What the Hell?

It was a quiet night.

The harbor of Port Nyanzaru was peaceful. Apart from the occasional patrol, the only noise came from the taverns. New Year's Day was approaching, and despite yesterday's terrible disaster, plenty of people were still drinking. As they put it, what had happened had scared them half to death. They needed a drink to settle their nerves.

Rexon's companions had dragged him to a tavern.

When the enormous tornado had appeared, he and his companions had been close enough for the wind to nearly carry them away. If they hadn't clung to a wooden post—and if Soren hadn't stopped the tornado just then—they would probably be dead.

Rexon couldn't hold his liquor.

After a few drinks, he slipped out for some fresh air. Then he felt the urge to relieve himself, so he avoided the guards and headed toward the edge of the docks.

Relieving yourself in public was forbidden in Port Nyanzaru. If you were caught, you got whipped.

Sailors like them knew a way around that. They could stand at the edge of the dock and piss into the sea. Even if a guard saw them, there would be no evidence left to catch them with.

Everything should have been fine.

But just as Rexon finished and started pulling up his trousers, a cold gust swept past. He shuddered.

"Forget it."

For some reason, he felt uneasy, as though something was watching him from behind. Perhaps to bolster his courage, he spoke to himself a little louder than necessary. "I'll just go back and have another drink."

Just then.

An icy hand touched his back, and a mournful voice asked, "Got any wine?"

"I'd like a sip."

What the fuck!

There really was someone behind him!

Which bastard came over here to scare me?