Feeding Horses, Chopping Firewood, Spring Blossoms-Then Getting Hung Up Again...

Southeast of Bolun'er Peninsula, Holly Port.

Bang!

Same place, different time. A white, one-eyed Tiger Man crashed down onto the beach, bare-chested above the waist and wearing nothing but black boxer shorts below.

Though the time of his fall was different, the difference had not been great.

Cult Leader Feng's flesh grafting efficiency was high. This flesh grafting had taken only a little over three hours; counting the seven years Cult Leader Feng had mentioned earlier as five-odd hours, less than nine hours had passed in total.

However, greater flesh grafting efficiency meant more intense pain. Those three-plus hours of flesh grafting had been excruciatingly invigorating.

The Tiger Man rose from the beach and looked at the moon hanging in the sky.

Some sand had gotten into his eye, making it uncomfortable, but it was quickly washed out. His tear glands seemed broken, and tears flowed uncontrollably down his face.

The bus was deathly silent. Only Simba, the dog who had gone mad, occasionally muttered, "Cult Leader Feng has a past life." All the other passengers sat in their seats with blank expressions.

Since more than nine hours had passed, the Tiger Man did not see Mason this time. A few drunken Lizardman mercenaries and minotaur sailors passed nearby, but none of them paid much attention to him.

That was only natural.

Other than being a relatively rare race, the Tiger Man had nothing valuable on him, nor did he give off the aura of an expert. Naturally, he drew no attention.

Time passed. More than two hours went by, yet the Tiger Man still sat where he was, tears continuing to stream down his face.

And he was thirsty.

The Tiger Man instinctively used his spatial ability and took out a bottle of mineral water he had bought on