Just as Byron had the thought, storm clouds gathered and a torrential downpour began over the North Sea.
On the other side of the Strait of Dover, in a small fishing port, a fishing boat that had gone out to catch cod had just docked.
More than thirty fishermen on the boat threw out ropes, opened the hatches, and began to unload barrels, preparing to bring the hard-earned catch to the port.
However, a young man who did not seem to be a fisherman stood by himself under the mainmast, staring at the bustling little fishing port, his eyes filled with... hunger.
He subconsciously gulped down a mouthful of saliva:
"Thankfully, I have enough patience, having learned 'delayed gratification' from the brains of those human clergy members consumed by the Mother Goddess.
If I had started eating on the boat, I could only have eaten a little over thirty. How could that compare to a small port town?
