It was Wendell Francis, the Dark Sun Holy Son.
And his two Saint Knights.
The welcome ceremony that awaited him when he first arrived at St. Land had been so grand.
Now, as he fled from St. Land, he was just as disheveled.
The rainy season was about to arrive!
Leaden clouds pressed heavily down from the sky.
The cold wind howled, whipping through the waist-high brush of the wastelands, like the claws of demons flailing about.
Wendell Francis's mood, as he moved forward, was even worse than the bizarre weather.
As he marched on, Wendell's vision became somewhat blurry.
He seemed to see something curtain-like appearing around him.
The advancing Saint Knight Heizel was saying something intermittently.
Wendell Francis, however, could not absorb a single word.
He kept glancing behind him.
He always felt as though someone was watching from the shadows.
That kind of surveillance felt almost like judgment from fate.
"Woo... woo... woo..."
A fierce wind suddenly struck.
