Holy Spirit Calendar, 2690, August 6.
Drifting City, Black Sail Stronghold, located at the artificially excavated terrace atop the rock formation, equipped with sun umbrellas and an excellent view.
"Damn it, it's not just you having trouble with the climate; I feel a bit off too."
Wolman came up to the terrace for some fresh air.
The Great Wetland is hot, but it's a humid and stifling kind of heat, like a rainforest climate. This place, however, is too dry. Ox would turn into dried fish here, and Wolman's lungs were itching, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He was smoking a large self-rolled cigarette, exhaling clouds to alleviate his lungs.
"Sorry, I'm feeling great now, just waiting for Liszt to send the coordinates so we can head to the battlefield."
Rein was fiddling with his left hand's Brutal Punishment. He still hadn't figured it out after all these days.
Currently, they often lose contact with the front line.
