A strong wind swept across Werther's cheeks. As the air grew colder, he pulled his coat tighter.
He glanced at Monet, who looked perfectly at ease, and felt a pang of envy. Apparently, the Snow-Snow Fruit also protected her from the cold.
They had already left the Ice Island area of Punk Hazard, yet the air kept getting colder. It was nothing like the warmth they had felt on the way there.
"Buffalo, why is it getting colder? Is this normal?"
Even Werther, with his powerful Constitution, felt a chill. That was how cold the air around them had become.
Buffalo was faring no better. His thick winter clothes did little against the cold at this altitude, and his voice had begun to shake.
"Lord Werther, I don't know. This has never happened before. It's always a little cold when I fly, but never like this. We might be running into some of the New World's terrible weather."
Werther frowned, his expression darkening.
He knew how strange the New World's weather could be. The three of them were high in the air; dangerous weather up here would be very bad news.
Werther took a bottle of strong liquor from the Pocket Watch and swallowed a mouthful.
The fiery warmth ran down his throat into his stomach. He did not particularly like such strong liquor, but a drink was welcome in this cold.
He offered the bottle to Buffalo, gesturing for him to drink some too and ward off the chill.
But after taking it, Buffalo found that the propeller on his neck made it impossible for him to drink.
He could only sigh and hand the bottle back.
"I can hold out, Lord Werther. We'll be back in Dressrosa soon."
"Thanks for the effort."
Werther took the bottle and drank