Ⅲ
Late at night, outside Pult Harbor.
The flowing waters of the Inner River were clearly audible. Under their respective leaders' direction, the congregants of the Inner River God Cult stood guard and patrolled. Some elderly believers had the "privilege" of retiring early, but they refused to do so. On the contrary, they were the most active and steadfast.
It was not just their faith, but also because...
They hated being called old.
The older they grew, the more that was true.
There was one exception, however.
Mr. Gwen.
The old gentleman, who called himself a "historian," was reclining on a cushioned couch, his boots off so he could stretch his feet out fully toward the brazier. After all the traveling and hiding earlier, even his cowhide boots had been soaked through.
The icy river water had taught the old gentleman exactly what "chilled to the bone" meant.
"Lisa, is there any hot cocoa?
I still feel a little cold."
Mr. Gwen asked his wife, his tone somehow carrying the faintest hint of a coaxing whine.
Mrs. Gwen merely rolled her eyes at her husband.
"I told you there was no need to come, but you insisted."
Despite her complaints, Mrs. Gwen quickly brought him some hot cocoa. She had already brewed it outside when the brazier was first lit.
As for why she had not used the brazier inside the tent?
Mrs. Gwen maintained that hot cocoa flavored with foot odor was simply too much to stomach.
Even if some people did have a taste for coffee that smelled of excrement.
Mrs. Gwen maintained that she was just an ordinary person with ordinary tastes. The most adventurous thing she had done in her life was join the Inner River God Cult with her husband.
Anything beyond that?
Absolutely not.