John anderas stood by the window of his office, overlooking the brightly lit prison.
He was holding a glass of whiskey in his hand. He had reached the age where ordinary Europeans had to hold a cane and have a big belly full of thick fat.
John anderas was a burly old man. His muscles might not be as energetic as a young man's, but the power he contained was something that young demon descendants could only look at but not reach.
Even at night, when he was about to fall asleep, John was still wearing light armor. There was no need to be so cautious when guarding ordinary demon descendant prisoners, but this was Inferno, and the dungeons held the most ferocious prisoners. Anyone who was locked in the dungeon was either a traitor of the Imperial court or a powerful demon descendant with a notorious reputation.
