Aran, Duguli.
Members of the Thieves Guild were all too familiar with this place—antique treasures stolen from noble houses had to be sold here.
Last year, Swan had come with Liszt, only last time they had stolen from Sefer, but this time they were here to kill and silence someone.
The street, flanked by retro gray and black high-rise buildings, was a narrow passage to the sky, while the evening sky, bloody as a residue of the sunset, shimmered purple.
The road was bustling with traffic, and under the lamplight, the already sparkling window displays shone even more brilliantly, all showcasing extravagantly priced luxuries, and the pedestrians, trendy and stylistically diverse.
"I'm not dreaming, am I? We're back! All back! This is... the scent of Golden Dragon."
Ben took a deep breath, madly sniffing the perfume of a passing fashionable beauty, going so disturbingly close to smell her and emitting a pervert-like heavy breath.
