Chapter 411: End game (5)
The deep furrows that are often engraved on the faces of veterans who have crossed all kinds of harsh lines of fire.
Wrinkles that look like scars under the corners of the eyes, the ferociously growing sideburns, the eyebrows thick and full enough to hide their coldly sunken eyeballs, the flat noses and square jaws.
His uniform, despite its wetness, was creased like a knife, buttoned all the way up to his neck, and a black fur coat resembling a lion's mane covered his broad chest and broad shoulders.
It was a perfect outfit, except for the crookedness of his belt buckle.
He was taller than anyone else in the place, and a club hung below his waist, with a sharp point of lead attached to the end.
'Orca Montreuil-sur-Mer Javert'. The head of prison at Nouvelle Vague.
Old Man, a symbol of Nouvelle Vague for nearly one hundred years, when generations on earth have changed several times.
chig-
Tapping the end of his cigarette against the flames on the ground, he scanned his surroundings with a lingering gaze.
A puff of cigarette smoke puffs out between cracked, salt-soaked lips.
"What is this?"