Early the next morning, before the sky had fully brightened, a thin mist enveloped the small town like a layer of gauzy silk. Logan and Bart Cloud stood under the ancient locust tree at the entrance of the town, organizing their gear. Logan carried an old leather bag on his back, filled with dry food and a few simple tools, while Bart Cloud slung a rusty long saber at his side, its scabbard still damp with the dew from the previous night.
"Are you really coming with us?" Logan frowned, looking at the Shingo Butcher beside him. The Shingo Butcher was a burly man with a face full of lines carved by harsh living, holding a butcher's knife with dried blood, yet his eyes shone with an unwavering determination.
"Nonsense! When has Shingo Butcher ever been afraid of death?" He spoke roughly and loudly, his voice booming like thunder and numbing people's ears, "Besides, Lowen is my nephew. If he's really been captured, how could I just sit idly by?"
