knew better than anyone how strong Georgio was.

Still, it was strange to think that in the original story, Sylas had treated Georgio like a disposable pawn.

Then again, wasn’t that because Sylas had sensed the danger in Georgio’s overwhelming strength?

Feared by both the hero and the villain...

Wait.

Could it be that Georgio was actually the strongest character in the entire story?

The thought was ridiculous... but not entirely wrong either.

"Aww, why am I being left out? That’s so mean! If we’re killing each other, let me join in too!"

Even while holding both the much larger Ragar and the much smaller—but still cumbersome—Rocco, Georgio skillfully pulled out a knife, ready for battle.

Rocco sighed.

Sorry, Georgio.

This mess was totally his fault for running over like that.

Kicking his arms and legs, Rocco wiggled free from Georgio’s hold, slipping away with surprising ease.

Sneaking out of what was shaping up to be an intense action scene, he quickly made his way back to Sylas.

Once there, he stretched out his arms, bouncing slightly as he made his request.

"Big bro, carry me."

"Mm."

Ignoring the battle starting behind them—Georgio versus the fox-eared archer—Rocco clung to Sylas, melting into his embrace.

The warmth, the comfort—ah, yes, a perfect hug.

Even when Mahmoud muttered, "You two sure are relaxed for a couple of kids, considering there’s a damn fight happening right next to you," Rocco didn’t care.

He just kept snuggling into Sylas while rubbing his cheek against him.

Truthfully, standing alone against Ares had been terrifying.

Now, that fear and everything else he had been holding in spilled out as relief.

So, he needed a little recharge.

Just for a moment.

He’d get back to work after this, promise.

"Rocco, you must be exhausted. We’ve retrieved your attendant safely. Let’s head back."

"Oi, you two! Look ahead! There’s a fight to the death going on right in front of you, damn it!"

Mahmoud’s exasperated voice fell on deaf ears as Sylas gently patted Rocco’s back, his words carrying the sweet promise of retreat.

Rocco was definitely exhausted and wanted to go home immediately.

But... yeah, that wasn’t happening.

Mahmoud was right—now was not the time.

After all, Georgio was currently having the time of his life, twirling his knife around like a maniac.

"Ahaha! Fox-boy, you’re putting up a decent fight! But tell me, is it really worth it? Your master seems to think of you as nothing more than a disposable pawn. No matter how hard you try, he won’t give you anything in return."

Georgio’s voice dripped with amusement, his words lighthearted yet sharp.

The fox beastman suddenly froze.

His eyes darted back toward Ares, uncertainty and fear flickering in his gaze.

Ares flinched at the silent stare, his previous aura of authority and confidence vanishing in an instant.

All that remained was a trembling, fragile figure.

A few seconds of silence passed before Georgio, sensing the fox beastman’s hesitation, gave a faint smile.

"If you hand over that traitor peacefully, I’ll spare your life. Sounds fair, right? What do you think, big bro? He’s not the mastermind, so we could at least let him live."

"...True. All we need is the prince’s head."

Ares was shaking so hard that Rocco almost felt bad for him.

Looking at him like this, it was easy to remember that he was, in fact, the king’s brother.

At first glance, he had the aura of a powerful noble, someone who belonged among the elite.