Bandage rode his green postman's bicycle through the streets and alleys.
The Outer Island's death toll had risen, and the number of letters had greatly diminished, but he still performed his duties with meticulous care.
Only one piece of correspondence remained in the green mailbag, and once delivered, he could return home.
It was at this moment that the voice of a middle-aged man, lying on a recliner reading a newspaper nearby, reached his ears.
"Damn it! The sea level is really rising, those bastards of the Light God Sect! If the Pope were in front of me right now, I swear I'd shoot him myself!"
"Creak," Bandage tightened his grip on the bicycle's brakes as he stopped in front of the last customer's house.
Before Bandage could stuff the last letter into the mailbox, the wooden door adorned with colorful shells swung open, and an elderly lady with graying hair stepped out.
"Don't bother with the mailbox, young man, just hand it to me. Is it addressed to Johnson?"
