He took a deep breath, as if to draw the last courage of his life into his lungs, then closed his eyes and, with great difficulty and slowness, poured the remaining black oil strong liquor from the cup down his throat.
The entire banquet was silent, no one stopped him, just watched coldly.
When the last drop of viscous liquid slid into his esophagus, Marquis Marcus could no longer hold it together. The wine glass in his hand fell to the ground with a "clang," and his whole body, as if the bones were drained away, collapsed directly to the ground, weak in breath, and as pale as gold paper.
Galos looked at his miserable state and shook his head slightly: "If you can't drink it, why force yourself so much?"
"This ambassador, you're being too stubborn."
"Alright then, take him away and find a place for him to rest properly."
