After leaving the mine, Bologue headed straight for the Wandering Crossroads. He was as familiar with the area as a local, making his way through the air corridors to the cluster of buildings that grew out of the cliffside like a massive tumor, with narrow, dark streets exuding a cold chill.
There were few pedestrians on the road, each person walking silently with their heads down. The windows along the street were crooked and boarded up, and wooden fences enclosed the alleys, reminding Bologue of the fortifications built in the city during wartime.
The Wandering Crossroads was indeed in a state of war, a long and silent one, where everyone was anxious and fearful, clutching Mammon Coins engraved with mercury symbols, quietly praying that the Evil Spirits wouldn't come calling.
Bologue pulled down the brim of his hat. He looked no different from the ordinary passersby, but unlike their fear, Bologue felt a twisted and pathological pleasure.
