Just before the darkest moment of dawn, the heavy rain that had swept across Winterfell City gradually ceased.
Within a pitch-black, dilapidated warehouse, Count Uman struggled for breath.
Each breath he took now carried with it droplets of blood. A broken spine rendered him incapable of feeling anything below his waist, but the agony he felt in his upper half was enough to nearly make him faint.
But Count Uman stubbornly resisted unconsciousness. He still desperately held onto the faintest hope of surviving.
"Colin, it's you, isn't it?"
Count Uman stared directly at the shadowy figure before him. Even if he couldn't make out the features hidden in the darkness, even if this person's body shape differed completely from Colin's, Count Uman was absolutely certain that—
This person was Colin Angler!
Half-crouched before Count Uman, Colin chuckled lightly. "Why are you so certain it's me?"
Such a question was essentially confirmation of Count Uman's suspicion!
