Iger stared at the dagger planted before Ashe. His parched lips trembled slightly as a long-forgotten fear tore through him like a wolf. So… am I afraid of death after all? Am I nothing more than this kind of man? At the end of the day, am I just an unqualified fraudster?

Fear slowly devoured the veela's calm, the very lifeline of a fraudster. Once composure was drained, it would mark the end of a fraudster's career.

Iger could no longer recall the last time he had truly felt fear. Perhaps it vanished the day he successfully swindled his first lollipop from another child at the orphanage, or when he preemptively accused the other children, framing them before the headmaster could speak.

Later, after studying...