Chapter 31: Phantom Thief Bergen
A few days after Whitney's group had swept through the underworld.
In a shabby inn nestled within one of the poorest districts of the underworld.
“Ugh...”
In the seediest room of that inn, a man lay unconscious, groaning as he clutched his head and slowly pushed himself upright.
“Cough, cough...”
Still unable to open his eyes properly, he coughed dryly and fumbled around on the floor, eventually picking up a crushed pack of cigarettes and a cheap lighter lying nearby.
“Tch.”
The cigarette pack, caked with tar and grime, was empty. Clicking his tongue in annoyance, the man staggered to his feet.
“......”
A cracked mirror hanging nearby reflected his image.
A wild, unkempt head of hair. A beard grown out in patches. Heavy dark circles under his eyes. A face dull and lifeless, unbelievable for someone who couldn’t have been more than his late thirties.
And more than anything—eyes completely devoid of light, like the soul had drained from them.