Porti was a big city. It was a business city that placed the greatest importance on logistics, so its roads were well-polished and clean. Although the roads weren’t made from stones or gravel, the tidied dirt road was wide and stretched far across the city.  

Of course, no matter how wealthy the city was, it couldn’t have set all the roads. As they walked farther away from the city, the road gradually grew rougher. The ground became bumpy, and little pieces of stone and sand stubbed their feet more frequently. Soon, resilient weeds and bushes began to invade their path.

“Huff! Huff!”

A person was breathing extremely roughly; the breathing was too intense for walking on a road, even if the roads were getting rougher. It almost seemed as if the person was exaggerating his breaths to demonstrate his struggle. 

This person was Hans. If a person in front of him kept breathing and making sounds as Hans did, Zich thought no one would blame him for throwing a rock at the person’s head and cracking it.

Hans dragged his shaking legs and shouted, “S-Sir Zich!” He was exhausted...