The deeper Annan ventured into the dungeon, the more he felt a bone-chilling coldness.
Especially since he had just broken into a sweat, and it had not completely dried yet. Now he felt even more acutely the pervading chill in the air.
"...This basement of yours, senior, is quite a tough environment,"
Annan murmured.
By the door, where it was close to the Philosopher's Stone, the temperature had soared over fifty degrees; whereas here in the dungeon, it's at least below zero—it's practically like a cold storage... Annan could even clearly see the white mist he exhaled with every breath.
He searched around the dungeon for a bit.
The first thing Annan found was the Black Fire that Salvatore had stored away.
They were all kept here, right against the wall. The white frosty air descended like a light veil, completely enveloping these Black Fires.
"...Hm,"
Annan suddenly remembered something as he looked at these Black Fires.
