It seemed that O'Neil Andrew Morisette has fallen into a frightening, vicious circle. His cruel massacre has become the burden of the two assassins. Paul and Black Devil were not only responsible for disposing of the bodies but also to clear up the scene of the murder. When His Imperial Highness Prince was devouring bread from the house of the deceased, every bite he took felt like he was choking on the unspoken condemnation of his friends.
One week? Two? Time was distorted! Two kilometers? Three? The distance traveled seemed to have completely slipped his memory. O'Neil Andrew Morisette only had a vague idea of what he has done and what he was about to do. He was like a wounded wild wolf with a mild fever, hiding in dark corners where even mice dare not venture to, using his razor-sharp teeth and iron claws to gauge the diameter of his prey's neck.
