The midday sun was steadily giving Tristan a tan as he walked toward the village. If not for his 'Clean Hands' talent, he would've been covered in blood from stitching Cutout's wound. As it stood, he was only covered by dirt and dust—unpleasant, but not suspicious.
The village was just a couple dozen houses, but on the close look, they were in a better state than Tristan expected. There was electricity, mobile network connection, and some cars. To the side of the village, fields of some bushy plants stretched in the distance. Tristan's skills gave him no information about those, and he didn't care.
A couple of small kids whistled and shouted at him from a safe distance, but a single stern look made them shut up and run back to their mothers.
