Late night, outside Port Pult.
The sound of the Inland River's waters was clear, and the members of the 'Inland River Cult' were patrolling their posts under the arrangement of their leaders. Some elderly believers, despite having 'privileges' to rest early, refused to do so. On the contrary, they were the most active and steadfast.
It's not just about faith, but also because...
They feared being called old.
The older they got, the more they were like this.
However, one person was an exception.
Mr. Gwen.
This so-called 'historian', at this moment, was half-reclining on a soft couch, letting his feet out of his boots stretch fully by the brazier. Having traveled and hidden away before, even if Mr. Gwen's boots were made of leather, they were already soaked through.
The cold river water gave the old gentleman a taste of what 'bone-chilling cold' meant.
"Liza, do we have any hot cocoa?
I still feel a bit cold."
