12 Rister Street.
Haiman, thin, dark brown-skinned, and black-eyed, wrapped dried, scorched-yellow tobacco leaves with nearly ten kinds of herbs and spices native to the Southern Continent, then cut them into long strips.
Then.
He lit it with a match and watched its tip slowly curl, brighten, and turn red.
This was "East Balam Tobacco."
It had an indescribably strange flavor.
Haiman never tired of it.
So much so that even after being expelled from the Southern Continent,
he had found a way to keep some tobacco on him.
Unfortunately.
In Trier, it was impossible to buy tobacco leaves or herbs and spices from the Southern Continent.
Therefore.
This was his last "East Balam Tobacco."
He took a puff, then slowly exhaled white smoke tinged with pale blue.
Then he sighed.
"This is what a real cigarette tastes like."
"Unlike those in the North Continent, which taste as bland as boiled water."
"But this is the last one. Once I finish it, I'll only be able to savor it again in my dreams."
On the single sofa opposite him, a tall, sturdy man with slightly curly hair and nearly blue eyes said in a deep voice, "Lord Hobbes said that we'll soon be able to return to the Southern Continent."
"We will seize Abidos."
"Before long, we'll be able to return to our old lives."
Bang!
A door opened.
A man with gentle facial features, thick curly black hair, and a body drenched in blood-red emerged from within.
"That's wonderful. I can't wait."
"Not being able to kill people whenever I want here is truly suffocating."
"I'm practically developing depression from all this repression."
Inside the opened room,
everything was startlingly blood-red.
On a blood-soaked table
lay a severed hand, along with scattered internal organs.
Haiman the Wraith nodded. "The