What the fuck did ye just fucking say about me, ye filthy peasant? I'll have thee know I graduated top of my class in Nobleman Prep School, and I've been involved in numerous secret taxations of crystal wheat, and I have over 300 confirmed audits. I am trained in snobbery and I'm the top duelist in the entire Kingdom's armored forces. Thou art nothing to me but just another taxable household. I will wipe thee the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before in this Kingdom, mark my fucking words. Ye think ye can get away with saying that shit to me by carrier pigeon? Think again, livestock-fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of knights across the Kingdom and thy pigeon's trajectory is being traced right now so ye better prepare for the storm, peasant. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing ye call thine life savings. You're fucking dead, serf. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can tax thee in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare fisticuffs. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed taxation, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Kingdom's fucking treasury and I will use it to its full extent to wipe thy miserable paycheck off the face of the continent, ye little shit. If only ye could have known what unholy retribution thy little "clever" remark was about to bring down upon thee, maybe ye would have held thine fucking tongue. But ye couldn't, ye didn't, and now you're paying the price, ye thrice-damned peasant. I will shit fury all over thee and ye will drown in it. You're fucking dead, peasant.
