On a street corner late at night, under the dim yellow light, the atmosphere inside the tavern was very calm, with only the strong reek of alcohol echoing through the air.
This was a newly opened tavern; probably because it hadn't been advertised much and was in a remote location, there were very few patrons inside. There was almost no conversation either; everyone sat in their own patch of shadow, tasting the spirits, then, once rested, stepping back out into the wind and rain.
Lorenzo sat by the bar. The sword bag filled with Nail Swords hung at his side, exposing a cold, gleaming corner that struck fear into anyone who noticed it.
Today he seemed to have done nothing at all, yet felt as though he had gone through many things.
Lorenzo stared at the liquor in his glass; on the deep-space-colored surface, his face was reflected back at him.
