XLVII. Words of Tigers and Wolves

The night rain was ethereal, and the mist that pervaded the bay area made even the lights of Golden Palm Port, which shimmered with a thousand neons despite the downfall of the nation, gradually hazy.

The spotty glass windows revealed only a blurry scene, with the innumerable sounds of raindrops breaking emanating from outside.

In a concealed tea room, smoke curled around.

Swan, who always wore simple leather armor, made sure there were no ears on the other side of the wall before daring to whisper.

"I really can't believe it."

Swan rarely smoked, unless faced with extremely difficult decisions. From his observation over the past half a year, he was a pure egoist.

It made sense for him to make such a choice, but what surprised him more was whether he had the courage to be unfazed, even when facing the most terrifying killers in the world, the Netherworld Envoys, who could invisibly erase all existence.