Blood flowed along the blade, seeping directly into Hert's fingers without the guard to block it.
The sticky warmth made Hert feel as if he was gripping a slippery octopus, preventing the long knife from slipping away, he vigorously wiped his palm on his clothes, smearing the blood everywhere.
Hert didn't mind these things; he was a Butcher, being surrounded by the scent of blood was completely normal.
Similarly, as the shadow of the Free Port, everything that happened here was just as ordinary.
Dirt and chaos became shelters for the rat hordes and hideouts for Demons.
The nauseating stench easily masked the decay of the Demons, while those wandering in this place became their sweet prey, and the Demons continued to thrive in this way.
"Big fish eats small fish."
Hert murmured to himself, walking the dark corners of the street, following the scent of decay.
