Eric's inherent shyness, usually an inseparable part of him, was somehow completely blown away by the youth's appearance.
His mind was now filled only with the image of that person, an image completely different from the handsome, wild faces of the Beastmen he saw every day.
This beauty wasn't the angular, strong type.
It was ethereal, somewhat frail, a clean beauty like morning dew, making one instinctively hold their breath, afraid that a strong exhale would be enough to shatter the sight.
The ancestors said heroes have a hard time resisting beauty, and it was true. Besides, he wasn't even a hero.
The plump abalones he had just pried open, still warm in his hand, were tossed behind him without a second thought.
Seeing the youth soaked in the cold seawater, his body stuck between the jagged rocks in a position that looked both miserable and dangerous, Eric couldn't turn his back and walk away.
