The rain at the port did not wash away the smell of blood; it only made it heavier, clinging to the black fabric of the coats worn by the three figures standing at the edge of the pier.
In front of them lay what used to be the form of a lean, dark-skinned man, the Level 53 hunter Kevin.
His death was a silent testament to the fact that in this world, levels were not merely numbers, but survivability itself.
The woman at the front sheathed a rapier that seemed to be made of solidified sunlight.
Her golden hair caught the moonlight as the cold wind blew back the hood of her coat, letting her silk-like hair spill free.
Her golden eyes reflected the light as a small smile escaped her lips, despite the fact that she was staring at a corpse.
"By now, the message should have reached that fatty."
"Hehehe," the girl behind her leaned closer. "So, boss, when are we going to take back the youngest? I miss him so much."
