Contrary to what one might have imagined, the Styx didn't have countless skulls floating on its surface, nor was it filled with despairing Spiritual Bodies. It was just an ordinary, large river.
The river was wide, its surface calm. The water was a murky grey-black. Although it was impossible to see how deep it was, it always gave you the feeling that "if you fell in, you'd never surface."
"This is the Styx."
Ferry strode ahead, arrived at the riverbank, bent down, scooped up a handful of river water, and washed his hands with it.
"The water of the Styx is formed from the tears of sinners slaving away in hell and should be a mystical substance of extremely high quality," the Witch raised an eyebrow. "Quick, ask him what he's doing!"
"Uh..." the mule, standing nearby, cautiously asked, "Mr. Ferry, I remember, isn't the Styx formed from Soul Tears? Can this water be used for washing hands?"
